THE SPEAR OF CYPARISSUS

by Eric Williams

Trembling, Ken closed his eyes as he parted the bushes surrounding the small knoll in the center of the park. He tried to dull any imminent disappointment by thinking, He won't be there... he's forgotten... he's probably met someone else, but when he opened his eyes Thad was there, smiling, and raising a hand in welcome.

During the first two months of his summer's stay with his father, he had dreaded the promised three hours in the park each afternoon. "Now, I can't send you back to your mother looking as if you'd spent the summer in jail. Three hours of fresh air and sunshine, that's not much penance to do for your old man, is it?" He had resented the familiar note of rivalry between his parents but had succumbed to his father's smile. Could anyone but his mother resist such effortless charm? For in spite of his mother's contempt for "that man," his father retained the magic of myth for Ken. Each summer he was as slim, handsome, and vital as the year before, which made the bitter questions of his aging mother all the more puzzling. "He didn't leave you alone with any of his friends, did he? I suppose he's as vain as ever about his hair? Did he have any guests spend the night?"

Ken had attempted to find his way through the labyrinth of his parents' relationship without success. Until he had met Thad two weeks ago, the dreary afternoons of wandering the littered park paths were a ritual he must fulfill to merit the presence of his father each evening. But now the park had become beautiful, enchanted, amusing, anything that Thad willed. Even the afternoons Thad failed to appear held the expectation that he might be around the next corner, on the next bench.

Ken had first seen him at the park entrance across the street from the apartment. It was almost as if Thad had been waiting for him: he had smiled, fallen in step beside him, and after the first soft "Hi," had captured Ken with the spell of his voice. There was a tone in his laugh, a way his hair caught the light, a certain rhythm in his walk, something intangible in Thad that reminded him of his father, although Thad could not have been more than five or six years older than Ken's fifteen years. Not that the age difference proved a barrier: Thad had created a special world of interests common to them alone. Already, they had given names to all the park regulars, providing wild, romantic backgrounds for even the greyest of old people dozing in the sun.

"Hi, Tiger! You're looking good this afternoon. That a new shirt?”

Ken grinned his thanks, and murmured the expected, "This old rag?", although he had spent half-an-hour trying on slacks to set off the shirt's intense blue. It was only this past summer that he had become clothes-conscious, and he was thankful for his father's guidance and generosity everytime he met Thad, who wore only subdued shades of fawn or olive to emphasize his blondness.

"I think I'll call you Cyparissus today. Yes, in royal blue, you're a young prince about to kill your beloved."

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