The Lost Language of Cranes by David Leavitt

shared a room, but I always knew which was which.' Apparently Dmitri was secretly turned on by wearing his brother's underwear. It's funny, he had no compunction about admitting things like that, even though he would have murdered someone before anyone in his department found out about him. Anyway, after that the weekend just sort of dragged on, and we spent a lot of time sitting on the porch, and Dmitri and his father would talk about engineering, and Dmitri's mother would say things to me like, 'Well, Philip, I know how you feel—when the men in this family start talking science, I just feel left out at sea. The next time, we'll go into the kitchen and talk about literature.' But we never did. Then I went home."
    The blanket pulled away, and Eliot turned onto his side, facing the window. Philip looked up at the stars on the ceiling, which were fading fast. Now streams of sunlight were beginning to pour through the window, keeping the little stars steady and hunt. It annoyed Philip that after a night of happy sleeplessness, exhaustion would still punch him awake with the alarm clock in the morning; he would shave, dress, head off to work, while Eliot shifted in the bed and gave a small sigh of contentment. He never said goodbye. Once Eliot was asleep he was dead to the world. There was no waking him.
    "Eliot?" Philip said.
    "Yes?"
    "I'm thinking of telling my parents. About us. Which of course, means telling them about me."
    Eliot said nothing.
    "I'm thinking of telling them this Sunday," Philip went on. "Do you think it's a good idea?"
    "I don't know your parents," Eliot said.
    "Well I do. And I can tell you now, I don't think this is going to be a big shock for them. They're going to think 'Of course.' Then they'll understand why I never had a girlfriend and all. I mean, my parents are liberal people. They won't be destroyed by this."
    "Probably not," Eliot said.
    Philip nodded to himself. "No," he said, "the problem is not going to be my being gay, as much as getting beyond that. Because it's not enough, you know, just telling them and shutting up and never talking about it again. I feel like I should let them know what it's been like for me—what it felt like, growing up, keeping this secret. I feel like I should let them know what it means, having the life I have, having you. They deserve to know."
    "That's what Jerene thought," Eliot said. "Look what happened to her."
    "My parents are not like Jerene's parents," Philip said, a hint of anger in his voice.
    "Oh, probably they won't disown you. But don't be sure it's going to be all sweetness and light, Philip. It's hard for you to realize how new this thing is going to be for them because you've lived with it all your life. But they haven't. They probably haven't even thought about it."
    "Oh, I'm sure they've thought about it. They're not stupid."
    "Even so, the fact remains that no matter how well you explain to your mother why it is you like getting fucked up the ass, she's probably not going to be happy about it."
    Philip glared.
    "Look," Eliot said, "I'm not saying you shouldn't tell them. I'm just saying that you should think about it very carefully before you do anything rash. And you should be sure you're doing it for them and not for yourself. This is going to be a big deal. Be careful. I know Jerene's case is an extreme, but think about it. The terrible tragedy of all this is that she still loves her parents. And they love her. And if she hadn't told them—well, they could all still have that."
    He yawned, closed his eyes. Philip stared at the ceiling. What was his motive in telling his parents, he wondered, when for years he had so successfully avoided this confrontation? Was it for them that he wanted to make this revelation, because they deserved to know the truth? Or was it for himself, as Eliot had suggested, to relieve himself at last of the burden of secrecy? It didn't seem to him there was anything wrong with that. Anyway, he had Eliot now. He could