The party at my parents' house on Tuesday night was an all-call. They had had a Christmas cocktail party on December twenty-third for close to thirty years. That was just what they did, and mostly the same people came every year. They were our friends, after all, even if we only entertained them once or twice a year. Bishop Gregory Bascomb was there that year, as were enough doctors to staff a pretty good-sized hospital. Uncle Ray, the Jesuit priest who had performed our wedding two years before, was home from Rome, and he was there, too. We had our share of lawyers and accountants and nurses and business people, too. There were a few teachers and professors thrown into the mix, as well. "The food is good, Kevin. Very good. I give this a 95 out of 100," Kyle said. "Who made you a food critic?" Rick asked. He was playing with Kyle. "I made myself one. I know what it takes to put on this kind of party, and this one is damn good, asshole," Kyle said. Rick laughed. "I know. I just was wondering what you thought your credentials were," Rick said. "You've seen them many times, but I'll show them to you again in private, if you want me to," Kyle said. Rick laughed hard at that. "I can't get the best of you, can I?" Rick asked. "Yeah, you can. Now and then. Occasionally. Rarely," Kyle said, and he and Rick laughed. Our neighbors, Frank and Denis Smyth, were there, and their boys were there, too. Everybody in our household, except Kyle, was gathered around the Smyth boys, with Justin in the lead. They were all laughing and carrying on, and that looked really good to me. Our guys were bonding with the Smyths, and I hoped it would be for a lifetime. The party was only from six to eight, and people presumably went out to eat, on to other parties, or home for the night when it was over. There were some stragglers, of course, but we had everything picked up and put away by 9:30. We packed a huge ice chest of stuff for us to take home with us. "This party was a huge success, Beth. Gene and I want to get back to entertaining soon," she said. "Yes, it's probably time, Rita," my mom said. "We're having a cocktail party for Sonya and George on January thirtieth. The night before their wedding. It's kind of a pre-nuptial party," she said. "The rehearsal and rehearsal dinner are Thursday night," Rita said. I knew my parents were invited to that, too, and I knew they'd be there. Tim and Kyle were going to be George's Best Men, and I thought it was very considerate of him to include Kyle. Sonya was only having one attendant, her sister, and Tim and Kyle would march her out of the church side by side when the Mass was over. Rick and I were going to be ushers. Sonya's parents were too infirm to be there, so Gene was going to march her in. The morning after the party was Christmas Eve, and it was also our second wedding anniversary. Once again, the boys came through with a great breakfast for us. Our gift was a magnificent antique china serving tray that I knew we'd use a lot. After breakfast, we said our goodbyes once again, packed up, and took off for home. "This was a great trip. Thanks for taking me," Denny said, once we were underway. "Yeah, thanks," the rest of them said, in one form or another. "Was the basketball game as good as you guys thought it would be?" I asked. "Yeah. It was great," Tim said. "That's not something I'd want to do every week, though." "I know what you mean," Rick said. We all got quiet for a while. We stopped at our usual place in Alabama to use the restroom and to top off the gas tank. The Suburban handled beautifully on the road, and I was glad we had it. It was a gas guzzler, though. "Are you going to let Brian drive?" Justin asked. Brian, Tim, and Denny were still in the restroom. "He could use the practice." "Yeah, he can," Rick said. "I don't see why not, do you, Babe?" "No. He can drive. I hope he doesn't develop his boyfriend's lead foot, though," I said. Justin was grinning. "What?" he said, like he was an innocent babe. We all laughed. Brian had gotten his learner's permit in June, and Justin, Kyle, and Tim had all been teaching him how to drive. He had driven before on the Interstate when we went to Sarasota for Rick's grandfather's funeral and to Birmingham for the trial, and he might have had other experience, too, that I wasn't aware of. Brian got excited when we told him to drive. Rick sat next to him in the passenger's seat, and he kept a close eye on what he was doing. He drove very well, though, with minimal suggestions, but none of them had anything to do with safety. "Those boys at the party last night were gay, weren't they?" Denny asked. "Yeah. They're really nice, too," Kyle said. "They told us they're taking the year off to travel. Then they're going to be starting college at Tulane in the fall. They're going to live in an apartment over their garage, too." "Do you guys like the idea of living with my parents?" I asked. "We won't exactly be living with them, will we?" Kyle asked. "No, I guess you won't. I know they're going to love having you there," I said. "Kevin, I know it's early to start talking about us moving away, but will Trixie stay with you and Rick?" Justin asked. That hadn't crossed my mind, and I assumed he was asking about it on Brian's behalf. "She belongs to Kyle and Tim, doesn't she?" Rick asked. "I figured she belongs to all of us," Tim said. I suddenly got a great idea for Brian's birthday. They had all the trips they could reasonably handle, and they'd be out of school at least one day when we went skiing in January and again in February for the marathon and Mardi Gras. This gift would be perfect. Rick and I had made discrete inquiries about Brian's bank account, and we discovered he had six thousand dollars in savings. My parents had asked me about a gift for him, and I had told them we were trying to put together enough for him to buy a second-hand car or truck when he turned sixteen. I knew that between them my parents and my brother and sister-in-law would come through with a hefty sum, and I figured Gene and Rita, and George and Sonya were good for at least a thousand each. Rick and I didn't want to get into the business of buying a car for every foster kid who came to us, but somehow Brian seemed like a special case. He had been with us a long time already, and, since the trauma of almost losing him last summer, I think Rick and I had come to love him in a special way. Regardless, it wasn't fair to the others if we just out and out bought him a car. He'd have enough to get his own, though, of that I was pretty sure. "What would you say if we got another dog?" Kyle asked. "I think that's a great idea," Brian said. "I know so much more now about how to train one. It could keep Trixie company while we're at school, too." "What do you think, Babe?" I asked. "I don't have a problem with that," Rick said. "In fact, it'll be fun to have a baby in the house. I vote for another Lab, though." "Oh, definitely," Brian said. "And a black one, too." * * * Jeff and Ty were spending the night at our house. The Goodsons and George and Sonya decided to camp out in Kyle's condo. The Goodsons had one picked out for themselves in the same building, but the decorator was far from finished with it. Like their place in Destin, most of the furniture and wall hangings would be new. Tim and Kyle loved the idea that their two sets of parents were having a "sleep over" in Kyle's house, not that he used it much. "Daddy, there's some whiskey in the pantry in the kitchen," Kyle told his father in a very confidential tone of voice. "What are you doing with whiskey?" Gene demanded in what I recognized as the Emerald Beach tease style. "I don't know where it came from. I think the people who lived there before must have left it," Kyle said. "Yeah, people are always bad to leave whiskey when they move out of a place. They'll take the food out of the refrigerator and the laundry out of the dryer, but they'll damn sure leave the whiskey every time," Gene said. He and Kyle were having trouble not laughing. "I know," Kyle said. Gene grabbed Kyle in a headlock and pretended to smash his head into the wall. They were both laughing so hard they could barely stand up. When Gene let him go, Kyle grabbed Gene in the same kind of hold, only he kissed his forehead. "I love you and Mama so much," Kyle said. "And you know what, Kyle? We like you pretty good, too," Gene said. "Shit," Kyle said. Gene grabbed him in a bear hug, and Kyle reciprocated. I was touched. I thought about the millions of kids who never knew a father's love, and it made me a little sad. That night at "midnight" Mass Jerry talked about St. Joseph. Catholics "believe" that Mary and Joseph remained virgins all their lives and that Joseph was Jesus' foster father and not his biological one. It all seemed totally irrelevant to me, and I doubted strongly that Jerry believed it any more than I did. Regardless, though, he had the party line to toe, and he chose to speak about the nobility of fatherhood in general, and about the special significance foster fathers can play in the lives of their foster children. The whole homily was a celebration of our family, and that wasn't lost on any of us. Rita and Sonya wept shamelessly, and I noticed the odd tear creeping down the faces of the guys. Rick's face was awash with tears. When Rick cries, his nose runs. I guess that happens to most people, but he was especially bad about it. He kept wiping at his nose. He asked both Rita and Sonya if they had tissue in their purses, and they didn't. At that point he was desperate, and he did something that was totally Rick. He picked up a church bulletin from the rack for the hymn books on the back of the pew in front of us and blew his nose into it. He folded it shut and put it back. "God awmighty!" Justin said. "That was the nastiest thing I've ever seen in my life." "Shut up and pay attention," Rick said. "Pay attention? It's all I can do to keep my supper down," Justin said. "What would you have done?" Rick asked. "I don't know, but I wouldn't have done that," Justin said. "I guess I'd have gotten up and gone to the bathroom. They have 'em in here, you know?" "Shut up, Justin. Listen to Jerry," Rick said. "I'm not going to get up in the middle of his homily. That's too disrespectful." I was laughing so hard and trying to keep quiet about it that I'm sure I distracted everybody around me. I know I distracted Kyle, who was three or four people down from me. Distracting him was not difficult. "What's going on," he whispered loudly enough for me to hear it. "Nothing. Shut up," Rick whispered. I calmed down, and Justin let it drop. For then, at least. When Mass was over, I noticed Rick folded the fouled bulletin and put it in his pocket. Jerry; Pat Taylor and Mike Lawley, Jerry's brother and his brother's boyfriend; Jerry and Pat's parents and some friends of theirs who were visiting; and Father Tony Larson, the pastor of the parish, came over for drinks after Mass. The food from the New Orleans party was out on the dining room table. I went in there a couple of times for eats, and Justin was holding forth. He stopped talking when I came in, but they all had mischief on their faces. I knew something was up. The next morning I found out what had been going on in the dining room the night before. Justin had grabbed eight or ten bulletins from the church, and they had folded them up like handkerchiefs. They wrapped the package nicely (well, sort of), and those were Rick's gift from all the boys. That was probably the hit of the day. Christmas morning was fun, as it had been the year before. We all got letters telling us that money had been donated in our names to United Cerebral Palsy. We each got our "significant other" a gift. Rick gave me a few more lead soldiers for my collection, and I gave him a running outfit. Since Denny didn't have a boyfriend, all of us went in together and gave him a year's worth of selections from the Book of the Month Club. He went bananas over that, and I was glad we thought of it. Trixie got an electronic mouse from the boys. It was shaped like a computer mouse, but when she touched it, it scooted around and made a great noise. Brian demonstrated it for her, and she played with that thing off and on all day. The stocking gift from Kyle and Tim was a CD of a slideshow of pictures from throughout the year. It even had music. The rule was you couldn't spend more than ten dollars on the stuff you put in all the stockings, and they had definitely abided by that rule as far as what they had paid out was concerned. The difference was, many of the pictures were works of art, or close to it. Some were already hanging on the walls of a gallery in New York City with four-figure price tags, and a few had already been sold. It was great to have the year in pictures, though. "Can I put this on the family Web site?" Jeff asked. "No, I don't think so. The gallery guy in New York knows about that site, and he has a user name for it, Jeff. He's got the legal rights to some of the stuff on that CD. I know he's not going to want it on the Web," Kyle said. "That doesn't seem fair, Kyle. To not let your friends see it, I mean," Jeff said. "I know, Bubba, but that's the way it is. You know I'm not trying to make money off y'all. That's why I gave it to you, which is also probably against the law. But I trust y'all. I don't know who has a user name for that site of ours or what they might do. I think I need to stay within the law, you know?" Kyle said. "You damn sure do need to stay within the law," Gene said. "I didn't know you were making money selling pictures. I knew about the gallery, but are you selling any?" "Yes, sir, I've sold quite a few. Some of the ones on that CD, in fact. I got a letter the other day from some publishing company that thinks they want to talk to me about a book. A book of pictures, I guess. I don't know," Kyle said. "You got that letter here," Gene demanded. "Yes, sir," Kyle said. "Go get it right now," Gene said. Kyle scurried up the stairs and was back with the letter in two minutes or less. He handed it to Gene. Gene read the letter. "When were you going to tell us about this?" Gene demanded. "Now, I guess," Kyle said. "Son, this is an offer of a contract. It's not a 'let's sit and talk about it over coffee' letter. They want to make a book, Kyle. This publisher wants to make a book out of your pictures. Have you been back in touch with them?" Gene asked. "No, sir. Daddy, I just got it the day before we left. I was going to show it to you. I promise I was. I just didn't know what it was about," Kyle said. He was stressed. "Kyle, calm down. I'm excited and so proud I'm about to bust. I'm not mad at you, son," Gene said. "I thought you were mad at me, Daddy," Kyle said. "I know you did, and I'm sorry about that. Kyle, this is unbelievable, you know, son? I never dreamed one of my kids would publish a book, especially since you can barely write your own name," Gene said. That relieved the tension that had developed, and we all laughed. "Brunch is served," Rick said. He, Justin, Tim, and Brian had been busy in the kitchen. Kyle would have been there with them, had it not been for the letter. It was the same four casseroles we had had the year before, and they were delicious. Do two years make a tradition? In our family they did.
Seeing that letter from the publisher made me re-think my boy from top to bottom. It referred to him as an artist and to his pictures as his works. I wasn't into the "art scene" at all, and I knew Kyle wasn't, either. How the hell did this happen to a Beach Rat from Emerald Beach, Florida? And that's every bit of what he was. A Beach Rat. Just like me. Rita and I went to New York City on Christmas afternoon, just like we had done for several years. Only that year I was on a mission. I had to go to that gallery where Kyle's stuff was and talk to the man who ran it about his pictures. I knew he wouldn't make anywhere close to the amount of money he already had by taking pictures, but if my boy was really an artist, then, by God, I was going to do everything I could to help him. "Let's go down to the gallery where Kyle's pictures are. You want to?" I said to Rita, right after we had gotten to our room. She laughed. "Gene Goodson, how many galleries have I dragged you to in our years together?" "I don't know. Quite a few," I said. We were both laughing. "Exactly," she said. "Did you think for one instant that I wouldn't want to go to a gallery that had our boy's work in it?" "I see your point," I said. "Let's go," she said. We both laughed. I thought back to last year in that same hotel, that same room, maybe. We had made love for the first time in months, and I had thought then that it was the start of the love of my life coming back to me. Well, she was fully back that day. Clay was a memory we both cherished, but Kyle was our focus now. Kyle and Tim. Thank you, God, I thought. We've been through a lot, but we still have each other, and we still have Kyle. We went straight to that gallery in Soho. It had seven or eight rooms, and one of those rooms had a whole wall of pictures my boy had taken. There were pictures of Tim galore, and of Justin and Brian and Trixie and Kevin and Rick. He had even managed to take a few of himself. I went up to the young man who seemed to be in charge of the place. "Hi, I'm Eugene Goodson, and my son, Kyle Goodson, has some pictures hanging in here," I said. "Oh, my God! Mr. Goodson, wait right here," the guy said. He brought out another man in a minute. That guy was as happy as the first one had been to see us. He shook my hand way more than it needed to be shaken. "Kyle's some kind of prodigy, or something," the man said. His name was David, but I didn't catch the last name, if he even said it. "What's with this book offer?" I asked. "Do you know anything about that?" "It's very real. They want a book entitled Boy!, and they want it from Kyle." "Kyle is a boy. He's eighteen years old," I said. "I didn't realize that. My partner, who actually owns the gallery, has met Kyle, but I haven't," David said. "I wish he were here right now to meet you, but he's on an assignment." "We'll be in town a few days. Maybe we'll be able to stop by when he's here," I said. "He's doing a wedding today, but he's usually in here. He doesn't like doing weddings anymore, but this is a favor for a friend," David said. "Talk to me some more about this book deal," I said. "I don't know what to say. Do you have specific questions?" David asked. I realized I was putting the poor guy on the spot. "Does it happen often that the publisher just writes somebody a letter out of the blue like that?" I asked. "Not often, but it does happen," David said. "They used to be a vanity press, but over the last ten years or so they've become a regular publisher." "What's a vanity press?" I asked. "Typically, a vanity press requires the author to put up the money for x-number of copies of the book. Once those are sold, the author starts making money on the deal. That's not the way they do business any more, though. Now it's straight royalties," he said. Hell, I don't care if he does have to put up money, I thought. I was glad he didn't, but so what if he did? "Has your partner published any books like this one?" I asked. "Yes. Would you like to see them?" "Yes, I would, please," I said. He took us to a display rack where the books were on sale. They seemed to be about a hundred pages or so, and there was very little writing in them. Rita and I flipped through a couple. The pictures were good, but they weren't any better than Kyle's. A lot of the pictures were scenes in the city. I looked at the price tag on the one I was looking at, and the damn thing cost $65. Whoa! I thought. "Who buys these books?" I asked. "Is it mostly a gay market?" "Would that matter to Kyle?" he asked. "No, of course not. Kyle is gay, but it wouldn't matter even if he wasn't," I said. "Actually, it's hard to know for sure. A lot of the people who buy them here appear to be gay, but I'd say no more than half are, if that. People who like photography buy them," he said. "These are coffee table books, Gene," Rita said. "Am I right?" "Yes, that's pretty much the genre of any book of photographs. There isn't much to read, that's for sure," David said. "Who writes the stuff in them?" I asked. "The author, usually," he said. Duh! I thought. "Although I understand the company hires freelance copy writers at times. Would Kyle need help writing?" "I don't know. I sort of doubt it, but he might. He'd probably need help cleaning it up after it was written," I said. "That's the copy editor's job. Every author needs help with that," David said. "I work in publishing. I wish my company published books like these. I would definitely sign Kyle." "Frankly, David, I was stunned Christmas morning when Kyle told us about this book deal. He's only eighteen years old, you know. He's still in high school," I said. "I know. Kyle will get better as he matures, of that I'm certain, but there's a quality to his work that is highly distinctive and highly original. I mean, most of his pictures are of boys, and you feel as though you know those boys. The people who come in here rave about his work. That's why we're able to get so much for them." "How many have you sold?" I asked. "Scott, sweetie, pull Kyle's file, please," David asked the other boy. He brought it back in a minute. David went through the file, studying two or three of the invoices. "It looks like right at a dozen," he said. "How much does Kyle make on each one?" I asked. "Half," David said. I whistled softly. I was a businessman and I knew you sold merchandise at whatever price the market will bear. Kyle's pictures were one of a kind items, so I knew the markup had to be pretty steep. I had no idea he was making the kind of money he must have been making. "Forgive me if this is too personal, but are you and Kyle estranged?" he asked. I must have gotten a shocked look on my face. "Many gay teens are estranged from their parents, you know. Especially from their fathers," he said. "No, not at all. I think we're very close. Our late older son was also gay, and we don't have a problem with that at all. Rita, did you know about any of this?" "Just that he has pictures in a gallery and that a museum in Phoenix bought one," she said. "A museum?!" "David, is it?" "Yes," David said. "David, I'm sure the reason Kyle hasn't been more forthcoming about his photography with us is he considers it a hobby, an amusement. He mostly takes pictures for our family Web site that he and our late son's partner have on the Internet. Have you seen the site?" she asked. "No, I haven't," David said. "Is there a computer handy? We'll show it to you. You need a password to get to the pictures," she said. I noticed David and Scott look at one another with slight smiles. "Sure," David said. Rita opened the site and started showing David the pictures. "I was a little worried at first that it was a porn site," David said. "With the password and all. Some of these pictures on here are as good or better than the ones we have hung here. May we look at the nudes?" I figured they thought there was porno in that part of the site, but I knew they were going to be disappointed, if that's what they were after. The nude pictures were all of pool parties, beach volleyball on the island, and that sort of thing. There was one of Chip Rooney pointing to his naked crotch, and Brian and Justin had a magnifying glass looking at his equipment. The caption said "Hair!" I thought that was pretty cute, and David and Scott liked it, too. That was definitely something guys could identify with. "Boys have no shame," Rita said, in her most cultivated Charleston accent. All three men laughed, which was exactly what she wanted. We ended up buying six of those books, and I left the place feeling a lot better about what was going on with Kyle and his book. We never made it back to talk to the owner, but I felt good that the deal was on the up and up.
It was hard to believe that a whole year had already gone by since our trip to Sarasota last year at Christmas. Taking the kids last year had caused a major change in my relationship with my step-father, and I was looking forward to seeing him almost as much as I was to seeing my mom. Jeff wasn't going. He was still working at the hotel, and he gave the excuse that he had to work. We all knew that the real reason he didn't want to go was that Tyler couldn't go. "I miss Jeff," Kyle said on the road. Brian was driving again, and I was in the back with the boys. Kevin was watching Brian like a hawk up in the passenger seat. "I miss him, too, but he's where he wants to be," I said. "Did y'all know Tyler's getting out of the Coast Guard in March?" Justin asked. "I knew it was soon, but I didn't know when, exactly," Kevin said. "Are they planning anything major?" "Like moving away? I don't think so," Jus said. "They're not moving," Kyle said. "They love their townhouse, and Jeff can't afford to move until he graduates. He'd lose too many credits." "He's a junior, right," I asked. "Right," Kyle said. "He was talking the other day about getting an MBA. Can you do that at FSU in Emerald Beach?" "Yes, you can," Kevin replied. "It takes two full years of full-time work, though." "He won't be able to work?" Kyle asked. "Oh, yeah, but only part-time, like he's doing now. Jeff is a full-time student with a part-time job," Kevin said. "I think I'd be bored out of my skull if all I did was go to school," Kyle said. "That is all you do, dumbass. You ain't working," Justin said. "Bullshit. You try running the SGA. And the Inter-Club Council. What a fucking pain in the ass that is," Kyle said. "I thought you liked all that stuff," Justin said. "I do, but it's frustrating sometimes, you know?" Kyle said. "I'll bet I answer a hundred questions a day about stuff related to that, and almost every one is a decision I have to make. Homecoming about drove me crazy." "It would have been a short trip," Justin said. They had both used that line on each other before, but it was always funny to me. "Say it," Jus demanded, poking Kyle in the ribs. "Stop it. Leave me alone," Kyle said. "Not until you say it," Justin said, poking him again. "Alright! You got me last," Kyle said. "Satisfied? Asshole." "Don't make me have to jump that seat, Kyle," Justin said. "Brian, stop the car. Justin and I need to settle this once and for all," Kyle said. "Really?!" Brian asked. Kyle and Justin both laughed. "No, Little Buddy, that's just more of our bullshit," Justin said. "I want to see a fight," Denny said. "Yeah? I'll fight you when we get to where we're going," Justin said. "I don't want to fight you, Justin. You'd kill me," Denny said. "I know. The only reason I'm not going to do it is they'd have to close down the whole damn Northwest Florida Library System for a month in mourning, and the homeless guys would have no place to go," Justin said. We all laughed hard at that one. "I think you got me last, Bubba," Denny said. Justin was in the back seat with Denny, and he grabbed him in a headlock. It was pure affection, and everybody knew it. "You're catching on, aren't you? You're fitting in more and more. It's getting to where I'm almost starting to like you," Jus said. "You already like me," Denny said. "I know, but I can't let on to that. I'm a married man, and I can't let you-know-who know I like you," Jus said. We all laughed.
That was the first Christmas in my life that I ever had a good time. I had spent Christmas the year before all by myself. My mother left the day before Christmas Eve, and I didn't see her again until December 27th. I walked down to a church that was about a mile from our trailer and ate Christmas lunch with the people there. We weren't members of that church, but they made me feel welcome. At least I ate, and it was good, too. The trip to Sarasota was fun. I got to know Rick's mom and dad a little better, and they were super-nice to me. We stayed in a hotel because their house wasn't big enough for anybody but Rick and Kevin, but the boys all had a real good time. Kyle had a bottle of whiskey, and I drank some of that for the first time in my life. I smoked a couple of cigarettes, too, which I had never done before. I had wanted to try it, but after those two I knew it wasn't for me. We went to several state parks while we were in Sarasota. At one place, we went into this underwater passageway so we could see the manatees. I knew everybody wanted to save the manatees, but, after seeing them, I didn't know why. "Kyle, that one looks just like your butt," Justin said. "Kyle's butt is ten times cuter than that thing," Tim said. He grabbed Justin's butt to make his point. "Ow! Cut it out, Tim. Kyle, call him off me," Justin said. Everybody laughed. "Down, Tim," Kyle said, and everybody laughed again. I didn't laugh much growing up. There wasn't anything to laugh about. Sure, sometimes I would read funny stuff in a novel, and then I would laugh. But real life had no fun for me. With them, everything was fun. * * * After we got home, Brian was ready to show off what he and the dog man had taught Trixie. Kyle and his dad were going to shoot some birds, and Trixie was going to retrieve them. The whole crowd of us went, and Trixie acted like she knew it was her debut. We went out to a field that Mr. Goodson's friend owned. It had been planted in grain to attract the birds, and there were a bunch of them. "Flush," Brian said, and Trixie ran off. All of a sudden there were birds in the air. They shot, and I saw some of them fall. Trixie was back. "Fetch," Brian said, and she went out. She came back with two in her mouth, and then she went out again. She came back with one more. Brian was so excited, and I could tell Trixie was, too. They did that a bunch more times, and then it was over. They had gotten the limit. "Brian, that's a fine dog there, son," Mr. Goodson said. "Thank you for your hard work, Bubba." Brian was grinning. "We're getting a puppy," Brian said, "and I'm going to train it, too." "Ole Mack Mixon told me you're damn sure a dog man, Brian, and a good one, too," Mr. Goodson said. Brian was beaming. "He should know, son," Mr. Gene said. "Yes, sir. Mr. Mack's the best," Brian said. "That he is, son," Mr. Gene said. * * * Christmas vacation ended too fast, and, all of a sudden, it was time to start school again. Justin was funny at the breakfast table the morning of the first day. "God, awmighty! I'm so nervous, I'm about to puke," Justin said. "What are you so nervous about? You got a sperm count test today?" Kyle asked. "I'll count your sperm as they drip out of your asshole when I get through with you if you keep that shit up," Justin said, pointing at Kyle. Justin and Kyle threatened each other with physical violence constantly, but nothing ever happened. It was always hilarious, too. "You bad need that biology course you're taking, Bubba, if you think you can make that happen," Kyle said. They both laughed, and so did everybody else. "Are you really that nervous, Jus," Rick asked. It sounded like he was a little bit worried about Justin. "Rick, don't play up to him. That's a damn act," Kyle said. Kyle and Justin laughed. "No, I'm okay, Rick," Jus said. "I'm a little nervous but nothing like I was first semester. I know I can do good in college." It was time for us to leave. The holidays had been wonderful, but now they were over. It was back to school days for us. |