i squeezed my sphincters, making it last, and shut my eyes more tightly. “Guy,” he whispered back, and turned, and kissed my shoulder. It wasn’t gay, but only because it was 1993. We graduated two days later, our parents and grandparents in town, and Angela and he married that fall. I didn’t marry Tiffany, but I married a woman like her, years later. As for them, they look happy, from afar, and I think my wife and I are happy, too.īut I wonder if he feels what I feel, that I’ve never been as close to anyone as I was to him, and that, somehow, all those little towns and homes in Indiana were part of it. We shared the same sun, see? So it was all in the same world, and so their mere existence near us, with all their normality and Dan-Quayle values, proved that it wasn’t weird, that it was the same world, and the world didn’t fall apart. They were as much our shelter that day as the sunny 1960ish dorm that housed us.
