I stuck to my guns over the next few weeks. I went from work to my patch of grass almost every day. I suppose losing love could make a boy more cautious about love. Free and I were quite young. I turned eighteen and he turned nineteen while we were together. I couldn't offer him a home, but the Navy could.

No one could see a thing like that coming, but things like that happened. We coasted to a halt the day I watched the Navy bus carry him out of my life.

I coasted back to the grassy patch as the central location where many skaters passed each day. When I was coasting, I thought about nothing in particular. It was like catching a wave. When I caught one, it carried me away. I didn't know where I might end up, but I willingly went with it.

If I had a tutor to help me negotiate the tight turns and road blocks life has a habit of throwing in our way, I might crash less often.

Gordo was a five car pileup on the freeway. I was lucky to walk away with my life. Before I went anywhere, I tried to love Gordo. Free was a smooth but exciting ride that ran out of gas. Skip was great, predictable, and so far dependable. Skip might crash. He'd never run out of gas.

When I sat on my patch of grass, my mind worked overtime. What was I thinking about? I thought about where I'd been, where I was going, but mostly I thought about where I was. I was in search of a nice boy.

Skip was a good teacher. A tutor in how to make love certainly, but he was in love with a boy he hadn't seen since high school. He graduated college the year we met. Chet was older than Skip. He graduated while Skip was a junior, and Chet went off to seek his fortune, once he was out of school. He did graduate, but only because Skip's parents let him live at their house.

I knew what Free looked like. I'd seen Navy boys in San Diego. Free would have no difficulty whatsoever finding a boy or boys who would give him what he liked most. It said, letting my heart ache for him was a fool's errand. Thinking about him had slowed with so much in my life to be considered, but I was thinking about him more than ever.

I would meet a nice boy who would take my mind off of Free. As true as Free intended to be to me, those Navy boys were a lot handier than I was. One of those boys wouldn't waste much time latching on to him. They'd always be together, and I'd be wherever I was. Free had seen what I was seeing by now. Sitting on my patch of grass, there was nothing stopping me from entertaining thoughts of finding more love. I wanted to avoid boys like Gordo. I'd even avoid boys like Skip. He was great and I loved him, but he was never going to be the answer for my need to love and be loved.

Waiting for love to come my way wasn't smart. As I said, if I had a tutor, I might crash less often. I knew most of the skaters in El Cajon, and none of them was going to be suitable as a long term lover. They might be more than happy to get together for some lusty linking, but I'd already know if I liked one more than I liked the rest of them, and I didn't. Having skaters to run with was a good idea.

I'd been here over three years. Love wasn't waiting around the corner, but when I least expected it, that's when I'd find my next love. Once I made some friends, then, I could think more seriously about finding love.

If love was a horse, I'd ride it. If love was a car, I'd drive it. If it really wasn't love, I'd figure that out. Some love was bound to be temporary, and in that case, I'd see the dead end sign dead ahead. Because each love was loved in its own universe, you needed to learn how to love your man all over again.

Because of the stigma attached, boys weren't always in for love, or in for whatever it was they had on their mind once they see a boy they like. As I grew and experienced more of life, the less I knew. Actually, I didn't know less, I could see how much there was to learn. What I knew was a fraction of what I needed to know to be well informed.

One thing was for certain, I'd never get trampled under the feet of boys wanting to love me. As good as Skip looked, he wasn't in danger of it either. Boys were cautious about letting anyone know their inner most feelings, and some ended up married to a woman, when they actually fancied men more.

If I saw a boy I liked, I waited for an opportunity to speak to him. I recognize there is chemistry that goes with love. If there was no chemistry, there wasn't likely to be any love. Chemistry was a hard substance to deny.

If you don't feel a rush from elevated blood pressure and accelerated heartbeats, what you are feeling might not be love, you might be catching flu.

I wanted more than Skip could give me, but I feared giving him up. He was familiar. Sex once or twice a week with Skip was the best sex I ever had. Skip not only knew where everything went, he made the going there absolutely wonderful.

Skip was where my quandary was. I loved him. He liked me. You see the problem. I wanted him to be crazy about me, but that wasn't happening. I took what I could get without getting everything I wanted. It was a compromise, but I still felt like I was getting the best of the deal. I went surfing and I was with Skip. I didn't feel like it was a hardship being with him.

I longed for the never ending presence of a boy like Free, who was as innocent as me, but who was crazy about me. Skip realized the power he had over me, but he didn't take advantage of me, because I was a willing accomplice.

Besides, maybe it was too soon to jump back into love. I wasn't over Free. I might never be over him. Skip was safe. He loved another boy, but so did I.

I hoped Skip didn't get tired of me. What happens when he finds Chet?

Was I even ready to love again?

What if Free came back? I could play with Skip until he did, but I knew that ship had sailed. I hadn't received a letter in months. I was able to read between the lines. Free was telling me what I already knew and didn't want to accept.

Did I need to charge back into love? The pain from losing Free was fresh, after over a year I wasn't ready to charge anywhere. There were less stressful ways to do things. I could position myself to be available for what I was after.

My life couldn't be less stressful. I liked my job. I liked being with Skip.

I couldn't really put my finger on what would make my life better.

I understood I needed to do more to get where I wanted to be. I wanted to be in circulation, but it was way easier to ride the wave I was on. I wasn't going to do anything to queer the ride I was on. It's not like I didn't have plenty of time.

I knew people who hadn't loved anyone. I wondered about people who came into Hitchcock's. Some had a far away look in their eyes. They looked lonely, like they hadn't known love. I looked at myself in the mirror at work. Did I look like those lonely folks? Did I look like someone who lost at love?

I missed Free. I suppose it was still eating at me. Free was gone for good. I knew that. I was eighteen when he left. What did I know about love? How could I possibly know how to react. I needed to let go, but I wanted to hold on for dear life.

When you love a boy, and you lose him, who does a boy talk to? Who is there to tell me how to deal with my pain?

Letting go of Free would be the smart thing to do. How did I let go of someone who took a piece of my heart with him when he left? Who did I know who loved another boy and had to give him up? I surfed with the only boy who said he loved a boy who left him. He was still holding on to the hope he'd get back together with Chet one day.

I didn't want to be longing for Free in five years. I needed to turn the page. I was clinging to a slim hope Free would come back after all this time. I was willing to go all the way with Skip. We were together and enjoyed each other's company the days we went surfing, but Skip didn't want more than that from me, which left me in a holding pattern I was just coming out of.

Who was there to talk to about such things? I'd found gay literary sites on the Internet, and I read the stories I find on the sites. It's all there if you want to learn about boys who love each other. It makes me feel better to read about people like me. At least I know there are more people like me than I thought.

I came from a place where I didn't dare love a boy. I didn't dare let anyone know I liked boys. Compared to that, in California, I was on a joy ride, but losing the love I found left me without the boy I loved, and that left me with doubts about myself and about how best to get where I was going.

There was no one to talk to about myself or my feelings for boys. Beyond being told to be celibate, and that ship had sailed, there were no messages for boys who love boys, except don't do it.

Even in California, where plenty of boys would let a boy give him what for, he wasn't getting into an intellectual discussion about doing it.

He'd heard the messages too. No one was supposed to be doing anything with anyone. Talking about getting his dick sucked was not in the cards. The last thing a boy wanted to do was talk about it with a boy who just blew him.

Talking about sex was taboo, no matter who you were doing it with. I suppose there were couples who could discuss what they were doing and how to do it better, but they were a small minority, and they probably didn't hear the message about staying mum on the subject.

Talking about it while smoking an after sex cigarette only happened in movies. What a guy is likely to be saying after a drag, 'How about them Yankees!'

Boys weren't talking about sex beyond the bragging they do in bars.

The attitudes that were in vogue certainly weren't encouraging to me. It didn't make life any less complicated, especially for a guy who didn't feel what he was told to feel, and who wasn't doing it the way he was told to do it.

I craved a love like I had with Free. I feared love, now that love had gone. As much as I loved the idea of love, I didn't like how love left me feeling.

Did I want to love again? Did I want to risk being hurt by love again?

I sat on the grassy spot near the mall, pondering what I wanted.

I did think too much about love. My subconscious mind was nursing my pain while keeping me out of harm's way. I liked what I was doing. I wasn't ready to take another leap into love. I thought this would change. I didn't know when.

"Hey, Timmy," I said, and Timmy gave me a big smile.

"Hi, Z."

Something held me in place. Timmy was cute. I would have given him a go when I first arrived in El Cajon. I thought most California boys looked good with their tight bodies and nice tans. This was about the pain in my heart left by Free.

I dearly loved him. I'd never get over him, but he hurt me in a way no boy could before. There is nothing worse than fearing your buds, and then, once you stopped being afraid and took the plunge, it ended with your heart breaking.

Had I latched on to a surfer at one of the Beach Boys' beaches, if I'd fallen for John or Eddie, I might have a more casual feeling about boys and sex. I'd gone from knowing absolutely nothing about having a boy to knowing far more than it was safe to know. Knowing pain has nothing to do with knowing love, but it had everything to do with what Free left me feeling.

I was hungry. I was comfortable there on the lawn, but I was going to go to the house to get dinner in a few minutes, but I'd be back in a day or two.

It was Mexican night, and I wasn't going to be late. I could eat Mexican food cold, and I still liked it, but when it was piping hot, it was awesome.

The same could be said about boys. I would be more careful with boys. Any that could possibly break my heart were out of the running.

When I saw the next skater coming my way, I couldn't help but smile. There was no tonic like an old friend.

"Ralph," I said. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Z, where you been? I looked for you for a while, but once you didn't show up for so long, I forgot there was a Z," Ralph explained.

Ralph had grown some. He wasn't very big. He was skinny as ever and he needed a bath.

"Mexican night. You can get a nice meal and a hot shower. The clothes that were too big for you before, might fit you now."

My parents would be glad to see Ralph. They liked him.

"Where you been, Z? I never see you, I thought you moved."

"I was going with someone. Then, I wasn't," I explained.

"Free," Ralph said. "He's been gone a while, hasn't he?"

"Over a year now. I never went back to doing things I did before Free. Today, I decided to come here and see what happened."

"I happened," Ralph said. "I missed you. You always treat me nice. Not a lot of people treat me nice. Other skaters and you, Z."

"I'm a skater," I said.

"Yeah, but you don't run with skaters. You're different. Free was different. He didn't run with skaters who don't have a home. Someone said he lived in the woods. I heard he joined the Navy. That why you aren't with him?"

"Yeah, he joined the Navy."

"If you can't live at home, there's nowhere for us to go. The authorities hunt us. Cops chase us. Skaters take care of each other. We know how to stay out of the hands of the man."

"I think about you, but with work and being in the frame of mind I've been in, I stay to myself. I have a friend I surf with. Keeps me off my skateboard."

"That's cool. I surf with a couple of surfer friends. I don't have a board, but one boy has a older board. Lets me use it. Nothing like surfing," Ralph said.

"Isn't that required of a California boy?" I asked.

"I guess so, but I'm from Idaho. I only came here a few years ago. It gets cold in Idaho. Not as many skaters in Idaho. No skater's culture like here."

"Idaho," I said. "Not as far as Massachusetts but plenty far enough. What made you come here?"

"It's cold in Idaho. Nowhere to go and California sounded warm to me."

It was funny how little we knew about each other.

When we were together, we made small talk. I didn't ask a street kid questions. If he wanted to talk about his life, I'd listen. Ralph didn't have a lot to say. Since he was homeless, I could understand.

"You miss him?" Ralph asked. "I've never loved anyone. I've never been loved by anyone. I do wonder about love. I like John, and he looks after me. We keep each other warm some nights. He's big and cuddly. I feel safe with him."

I laughed.

"I wonder about love a lot. How old is John?" I asked.

"Twenty-two. He worries about me. I try to be around him at night."

"Makes you feel safer," I said.

"Yeah. Ace and Beamo sleep where we sleep. Someone always has food, and I can sleep without my stomach keeping me awake."

"Well, my parents will have dinner on the table shortly. I know you like Mexican. Come on home with me and after dinner you can take a shower and see if the clothes I out grew will fit you."

"Do I smell that bad? You've mentioned me showering twice. I like baths."

"Great, I've got some neat bubble bath I use. I get in the tub and stay in there for about an hour," I said.

"I'd look like a prune in an hour," Ralph said with his biggest smile.

"You will not," I said, dropping my skateboard on to the sidewalk.

As I suspected, my parents were delighted to see Ralph. They'd considered trying to get custody of him, but Ralph didn't come back for a long time. After that, the subject didn't come up again.

Like many kids who can't live at home any longer, they know what it's like living in a house and it didn't work out and they had no urge to try it again. I couldn't imagine not having great parents. I'm glad I didn't need to.

My parents knew the score once they brought the subject up and Ralph didn't come back after that.

There were plenty of tacos, burritos, and enchiladas. The rice and beans melted in my mouth. My father always got extra, and on Mexican nights or pizza night, I'd be back downstairs emptying the fridge of any leftovers.

"What do you think Mexicans think of our Mexican food?" Ralph wondered.

"It's loosely based on Mexican dishes and seasonings. Americans always take what other people eat and adapt it to American tastes. I think they're flattered. They have wonderful food," my father said.

"It's delicious," Ralph said. "I appreciate you feeding me. I do like Mexican."

"Any time you want to take dinner with us, you come over, Ralph," my mother said. "We always have plenty."

We did but I doubted Ralph would come over except when he came with me. I didn't know he wouldn't show up, but he hadn't come by in well over a year. If he thought I moved, he never checked by coming to the house.

Once dinner was done, Ralph and I went upstairs to my room. I got several changes of clothes I'd out grown and gave them to Ralph to take into the bathroom with him. He sat on my bed and watched me empty a drawer.

"I can only wear one set of clothes," he reminded me.

"You have a choice. I've outgrown them. You take what you want."

"One set of clothes is plenty. I'd only lose extra. I don't stay in the same place every night. I hang with Mexican boys in Balboa Park some weeks."

"Suit yourself, Ralph. You can have any of these you want."

"What if I liked the shirt you had on," he said, looking me over.

I took off my shirt and handed it to him.

"I worked in it today. I can wash it if you stay over tonight."

"Just like I figured. You'd give me the shirt off your back. I don't want your shirt, Z. You're okay. Your parents are nice too. I don't mind adults so much. They often don't have any use for me," Ralph said.

"I am holding you to a bath with bubbles. I won't know how much to use. You can put that in once I get the water right."

I'd never seen Ralph's body. I could tell he'd grown, but he was bashful. He dressed and undressed in private. I was bashful when I was his age. As open as he was about most things, he did have his limits.

He had grown a little but my clothes were still big on him. My shorts were mostly cutoff jeans. My waist wasn't big. I had a belt I'd give him if he needed it

He was drying his hair when he came out of the bathroom an hour later. I was on the computer. The TV was on in the background. I wasn't paying any attention. Ralph was immediately sitting on the bed looking into the screen.

"You staying tonight?" I asked.

"I will stay but no funny stuff. I don't come home with you for that. I need to put out too often to need to do it for a meal."

"You have no worry, Ralph. You're too young for me," I told him. "I bring you home because I like you and we're friends. I'll be around more. You'll see."

I hadn't given Ralph much consideration when I went to sit on the grass, but I did think about him and I worried about him. I'd seen him with John, and with John being older, I figured Ralph knew who he was safest being with.

John was always nice to me. He'd made it obvious I could give him what for any time I wanted. He was hot. I only didn't take him up on his offer because we always ran into each other at the wrong time. Since Ralph depended on him, I'd leave John alone.

"What is this?" Ralph asked, looking at the television. "It's black and white."

"Maltese Falcon. It's an old class, Bogarts breakout movie," I explained.

"Bogart?" he asked.

"Movie star. Once he did this movie, he was a star. He's a good actor. Died too young."

"I'll take your word for it," Ralph said.

I turned the bed now and put two pillows at the top of the bed for us to be able to watch the TV. Ralph wore the clothes that fit him best and he'd wear them when he left in the morning.

I fell asleep toward the end of Maltese Falcon. I didn't know if they found the black bird or not. It would play several times before it was put back into the ancient movie file.

I dropped my skateboard on the sidewalk next morning. Ralph was beside me as we skated toward Broadway, where we stopped for the light.

"This is where we split, Z. I'm going looking for John. He stayed with a friend last night. Thanks for the grub and the duds. You're a good man, Z."

He was on his way across as the light went yellow. He hit the other curb by the time the traffic started moving down Broadway.

I skated toward Hitchcock's.

Ralph said I was a good man. I wasn't a kid anymore. I didn't know when I passed from being a boy to being a man.

I'm sure it was once I graduated high school. Like it or not, I was getting older. Having Ralph see me as a man was a startling revelation.