gently put it on the edge of the tray.

"But, why them?" asked Bobby, stretching on the bed, his long legs dangling and looking at the colored man leaning against the dresser in his spotless white coat and dark trousers.

"It's quite a story," began Thomas, "but I'll try to make it brief." He puffed on his cigarette and continued. "Maybe it's because I am colored. What one would call one of the minority. Suppose I just feel sorry for anyone that is kicked around." His voice was solemn.

"Oh, come now grandma," laughed Bobby, bending his arms under his head. "You're the same t' me anyone else. I think if you hadn't worked for us and we'd met, I'd still think the same of you. You're a great guy and I really mean it."

"Thanks," said Thomas, a faint smile on his face. He had thought of himself as an aunty, but never a grandma. "And, I think that you have showed it, but there are so many others that don't see eye to eye as you do. And, I doubt with me in my forties if I could keep up with you and the going out with the girls." Paused and added slyly, "And, the boys."

"You don't want me to go, do you?" the youth asked, looking straight at Thomas.

"Not with the ideas you have in mind." Thomas could feel the eyes hard upon him.

"What 'n' the hell kind o' ideas should I have?" questioned Bobby, getting up from the bed and walking to the dresser. Thomas knew that in minutes they would be face to face. He didn't want that. It must be avoided. He turned. It was too late. Bobby had never seen the look upon the houseman's face before. The eyes glazed. The mouth twitching nervously and the hands though they were rubbing one another were trembling.

Thomas dared not say anything

not just then. He could see the tall blond figure through the dazed eyes clearly and could feel his heart beating wildly against his shirt. The flames from his private hell were lashing hard against the walls inside of him. He wanted to cry out to be released from torment. To be free. Freed by his tormentor so close by. The battle was almost at the breaking point as he became oblivious of everything until Bobby spoke.

"What should I do Thomas? What kind of ideas should I have?" The voice was serious as he leaned on the dresser, drawing closer to Thomas, the smoke casting a faint screen.

Years of composure Thomas tried to build as he toyed with the designs, running his fingers over the lacey patterns, afraid to look into the face again for fear his world would crash.

The time was ripe, yet Thomas knew the allotted time would not allow him to gap the chasm that stood between them. He wanted to reveal his true self and tell how it felt to be one of the nuts. The screwed-up type of guys.

"The idea of prostituting yourself f' one thing and disrespect the other. Find out what a person is like or leave them alone," he replied quietly.

"Okay, Grandma," Bobby laughed, taking his hat from the closet and walked to the door. He looked back. Their eyes met again. The clear blue eyes looked into the glazed pair as the trembling hands rubbed each other. "S' long, Thomas."

Thomas heard the car back out of the driveway and wondered if the seeds he had sown would become fertile.

Thomas watched the moving van disappear. He latched the door.

"It's a funny thing," he said half aloud, as he walked down the driveway to await the coming bus, "I'll never know."

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