as he whirled me around, he said, "You're just leaving? That's all?" Perhaps he had misunderstood too. He fairly shouted. "Well, go on then. I thought we could be friends."

It was all too loud and boisterous.

Windows went up around us and heads leaned out and I thought he was ridiculing me. I was exposed. I ran upstairs as fast as my feet could carry me and forgot all about Sandra. People were even looking from across the park. I cannot imagine what they thought. I locked myself in my flat.

I waited for several minutes, occasionally calling Sandra, but she couldn't walk through closed doors, of course.

After a while I went down again, and Sandra was standing up at the door calling me.

I opened the door to let her in and saw the boy standing a little to the side. He seemed to be more upset than I. Sandra ran on up the stairs, but we just stood looking at each other. Finally I said, "What's the matter?"

All in a rush he said: "I am terribly sorry. I'm not on television. I was just being silly out there because I didn't know what to do. I must seem awful to you. I don't know anybody here and I am alone."

"You surely seemed to think you were on television," I said.

"I guess you won't talk to me now," he said. "You really were trying to get rid of me politely, weren't you? I wish I were sophisticated."

That sold me. I didn't feel a bit sophisticated. I don't remember opening the door wider or telling him to come in, but I do know I saw the white shirt and the fine head and, in the dimness of the stairs, the light worn spot on his jeans going up ahead of me, and I was happy.

We were two happy boys alone, in spite of all the neighbors and I would do all the things I had thought. And I was infamous after that.

one

I withdrew myself

From my ever-grasping hands

And yours

Which sit folded quietly

I withdrew myself

To search inside

The continuous question

Instead of questioning

The eternal answer

Leslie Zeichner

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