[Fiction]

[Execution Cover]

May, 1987: The End of School

An Excerpt from Execution, Texas: 1987

"Kiss that shit goodbye," LaTonia shouted. She and Seeger exited the climate-controlled corridors of mandatory education forever. Afternoon heat crashed down around them like a blanket soaked in hot soup. Their arms chicken-skinned. Steaming grass, dirt, and asphalt filled their lungs. Wading into the chrome reflections that ricocheted across the parking lot, Seeger scanned the crowd for Kent.

LaTonia shimmied down the steps, shaking her briefcase and singing, "Ain't no stoppin' us now -- "

"Oh, you be so illing," Seeger said. "The sistah -- "

A sweaty male mass landed on Seeger's back. Arms around his neck, light tan with pale, tickling hairs, a scattering of those dizzying freckles, swelling forearms, deodorized sweat, nails bitten to the fingertips, scar on right index knuckle ...

"Hey, you fuck!" Kent shouted.

Spectacular, Seeger thought. Exactly how the last day of high school should be. "Look, 'Tonia," he said, "It's that Kent Lasagna. He's just now becoming a junior."

LaTonia curled her lip. "High school fool," she growled. "Triple-processed Bootney Farnsworth."

Kent's brows knitted for half a second as he glanced at LaTonia. He shook his head, tossed his carroty bleached bangs, and grinned brilliantly at Seeger. "Don't give me that 'just a junior' shit, studmonger; you're only a year older than me."

A house key, dangling from his neck on a dirty shoelace, bounced against his 'EHS Wrestling" T-shirt's muscular horned toad. His glasses reflected the merciless North Texas sun, harsh flares obscuring luxurious sorrel eyes.

"Yeah, but I'm a graduate now, that's all that counts."

"Yeah yeah yeah," Kent said, "Big Dick on Campus skipped third grade. Rah rah rah. You giving me a ride or what?"

Can't believe this guy likes me, Seeger thought. I'm such a skinny, faggy twerp, and this guy actually likes me. "Ask Ms. Freeman. I didn't drive today."

The boys sat books atop LaTonia's blue Cutlass. She clicked open her attaché and pulled out her keys. "Why don't you go ride with Isaac, Bootney?" She slammed her case. "He lives right next to you."

"I don't think so." Kent swayed shoulders petulantly. "I need to go straight to work. The Oshman's Sporting Goods off Arapaho."

LaTonia shot Seeger a grave look.

Kent stood outside the car door. "I want front," he pouted.

"Sit in my lap," Seeger suggested.

LaTonia leaned across the seat. "Backseat, Kent," she ordered. Despite Cordelia's commandeering Seeger's free time, LaTonia adored Cordelia. Her loyalty to Seeger extended to only humoring his obsession with Kent.

Seeger spun the radio to the Fresh Rock channel. "Damn music," LaTonia muttered. "Cockatoo-headed crackers -- "

"Just deal, OK?" Seeger rolled his eyes.

"Look what I got for my locker next year," Kent said, holding up a Teen Beat centerfold of Judd Nelson. "My sister, Saint Cecilia of Brainhood, has always been too good for this kind of thing, so her poor deprived little brother has to fend for himself."

"Then why'd you pick that big butthole?" asked LaTonia, appraising Kent in the rearview. She threw on brakes and they all jerked forward, back. A handsome student with pensive eyes and a trumpet had run in front of them. He jumped, peered in LaTonia's car.

Seeger and Jésus met eyes through the windshield.

Parked behind Bowie Middle School, he and Jésus had jammed themselves behind the steering wheel of Jésus' puke-green '74 Buick Regal. Their lips had pressed together while a boombox had poured out Marc Almond and Jimmy Sommerville's euphoric cover of that old Donna Summer song, "I Feel Love." Jimmy's tremulous falsetto and Marc's writhing tenor had swirled about his and Jésus' passionate wrestling. Seeger had thrown his head back, gasping as Jésus sucked his dick.

"Not so loud," Jésus had giggled, lifting his head up from Seeger's lap. Seeger had stared out the window, steam diffusing the mammoth December moon into a silver aura enveloping the car. Seeger had basked in body heat, love, his possession of openly gay pop music, and relief over finally turning sixteen. According to Bronski Beat's The Age of Consent album sleeve, Seeger had come of legal age to have sex with men in Denmark, France, Holland, Hungary, Italy, Norway, Portugal, Poland, and Switzerland. Even though sodomy was illegal at any age in Texas, 1986 nevertheless had blossomed before him like a glistening, mercury magnolia, full of infinite potential.

"You sure I can come in?" Jésus had asked later, under the emergency-red glare of the Kings' porchlight. He'd smoothed his hair and denim shirt.

"Yeah, why not?" Seeger had wiped his mouth on his hand. "God, my hand smells like your dick."

"I wonder why?" Jésus had snickered, looking around the gravel-filled yard. He'd nodded toward a clump of prickly pear cactus under the master bedroom window. "You can eat those, you know."

"Yeah, I know, you've told me." Seeger had pulled out his house key but hesitated. "What's bugging you?"

"I don't know, your mom just seems all weird around me."

Seeger had sighed. "That's just because you're Mexican. She doesn't know you're my boyfriend." He'd spread his arms for inspection. "Spot check?" Jésus had studied him. "Shirt tucked in? No come stains on pants?"

"You're fine. Me?"

"Yeah."

Seeger had breathed deep, smelling frost's clean promise in the cold air, seasoned with the musky sex remnants around his lips. Perfect, Seeger had thought. Back in the car, that was an absolutely perfect moment. This is a perfect night. I'll keep it locked in memory for the rest of my life.

"Thanks for the birthday present," he'd said, voice cracking and unsteady. He'd lunged forward and embraced Jésus, feeling as if he'd cry. The pressure of another cock against his had, again, astounded him.

"Hey!" Jésus had jerked away.

"No one's watching," Seeger had said darkly and shoved open the door.

"LaTonia and Cordelia came by looking for you," Abe had announced as they'd entered.

"Come see what they brought!" Rhonda had sung out from the kitchen.

A small grocery-store cake had graced the center of the table, with sixteen candles and "Sweet Sixteen" scripted across an idyllic green pasture of icing. Plastic cows and candy boulders had accessorized the corners.

"Oh God!" Seeger had gasped.

"Lord's name," Rhonda had warned.

"Sorry." He'd stuck his finger in the icing. "That's so sweet of them."

"They said they had to get ready for Sam's New Year's party and didn't want to leave it there 'cause everyone would eat it," Rhonda had explained. "They said they'd just meet y'all at Sam's house later. Y'all want some cokes? Dr Pepper's got NutraSweet now."

The boys had shaken their heads. "No thanks, ma'am," Jésus had said.

Seeger had beamed, happily sung at the center of attention.

"Look!" he'd said, cutting through the sweet, buttery meadow, "It's a 'chocolate ... devil's food ... cake.'" He'd enunciated the words seductively, imitating the B-52's song, "Cake."

Jésus had smiled and continued the quote. "'Nothing like a chocolate ... devil's food ... cake.'"

"'Cinnamon. Sugar.'"

"'Mm-hm. I swear.'"

"I'd say it's a pretty weird cake for a guy," Abraham had grumbled.

Seeger and Jésus had shared a look of disbelief at Abraham's obliviousness to their musical reference.

"But that's your friends," Abraham had continued, " -- weird."

"There's not going to be any drinking or wildness at this party tonight, is there?" Rhonda had asked. "Y'all aren't going all the ways into Dallas, now, are you?"

"No," Seeger had muttered around a chocolate mouthful.

"Well, now. We're letting you stay out late since it's New Year's and your birthday, but you still need to be home by one. You get drunks on the road even this far outside Dallas. So drive real careful." Rhonda had given Jésus a sharp glance.

"Hadn't y'all better get a move on?" Abraham had said. "Don't want to keep y'all's dates waiting."

"Aaaabe," Seeger had groaned, "they aren't our dates! Cordelia goes out with Sam and LaTonia and me -- "

"LaTonia and I."

"We're all just friends." Jésus had shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, right," Abraham had said, nodding knowingly. "Just have fun and be careful."

"Yeah yeah yeah, OK." Seeger had thrown on his trench coat, scowling. You don't know shit, he'd thought and ushered Jésus to the door.

"Hey, son -- one more thing."

"What?!"

"Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," he'd muttered between his teeth and yanked open the door for Jésus.

"Damn, it was Fuckpig Jésus," LaTonia said, wincing from where the steering wheel had jabbed her chest. "Shit, Seeg, if I'd had my eyes open, I could've iced your ex, and it would have been an accident."

LaTonia blared her horn. Jésus scurried away.

Seeger held his breath and, with a purposefully blank face, checked the rearview. Had Kent heard that? Had he understood about him and Jésus?

Kent smiled. "Ain't Judd Nelson a hot pup? He's a Sagittarius."

Seeger exhaled slowly. "Um ... my moon's in Sag," he sputtered, trying to anchor onto a new subject.

"Libra. And my name is Charles," LaTonia said with caustic suaveness, eying Kent. "That crap's only good for picking up stupid men."

"Are you into it?" Kent asked Seeger dubiously.

Seeger blinked. Great, now I sound like some kind of New Age freak. "Oh," he said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, "my real mom is. She had my chart done a few years back."

"I don't know my sign." Kent frowned at the centerfold. "It says Judd likes Scorpios." His face lit up with an exaggerated, vacuous grin. "And blondes!"

Seeger snatched the picture. "I don't think that's suitable material for such an innocent mind." Kent grabbed his wrist; Seeger pushed his face. Judd fell to the floorboards. They scuffled for several blocks.

"King station." LaTonia jerked to a stop in front of the Kings' sandstone, pumice, and cactus yard. Seeger clambered out of the car, legs tangling in the seatbelt while he struggled not to spill his books. Kent jumped out easily behind him.

"So," Seeger said. What do I say? Ask him out, like on a date? What are you supposed --

"Kent, come on, boy, get back in," LaTonia barked. "I got to get to work."

"Call me, OK?" Seeger blurted out as Kent slid back into the car. Oh, fuck, that sounded really desperate. He felt sick. Don't jump all over him, keep in control, and maybe you'll see him again soon.

Kent stuck his head out the window. "Yeah, OK. Hey -- a bunch of us are going to Six Flags sometime ... "

Seeger soared, nodding excessively. I'm in! Knew it. It'll happen. Kent'll go for me -- if I don't fuck things up.

Tell Cordelia I'm still up for next Wednesday," LaTonia interrupted, crushing Kent into his seat as she leaned across him, "if y'all want to double and meet you-know-who." Seeger nodded, still looking at Kent. She nodded and returned to her seat, patting Kent's chest. She gunned the engine and they drove off.

Seeger floated in to his house, shamelessly happy. Kent definitely likes me. Yeah, yeah, maybe more than likes me. Plus no more fucking fascist school, parental units aren't home, and a check sits on the kitchen table, next to some bloody pro-life brochures. He stuck out his tongue at the wrangled fetuses. Way subtle, he thought.

The $100 graduation check was from his grandmother, which meant he could afford to get Marc's "Mother Fish" 12" and "Melancholy Rose" double-7" with the special Kurt Weill B-sides he'd seen at Record Gallery. Life was giddily perfect.

He saw a note to call Cordelia. Rhonda had drawn a cartoon valentine heart with a crooked eyebrow and threatening scowl and written, "Soon!" Seeger hesitated in the center of the kitchen. He pocketed the note. He stretched out on the couch, awaiting Kent's call.

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