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Stonewall: Stories of Gay Liberation 99

fighting and killing and raping and molest ing, because that’s the only
way they can make the world that damages them everyday make any
sense is if they do some of the damage them selves. Everybody but a
fool knows when you can’t beat it, you join it.”
“You expect him, the guy in the picture...”
“God.”
“...God...to speak to you and tell you what to do?”
“I expect he’ll tell me if I should do any damage for him and if
I should, to who. Maybe to you. Maybe to me. Maybe to anybody
he tells me to. Nobody ever went to hell for that.” Robert smiled
and took a step forward. “Take it easy, Floyd. Relax.”
Floyd pasted a smile on his face but his heart was racing.
“See what I mean about a little scare getting your attention?”
Robert broke into guffaws of snorting laugh ter.
“You were putting me on?”
“I bet I had you so scared you had a bone on.”
“You were putting me on!”
“If you think so, Floyd, ol’ buddy! You should’ve seen your face,
a hundred times over, scared sure as hell, curving off in those mirrors,
which, by the way, could stand a bit of washing. Shoot, I was just
kidding you, wasn’t I? ‘Don’t kid a kidder,’ you told me, but I did
and you took it hook, line, and sinker. You wait awhile and you’ll
get to know I got a real killer sense of humor.”
“Never mention killing.”
“Hey!” Robert said. “That’s a figure of speech. Nothing is what
it seems. It’s all mirrors. One thing’s always meaning some other
thing besides what a person thinks it means. You know that, being a
barber, standing between your mirrors in all those parallel universes.
I’m not dumb, you know. I’ve spent most of my life in recent years
reading all kinds of the strangest things so the inside of my head’s
like an encyclopedia. My second-cousin, Ollie Thomas, who’s madam
librarian back home told me so.”
“Perhaps you have,” Floyd said, “low blood sugar. I myself often
experience strange mood swings.”

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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