The Year of the Storm by John Mantooth Page B

shoulder, then down to my hand. I pulled away.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œDo you want to see it or not?”
    I’m sure part of me was thinking this whole thing sounded like the biggest load of bullshit I’d ever heard, but there must have been another part of me that wanted to believe in disappearing to your own place, somewhere safe and secret. More than anything, though, I was curious. I wanted to see for myself.
    I let him hold on to my hand.
    â€œClose your eyes,” he said.
    I did, though the darkness inside the shelter was so total it was hard to tell.
    We sat like that for a long time. His hand was over mine, the silence of the shelter broken only by the thunder booming above us.
    My hand felt sweaty in Seth’s, and worse, I felt weird holding hands with another boy, especially one who was so widely suspected to be queer.
Just forget it, Walter
, I told myself.
He’s not like that.
Still, the longer we sat there, my hand in his, the more I wanted to pull it away. I was just about to when it happened.
    What
it
was is still a little unclear to me. First, the whole shelter seemed to tilt. It was like we were sitting inside a giant barrel that somebody had suddenly decided to roll over. Seth’s grip tightened on my hand, and I opened my eyes. Darkness. Then I was falling; my stomach flew up into my lungs and my neck. I saw images, moving past me quickly: shadowed trees etched against a purple sky; a low moon; a brownish muck of water flying up toward me. I fell fast. I spun like someone had pushed the barrel down a hill, but there was no hill. Only free fall. I closed my eyes, bracing for impact.
    That’s when I became aware of Seth again. He was with me, falling. His hand gripped mine tightly. Together we spun. I saw the moon and then the trees, the water again. A cabin. A single wooden cabin, with a light burning inside. Over and over we spun together, and it was wonderful and easily one of the scariest damn moments of my life.
    The instant we hit the water, it was over. My body went under and then I was lying on solid ground again, Seth on top of me, the spell broken. But we’d gone somewhere, fallen into some other place. That was all that mattered.
    â€œI saw it!” I shouted, clapping my hand on his back. “I saw the swamp. I saw the cabin from the painting!” I tried to roll Seth off me, but he didn’t move.
    â€œSeth?” I said. I thought for an instant that he might somehow have died during the fall, but that couldn’t be right. His breath was on my face. Then I felt something else, his lips seeking mine. To be honest, I don’t even think I understood what was happening. At least not at first. I thought he might be confused in the dark. “Seth,” I said. “Get off me.”
    He made one more urgent effort to place his lips against mine, and I shoved him hard. The wonder I had felt an instant ago burned out inside me, replaced by an anger so righteous, I felt possessed.
    The little faggot. The goddamn little faggot.
    I swung at him in the darkness but missed. My fists hit the concrete walls, busting my knuckles open.
    â€œI’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean . . .” Seth trailed off. “Jesus, Walter. Please don’t hate me.”
    I hardly heard him. “Open this damn hatch!”
    â€œWalter . . .”
    â€œLet me out of here, you queer.”
    Something creaked, and light and rain came into the shelter.
    I started up the short ladder. When I reached the top, the hail and rain hit me hard. Then the wind. I lost my balance and almost fell back into the shelter, but I clung hard to the first rung of the ladder and managed to pull myself out. Just before the hatch swung shut, I heard Seth call my name and say something about the storm. I didn’t care. He could say whatever he wanted to. I only wanted to get as far away from him as fast as possible.
    â€”
    I probably should