Rolly's stomach convulsed as the Miranda suddenly dropped ten feet after riding the crest of another mammoth swell. The rain had been coming in torrential hurricane-like bands. But for now, at least, the furious pelting had stopped. He estimated that the cloud cover was about eighty percent, but it was moving fast, the full moon showing through, illuminating the storm-tossed sea.
He couldn't calculate where he was. All he could do was try to stay on a west-southwesterly course. He thought that he might have been swept in a circle when the heavy rain came the last time. His struggle to keep the boat heading into the waves pulled him off course. It had been difficult to see. The squall was so violent the rain had blown around inside the cabin.
Soaked and exhausted, Rolly had unconsciously held his breath during much of that long, stress-filled battle. Now he began to breathe more deeply. His strength was depleted, and his body ached from head to toe.
Is this where it ends?
I just wanted a life.
A life that wasn't a lie...
•
Marc Solomon was filling in that day at the Art Institute in Boston, substituting for the art teacher. He circled the classroom, stopping at each easel to congratulate or critique each student's work.
"Your brush strokes are too tight. Too constricted," he said of Rolly's painting. "Don't be afraid to experiment! To let go! You're not a child and this isn't a coloring book. You don't have to stay within the lines. Do what you want to do, not what you think you have to do."
Rolly bristled. He thought that Solomon's comments were about more than painting and his embarrassment had swiftly grown to anger.
What did that conceited asshole know about anything? His painting was fine and his life was better than it had ever been!
Rolly had his own efficiency apartment. He'd been promoted at the hospital and he was earning enough to live on, even save.
And he had a special friend, too. His name was Ash, and he worked in the records department at the hospital. They'd met one day when Rolly was eating lunch in the cafeteria. The place had been jammed and, as usual, Rolly was sitting at a table by himself.
"Hi, do you mind if I sit here with you?"
The boy was so pretty that Rolly was dumbstruck. Ash had a slim body and he wasn't very tall. He had wavy brown hair that tended to fall over one long-lashed eye or the other, so that he had to reach up and tuck it behind his ear. His skin was a light coffee color...Indian, Rolly thought...and he had very white, straight teeth...a very beautiful mouth.
"No," said Rolly, finding his voice. "Go ahead."
They found it easy to talk to each other and began seeking each other out whenever they were in the cafeteria at the same time. Soon, they were coordinating their lunch breaks.
Rolly became obsessed with seeing Ash at the hospital. He fantasized about him at night. It seemed that Ash was interested in him, but he wasn't sure.
At last, they made a plan to meet for a movie. Rolly sat through it, staring at the screen, filled with desire. He yearned to touch Ash, ached for Ash to touch him. It was the most exquisite torture he had ever felt.
Rolly was in a secret limbo, loving it and hating it, all at once.
And then along came Marc Solomon, who criticized his painting...who criticized him and his life... in front of everyone.
Rolly stewed over it for weeks.
His attempt at free brushwork was a disaster. He overworked his colors and they all ended up looking like mud. The more he tried, the worse his painting became.
Was Solomon right?
Rolly made a decision.
One day as he and Ash were leaving the cafeteria in the basement of the hospital, he stopped at a door. "Come in here," he said to him. "I have to tell you something."
He never told Ash anything. He'd just locked the door behind them and kissed him on the mouth. There was no protest; Ash was as eager as he was.
In no time, Rolly's pants were down around his ankles and Ash was kneeling before him, blissfully changing Rolly's life...and inadvertently improving his art.
•
In the darkness of the Gulf, Rolly smiled, even as the rain began again.
* * * * *