In the middle of Des Plaines Illinois three boys find themselves in a tangled knot of angsty lust and amateur love.
Evan Webster has an average American life. When he isn't at swim practice or the movie theater, he's trying to make time to study bi...
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JUNE 1989
The gravel was loud, grinding with every step. At one mailbox, the rocks faded into dead grass. The brown patches seemed to be formed by the constant presence of a car coming and going from a nine-to-five job. It was a Sunday, so the car was parked—flattening some spring grass that had just begun to grow.
Fresh laundry hung from neighboring clotheslines, but the shirts and socks were two sizes bigger than they had been five years ago. They billowed in the breeze, so blissfully inanimate.
Moving up the pathway to the small front door, the yard looked well kept. There weren't any chicken bones or dandelion weeds in sight, but there was a random stack of tires that hadn't been there before. They were piled beside the door, high enough to tower over the person who knocked twice.
Inside the tiny trailer, Danny was in the process of shaving his face. He was using a disposable razor, looking at his reflection in a shiny toaster as he angled the blades around his jaw. His hair was shaggy and damp, fresh from a shower. He had only gotten half dressed, which was evident from his sleeveless undershirt and black jeans.
"It's open," Danny shouted. "You can come in if you're not a girl scout or a vacuum salesman."
The hinges creaked as the door swung open, revealing Danny's confined living space. There were cigarette trays and plastic orange bottles on every surface. Most of the medicine wasn't opened, arranged in rows or stuffed into pharmacy bags.
Next to the mini sink, there was an old newspaper cutout.
Debra Hodge passed away yesterday, April 14 1989 due to complications of Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome. Debra was a beloved teacher and...
An obituary, along with a receipt for flowers. Remnants of a kind gesture from a former student.
Danny used a rag to wipe away the excess shaving cream on his face. Once he was clean, he turned and expected to see another church member with a lasagna, but instead, he was slapped by his past.
"Hey stranger," Jackson greeted, dropping a duffle on the floor. His voice wasn't playful, rather it was tinged with sympathy.
Danny didn't say a word at first—not even hello. He just stood there, observing Jackson as if he was a figment of his imagination. For years, he had been nothing more than a name in Evan's letters, but there he stood—back from his travels.
He had gone to almost every continent and even received some gold medals for his military service. They were definitely more honorable than any varsity swimming pin, but he wasn't the type of person to brag—not anymore.
The red-haired boy had turned into a red-haired man, but as Danny examined him from head to boots, all he saw was the eighteen-year-old who made Evan smile. He had the same slanting jawline and freckled skin, minus the chin zits. His shoulders were broader and his body was toned, but his grey eyes were still the same—seeing beyond Danny's exterior as if his gaze was a fisheye lens. If Evan had been there, he would've made a joke about it and pretended to be envious.
