39. Oliver

“I know the story,” Ned said. “I know the whole bit.” Smiling shyly at me. Soft eyes, cow eyes, looking into mine. “You don’t need to be afraid of being what you are, Oliver. You mustn’t ever be afraid of what you are. Can’t you see how important it is to get to know yourself, to get into your head as far as you can go, and then to act on what you find in there? But instead so many people set up dumb walls between themselves and themselves, walls made out of useless abstractions. A lot of Thou Shalt Nots and Thou Dost Not Dares. Why? What good is any of that?” His face was glowing. A tempter, a devil. Eli must have told him everything. Karl and me, me and Karl. I wanted to smash Eli’s head for him. Ned circled around me, grinning, moving like a cat, like a wrestler about to spring. He kept his voice low, almost a crooning tone. “Come on, Ol. Loosen up. LuAnn won’t find out. I don’t play kiss and tell. Let’s go, Ol, let’s do it, let’s do it. We’re not strangers. We’ve kept apart long enough. This is you, Oliver, this is the real you in there who wants to get out, and this is the moment for you to let him come out. Will you, Ol? Will you? Now? Here’s your chance. Here I am.” And he came close to me. Looked up at me. Short little Ned, chest-high to me. His fingers lightly running along my forearm. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t touch me, Ned.” He continued to smile. To stroke me. “Don’t refuse me,” he whispered. “Don’t deny me. Because if you do, you’ll be denying yourself, you’ll be refusing to accept the reality of your own existence, and you can’t do that, Oliver, can you? Not if you want to live forever. I’m a station you’ve got to pass through on your journey. We’ve both known that for years, down deep. Now it surfaces, Ol. Now everything surfaces, everything converges, all time runs to now, Ol, this place, this room, this night. Yes? Yes? Say yes. Oliver. Say yes!”