The Desert

Theodore pushed his hands into the warm pockets of his coat and wandered further into the desert, shielded from the other’s view by the trucks, sand crunching beneath his feet until he stopped and looked up. He thought about Holden, even though he didn’t want to, he also didn’t want to feel that green feeling or the one that felt like loneliness even though he knew everyone was right there, and he belonged right with them, but there was this wall, made of words built by parents, preachers and people he barely knew that still kept him from them. A wall built to cage the ugly thing inside of him, Theodore wished would suffocate in its bathroom cabinet. But he heard the doors creak, saw the creature reaching out with a hand and tearing at him. “Are you ok?”
“Peachy.” He didn’t need to turn around to know who was there.
“Why do you always wander off?”
“Why do you always follow.” Theodore still stared at the sky but felt Holden’s warmth beside him in an instant, and he squinted at him, he was looking up. “Because I’m afraid you won’t come back.” Theodore didn’t understand that statement, he only felt the warmth in his chest and he desperately tried to snuff it. “I know where you’re always going.” Holden whispered and Theodore finally turned to look at him, but Holden only kept staring up at the sky. He didn’t know what to say. Obviously he knew, he always found him. “What’s that dark place you always go to?” Holden turned his head and Theodore saw the stars in his eyes and couldn’t think of any dark places at that moment. There was never full darkness in the desert, the stars shone too bright and Theodore, standing in the middle of it, could see the mountains in the distance, the dry weeds and Holden’s worry. Theodore just shook his head as he heard cabinets open. Holden crouched down beside him and Theodore followed on instinct, saw as a centipede crawled over Holden’s hand. It was huge, sluggish in its movements as it raised leg after leg to move up Holden’s arm who only radiated serenity. Theodore thought of dinner parties, conversations he held with white upper class women whose job it was to drink champagne from crystal flutes and businessmen who competed for the worth of their watches and him, eight years old, in between them thinking that nothing there had any worth as he wandered through the expensive bodies until he was pulled into one of the circles. “Theodore! How are you?” Before he could even answer with a smiled “good” he was interrupted by a shocked woman.
“Did you hear about the Wheeler’s boy?” The woman looked at the others, indignation clear in her round eyes and Theodore thought he saw some mirth in the curl of her lips as the others nodded, hands over their mouths and hearts. Theodore wanted to leave them, but there was still a hand clamped around his shoulder, ruffling the expensive cashmere with her frigid hands. “I heard they finally threw him out. God knows where he is now.”
“Carmen said someone saw him get picked up by another man.”
“Do you think it was his lover?” They looked at each other smitten, and the atmosphere didn’t seem as cheery as the crystal chandeliers and chatter wanted it to be. “No, they must have brought him to the asylum.” Slowly Theodore started to inch away from them, but the hand tightened on his shoulder and turned him around sharply until he stared into red eyes with smudged eyeliner around them. “Did you know the Wheeler boy?”