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I'm really glad you came back. There's still a lot I want to tell you, and I was afraid that we wouldn't get the chance, but here we are. Ain't it great how life works? Anyway, yeesh. I have a story to tell ya about the days of my youth. Well, not so much youth. I mean, I was in college then, back at the old University of Georgia in Athens, Georgia, but well, compared to now, I was young.

It was a great time then, back in 1982. Reagan had just begun to fuck things up but good in Washington, and things in Athens were seething. It seemed that the entirety of Clarke County was up tearing Ronnie apart in words or in speech, and I was one of them. Oh, man, you should have been there then. REM was still working for peanuts playing gigs at the 40 Watt Club and living in the old church on Oconee Street, the street where I lived. Peter Buck, their guitarist, had just quit working at Wuxtry, the hippest record store in all of the great state of Georgia. They were going up to Charlotte, NC to record their first album, "Murmur." It would be released the next year. The town was buzzing, things were happening and the University kids, myself among them, well, we were so alive in ourselves, pissed at our parents, of course, but living a life that was at the same time both humble and grand.

The summer of 1982 was the beginning of it all for me, really. Summers in northern Georgia are wonderful things. The sun beats down, but it is relatively dry. The bugs chip and whizzle in the kudzu vines, which grows over anything that lays still for a day or so. And things in the Summer, well, they're slow. Lazy. They take their time. Summers in northern Georgia seem to enjoy their own company and they aren't in any hurry to be rid of themselves, so the days stretch to weeks, long meditations in the heat. And it was around that first week of the Summer of 1982, in Athens, GA, that I met Nicky, and that's when everything changed.

I had a relatively normal life. I mean, I knew that I was a boylover, although it never would have occured to me to call myself that. I didn't know any other boy-lovers, so naturally I couldn't easily identify or put a fine point on what it was that I felt. I had no one to sort it out with. I knew I was different from any of my friends, those long-haired kids that grooved to Love Tractor at Tyrone's on Saturday nights. But just what made up the matrix of my difference I couldn't really say. It was just there, and like a goo d Georgian, I accepted it, and didn't say a word.

And it was hard. Athens has always been a liberal town, very politically and culturally up-to-snuff, and I was very attracted to the boys there, sons of the native Athenians and the professors. They had a strange blend: a mixture of earthy Southern charm and a general, all-encompassing savvy that belied their young eyes. When you're born and raised in a sociocultural arena, you aren't like other kids, and the Athenian boys were the exceptions to every rule. Starting at around nine years old, they grew their hair out, became restless, and their minds, soaking in the stimuli around them, expanded forming thoughts and opinions that most older teens outside of town couldn't even touch.

Nicky was one of the kids that I used to see all the time around at Wuxtry. I worked there for a brief time, APB (After Peter Buck), but -in that short time I came to know just about everyone in town. Wuxtry then was somewhat of the Athenian apothecary. People came there to get their fix. The Clash, The Pretenders, John Cougar. We had it. And the new bands, too. REM, Pylon, the Flat Duo Jets, and of course, Athens' home kids, the B-52's. Everyone had to admire the B's, even if they were just a little embarassing, but hey, they were a success up in New York, which was more than anybody could say for any of the other punks around the old burg.

Nicky would always come in asking for the new stuff. And he always came to me. Now, Athens is no different from any other college town. All your Ann Arbors and Chapel Hills have this sort of bubble of arrogance around them, and Athens did too. So more often than not, you'd ask a sales clerk a genuine question, and you'd get a glorified sneer in your direction. And Christ, that was never more practiced than at Wuxtry. Ignorance when it came to music was a cardinal sin. And well, when Nicky first came in, he was a sinner.

He didn't know much about the tunes. He wanted to know, he really did. He wanted to be a part of all this excitement he saw the college kids indulging in, but being just a kid, he found it hard to squeeze his way into the clubs, so he took his pains to Wuxtry. Celia, one of the girls I worked with, laughed at him when he first asked her what was new and good. I had noticed him as soon as he came in. I was arranging the 'd' section of the 45's when he stepped through the door frame. What struck me was just how perfectly pretty he was. He was still a junior high kid, from the looks of it. Twelve, maybe thirteen. It was a scorcher that day, and like most of his friends, he had his grey t-shirt off and tied around his waist by the sleeves. His hair was long all over, coming down in a luxurious swoop over his left eye, a condition which allowed him to punctuate his sentences with a head flip, giving anyone privy to his conversation, for an instant, a glimpse of both of his green eyes. His hair, I judged, would normally be that mousy brownish blonde color that so lovingly graced my head, but the sun had done some w ork, and streaks of blonde coursed through it.

Anyway, Celia had laughed at him and went back to doing whatever it was she was doing. Nicky kind of frowned, obviously dismayed, but not too suprised. He surveyed the store, looking for someone else who looked properly kooky enough to work there. His eyes met mine across the floor, and I raised my eyebrows to let him know that he did, in fact, have the attention of an employee. He kind of smiled, flipped his hair, and bounced over to me.

"What's up?" I asked when he finally stood in front of me.

"Uh... hi."

My god he was pretty. His lips were full but taut, and sort of stuck out in a perennial pout. His chest was soft looking and smooth, and it glistened with the sweat that he had worked up outside under that sun. But he didn't smell of sweat, he smelled, well, rather sweet, like the sweetgrass in the fields outside of the town. Maybe he hung out there, I certainly didn't know. He bit his lower lip slightly, as if mustering up some courage.

"Uh... I'm just trying to find somthing new, ya know."

He speech was soft and slightly husky, and his words leaned and sagged in a graceful southern drawl. Like the heat of summer, his words had little desire to be rid of themselves. I surveyed the boy, trying to get a general idea of what he might like, but you know, this was Athens, it could've been anything from John Cage to the Beach Boys.

"New? Just anything? Something specific?"

His eyes skitted around the posters and flyers taped around Wuxtry's slightly claustrophobic interior. He brushed his hair away with a hand this time, and his eyes looked into mine. "You know, something cool."

"I can do cool."

And I smiled at him. I wanted to reach out and pat him on the shoulder to let him know that I had no intention of tarring him and throwing him out, but my words seemed to do it for me, for he relaxed with a sigh and smiled. "Okay. All right, cool."

All the best things in Athens then were still on vinyl 45, and I set the kid out the door with a handful of them. I tutored him for a good half hour on the new bands and the new, different sounds they were making, and he followed me around, listening to me as a pupil would, his one visible eye rapt with attention, his head nodding with every other sentence. His friends had all gone and left him there, apparently giving up on him about fifteen minutes after they came in.

About midway through his tour of the local 45's, I introduced myself. "Oh, hey man, I'm sorry. I forgot." I outstretched my hand. "I'm Emmet." He took my hand and squeezed.

"I'm Nicky." He smiled again, and it wrenched a huge grin out of me. He had a great smile, one that lit up his whole aura. And he was so fascinated with all that I was telling him, and just as fascinated with the fact that I was willing to tell him, he was silent until I cashed him out.

"Thanks alot, man," he said. "That's really neat, ya know."

I tried to see both of his eyes, but that was rather impossible. "What's neat?"

He held the 45's up and smiled. "You know, these. And all that other stuff. You know. It's just kinda cool, you know?"

My heart did this sort of dive and recover. He was just so damn adorable there, shirtless, with that soft shock of blonde-brown hair over his eye, and that... that smile. I reached my hand out again. "I know, buddy. Hey, you know, anytime. Right?"

"Sure." He flipped his hair back and walked out the door.

Celia looked at me from her position at the next register. "Looks like you made yourself a little friend."

I smiled. "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

I walked slowly down Jackson street. Anyone who knew me then could have told you that this practice would get me killed, this walking down the street with my face buried in a book. Back then, I never went anywhere without some sort of novel or something, I really didn't care what. If my attention went unoccupied for a second, the book came out.

"Hey, bookworm!"

Two hands grabbed me around my chest from behind. I dropped my novel and stumbled over it, spilling onto the sidewalk in front of the camera shop. "Emmet! My god! I'm sorry!"

I looked up and saw, standing above me, my beautiful friend Eliza, her hands covering her mouth, her face contorted in what I was sure was a mixture of panic and an uncontrollable desire to laugh her ass off. I stared at her for a second, shaking my head. "Great," I said, finally breaking into a smile. "Just great."

"Emmet, my god, I am so sorry. I feel like a total moron."

"Yeah, well, you are."

I got up and immediately Eliza grabbed me in a hug. "I hope, after all that we've been through, that you could find it your heart to forgive me."

"Maybe."

That was enough for her. She pulled away, laughing. "Well, you gotta admit that was funny as hell."

Eliza had been the first person I had met in Athens when I got there from Macon in 1980. I dated her for a time, and when we both realized we just weren't attracted to each other, it fizzled out. Her next relationship was with a girl, as had all her subsequent ones, so I figured that either I was her last stand before she totally admitted to her homosexuality to herself, or it was just so bad that she figured she might as well give up on men altogether. We had remained friends since then, mostly because I could relate to her: her acceptance of the card she was dealt was definately an inspiration, but what attracted me the most was her vibrancy, her total resignation to the way things were. Nothing phased her, not even when I had eventually told her that I liked boys.

"Really?" She had gasped. "I would never have picked you as being the gay type. I mean, Christ, you did wonders for me in bed." She nudged my side.

"No," I said, calmly but with a definate tremor in my voice. "Not men. I'm not gay, Eliza. I like, you know, young ones."

"How do you mean?"

I looked up at the trees in the quad, and around me, and we were alone, just Eliza and I. "I think I like boys, Eliza. I mean, they turn me on. In a big way."

Eliza was very calm and composed. "How old are we talking about here, Emmet?"

I scratched a seemingly ruthless itch on my nose. "Uh... , you know." I couldn't say it.

"No, I don't think I know."

I gazed into her brown eyes, eyes so brown they were almost black. She wasn't making this easy for me.

"Well, I guess I like it when they're before puberty kind of. You know, like eleven or twelve."

She sank back down against the tree. "Christ, Emmet."

"I know..."

She caught herself. "No. It's okay with me, kiddo. I mean, sexuality is one of the few things in this fucking universe that we can't understand, but just be careful."

"Oh, I don't know if..."

"What attracts you to them? The boys, I mean."

I stopped, biting my nail. I just couldn't look at her, and I kept my eyes on a squirrel that was digging in the dirt "I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know. I mean, I've thought about it, thought about it a lot, and I can't put my finger on it."

"You find them sexy, though, right?"

"Oh yeah, sure. But that's just a part of it. And in the grand scheme, I think a rather smallish part. There's something there, I don't know."

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

And I had to laugh at that one. "I don't think that I could get any more personal" I chuckled.

Eliza smiled placidly, like a psychiatrist or a talk show host.

"Were you..."

I cut her off. "No, never. Never. No one ever touched me, molested me, hurt me, abused me. Nothing."

"You've gone through this before, haven't you?"

"This conversation?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, about a gajillion times in my head."

"Have you ever done anything?"

"With a boy?"

"Yeah."

"No... no, never. I don't know if I would. I mean, lord knows I'd like to, but... you know."

Eliza leaned foward and kissed me. "No, I don't know. But just be careful, Emmet. I love you. Just don't do anything stupid. If anything ever happens, make sure it's mutual, okay?"

"Oh, god, I could never force anything on anybody. I'm not a molestor, Liz."

"Shhh... shhh. I know you're not, Em. I would never think that you were. But just... you know, make sure that you and... your partner... both have clear heads." And she smiled at me.

"As clear as yours?"

"That, lover, would be impossible." And we hugged and held it for a long time.

And so anyway, Eliza and I were standing in front of the camera shop and I was doing my best to brush the dust off my clothes, but it didn't seem to be working. Eliza was still giggling a bit under her breath. I kept shooting dirty looks at her, but she knew I wasn't serious.

"So what did you drag your sorry self out here for anyway?" I asked her, my tone more jolly than anything.

"Well, I just wanted to see if you wanted to come to Tyrone's with me tonight. Pylon's playing."

"No shit, really? Damn... I'd like to, Liz, but I'm busted. Really, babe, I'm flat 'til Thursday."

"What's the matter? Wuxtry not floating the boat?"

"Yeah, right. Not on what they pay me."

"Well, that's never stopped you before. I'll float you this time if you want. Meet me there, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. You got it. Pylon's great."

"You think I don't know that? The show they played the other week with REM was not to be believed. Down at the 40 Watt. Me and Michael are starting to really get to know each other, too. He's really nice. Flaky, but nice."

"Michael?"

"Yeah, I don't think you know him. He's the guy who sings for REM."

"Oh, yeah, I've seen him around town, he comes into Wuxtry all the time, but never talked to him. Kinda quiet, ain't he?"

"Yeah, he is. Got a great singing voice, though."

"Hmm."

"Well," Eliza said, snapping the conversation line, "I'll see you tonight then, right?"

"Sure. Yeah, sounds great."

"Great. See ya."

"What time's the show?"

"Nine."

And with that, she walked away down Jackson Street, her flowered dress blowing behind her in the dry wind of the Georgia summer. We had talked about my love for boys many times after that first day in the University of Georgia quad, and she had come to a very good understanding of me and how I felt, and above all, I think she respected it.

By the time 5 PM rolled around, the afternoon had waned to that tenative time when it was no where near getting dark, but the daylight was becoming stagnant and strained, like it was tiring out and waiting for the darkness to get its ass in gear and releave it of it's duty. I had been in a funny mood ever since I had run into Eliza, mostly from thinking about that day on the quad, but also making those plans put me in that state of listless waiting. You know, the way you feel between the time you get up and the time the Christmas party begins and you can open your presents. Just useless existance, or so it seemed.

I had taken a walk out of town, down one of the numerous veins of country road that surrounded Athens, passing some old abandoned homes with yards overrun with kudzu, past large houses built for college professionals. And dammit, I had forgotten my book. I hated that. That meant that I actually had to occupy my mind with bonafide thought, and well, you know as well as I do what that thought was. Nicky. Yeesh. Ever since I had seen him earlier that afternoon at Wuxtry, I couldn't get my mind off that beauty. He was so attentive, so rapt with fascination over the facts that I was giving him. Music history. The Sex Pistols, The Velvets. All the stuff he needed to know, and wanted to know. I could see his green eye dance with the possibility of it all, the other eye of course being masked by that charming shock of soft blonde-brown hair.

And Eliza's year-old question kept coming back. "What attracts you to them?"

I said it to myself aloud. "Emmet, what attracts you to them?" I thought of Nicky, about what attracted me to him specifically. I figured, hell, I'd narrow it down to an example and start from there. Nicky... Well, yes, physically he was beautiful. Soft skin, hairless. I was careful to spy on him reaching up for a record on a high shelf, and there had been no hair under his thin arms. I had felt a surge with that. Okay, so he was aesthetically beautiful. Was that all?

"No," I answered myself aloud. I mean, I saw at least twenty pretty boys a day in Wuxtry and not one of them had joggled my psyche like Nicky had. There was something more to it. Perhaps it was the way he followed me, listening. Perhaps. But, I didn't even think that was all of it. There was something behind his eye, that bright green eye, that I couldn't put a finger on. Something that hinted at something else. A desire to know more? A curiosity? No, that wasn't it. An...

"Oh, DAMMIT!" I cried out. And then I looked around to see if anybody had heard me. No, of course not. Sound doesn't carry well in the Georgia countryside. What isn't absorbed by all the greenery is drowned out my the chatter of the insects. I was genuinely frustrated. I looked down at my fists and noted that they were clenched.

"Christ, Emmet," I said to myself. "Get a grip." But my mind thought back to Nicky. Nicky, Nicky. What was his last name? I didn't know. I wondered just how old he was. I wondered what he looked like out of his black jeans, if he was a virgin. And then I actually sneered at myself. I felt utterly pathetic. He's just a boy, man. Just some kid. Get a grip, Emmet, man, you're gonna lose it. But I can't help it. I can't get him off my mind. Well, you're gonna have to help it. What can I do? He's so beautiful, so... Just shut up. You see? You should've brought your book.

And I walked back into town, back to Wuxtry where I would sometimes hang out when I had nothing else better to do. Hell, everyone else in town did it, why not the employees? Celia was the first to notice me there. "You know," she sneered. "It's really sad when you're here and you're not getting paid for it."

I blinked slowly and chuckled through my nose. "Tell me about it." She laughed and began to walk back into the office when she turned and said, "Oh, by the way, your little friend was in here looking for you."

"Oh, I know. I ran into her on Jackson Street. We're gonna go see Pylon tonight. Wanna come?"

"Huh? No, no. Oh, no, I've already talked to her. Yeah, she was looking for you, too. No, I mean that kid you talked to today. The blonde kid. He was looking for you. He wanted to talk about some record or something he got today. Don't know what was up with it. He said he'd be back later."

I licked my rapidly drying mouth. "Didn't you tell him that I wasn't working 'til tomorrow?"

"Oh, no." She stretched and yawned. "Didn't even think about it." And she disappeared into her office.

I stood there for a second, trying to comprehend just the general kookiness of the whole situation. Ain't that a bitch? I thought. And then I couldn't help but smile. He was looking for me. I weighed each word. He... was... looking... for... who? Who dear lord? Me!

"You gettin' lucky or somethin' tonight?"

I turned around. The blurb had come from Hamilton, the definitive Georgia college yokel. He had come from a piss-poor white trash family on shear brain power, and everything, from his long, stringy hair to his embarassingly thick accent gave no clue to the hypergenius underneath the hickish image he projected.

"Huh?"

"Sorry, buddy, but you look plum stupid."

"Huh?"

"Huh?" he echoed. "Huh what? You're standing there with the stupidest grin I ever done seen on your face. What's up with that? You just get some pussy?"

I laughed at that one. "You're always so fucking eloquent, Hamilton." And I walked away, smiling.

"Yep, that's why I make the big bucks," he drawled at my back.

"Too bad you're jobless!" I yelled back and stepped out of the door.

Dammit! I thought to myself as I trotted down the street Dammit! I missed him! I missed him. But you didn't know he was gonna come looking for you. Oh fuck you, I missed him. But he said he was coming back, you know. Huh? Remember, Celia said he was coming back. Wait for him. I could do that. Yes, you could do that.

And like a Nazi, I did a two-step 180 degree turn back in the direction of Wuxtry. I planted myself on the sidewalk outside with my back against the building and my legs folded against my chest. And I waited.

After ten minutes or so Hamilton came trotting out, noticed me on the ground and stood there, his legs apart and his hands on his hips. "What the livin hell is the matter with you?"

I looked up at his hulking shape. It was a lot cooler in the shade he provided, but it didn't smell any better. "Not a goddam thing."

"I'll tell you one thing, Emmet, you're about fucking wierd if you ask me." And he dashed off down the street, his greasy long hair flopping against his back with each step. I watched him walk away. He got as far as the corner when he turned and faced me, his right arm in the air, waving. "Puuuuuuusssssyyyyyyy!"

I just shook my head, folded my arms, and laid my head down.

"Who was that?" a voice said.

"Just an asshole."

"Ain't you workin'?"

And I looked up, and there he was. Nicky. Still shirtless, in those black jeans, looking down at me in the early evening sun. "Hi!" I said. "Nicky, right?"

"Yep." And he sat down next to me. Well, that was unexpected, I thought. "Why'd he say 'Pussy?'"

I chucked at hearing the boy's voice form that word, pussy. Just wasn't used to it, I guess. "I dunno. I think he's under the impression that I got lucky or somethin'."

The boy flipped his hair and smiled. Dammit! That smile, Gawd! "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Get lucky?"

"Oh!" I must have been blushing. "No, no I didn't."

Nicky chuckled, a high succession of little laugh bursts. God, he's so damn charming. "Oh, okay." He was still smiling. "I just, you know, wanted to come back and say thanks and all."

"Thanks?"

"Yeah, you know, for today and all."

"Well, it's my job, ya know."

"Yeah, well, it's everybody's job, but nobody does it."

"Well, not everybody's as cool as I am."

Nicky flipped his hair back and with his hand held it back. I fell into his eyes, two pools of pure truth and emotion. And, my god, this was just on a sidewalk! "I know," he said. "I mean, you're nice and all, and you know a lot about music and I really don't. I mean, I'd kinda like to learn about music and stuff, 'cause when I hear it I really dig it, I think it's cool, but I don't like to just go pick up anything."

"Well," I said, "that's kind of the point to it all. You know, just going and picking up stuff. Testing the waters, like."

"I really can't afford to do that, though. I mean, I don't like everything."

"Do you have a job?"

"I mow people's lawns sometimes."

"Oh, okay."

We sat there in silence for a few seconds. He was looking at street activity, the very different people walking up and down, but I, I was looking at him. What a beautiful, beautiful boy. He had come back. Come back to thank me, and to ask me more. He had come back to see me. Me. This boy. This beautiful, charming boy.

"Tell you what," I said, trying to sound spontaneous. "If you want, everytime we get a new shipment of new stuff, I always pick it up, regardless. I got so many records at home it ain't even funny. If you want, you can borrow some, you know, see what you like. And if you like it, you know, come buy it."

"No kidding?"

I was overflowing with just pure, indescribable joy. This boy, in that instant, had become my friend. "Sure, kid. No problem." And I reached out and ruffled his hair. The second contact we ever made, after the handshake earlier.

"That would be so incredible. Honestly. Oh, wow, that's great." He was as happy as I was.

"You can come over anytime. I live on Oconee."

"Now?"

"Now what?"

"Can I come over now? And, you know, pick some out? If it's okay..."

Oh yeah. Oh fucking yeah. "Sure, yeah. Feel like walking?"

"Yeah. That's all I do."

"Okay, sure, come on." And me and my new friend walked up Jackson street toward Oconee talking about the Velvet Underground, and how, well, how they were the start of it all. And in the music of Wire and Television you could hear their influence. Even Bowie had dedicated a chuck of his style to them. And man, when Nico sang "All Tomorrow's Parties," you couldn't help but just get a chill up your spine. She get's into your head on that one.

And the boy listened and learned and absorbed, and by the time we got to my apartment on Oconee, he trusted me enough to tell me that the first time he heard "Pale Blue Eyes" this afternoon, he cried so hard, cried his beautiful eyes out. And he could do nothing but smile then, when I said, "You know, that song could have been written about you."

"But my eyes aren't blue."

"Yeah, but everything else is the same."

And he smiled again, oh god that smile, and in that instant I understood what it was that was behind his eyes that had eluded me so well this afternoon. It was something that I have always wanted but so far had not been able to receive. It was understanding.

"Well, this is it. This is my place." I gestured grandly about the room, revealing to Nicky his first sight of the most boring place of residence anybody had ever seen. You see, I was living this sort of pretentious art-school lifestyle (despite the fact that my major was business), and I was cultivating this sort of minimalist thing in my apartment. I slept on the thinly-carpeted floor (which for some reason never caused me any discomfort), and had nothing on my white stucco walls save for a mimeographed photo of J. Robert Oppenheimer. Don't even ask me why that mimeograph was there. I don't think I could even have told you who Oppenheimer was. Some drunk pal of mine had stuck it thre one night and there it had stayed.

Nicky looked around. "Wow," he said. "It's really cool. Kinda white, ya know?"

"Uh, yeah. I don't have much use for pictures, ya know."

"Who's the guy?"

"Who?"

"The guy, there. The paper." He pointed at Oppenheimer.

"Oh, I dunno. Some physicist or something."

"Oh." By now the boy was so used to Athenian quirks that he simply accepted the strangeness as status quo. "Okay, cool."

By that time I was already digging into my refrigerator. "You want something to drink? I got like three kinds of Coke here." In Georgia, no matter the brand or flavor, all sodas are Coke.

"You got a Dew?"

"Yeah, sure." I fished it out of the Frigidare and handed it to Nicky, who by then had aready discovered my closet of records, boxes and boxes of stuff, stacked high. There hadn't even been room for clothes. His eyes went from the boxes to mine, his head turning in slow motion. "This is incredible... are these all yours?"

"Yep," I said, barely able to mask the pride. "They're mine."

Nicky approached the boxes like a relgious pilgrim to an icon. He pointed up at the top box. "Can I?"

I couldn't stop smiling. "You want the top box?"

"Uh-huh."

I stretched up and god the box down with a grunt, and slam, dropped it at Nicky's feet. Like a child at Christmas (well, he was as child, I told myself) he tore the box open and began to go through my collection. I went to the other side of the room and planted myself in the huge green chair that I had bought from Sandy Phipps for $10. I watched the boy go through each and every record in the box, taking each out with surgical care, with each disc a soft "Wow..." escaping his lips. I watched him for an hour, his form, his perfection. The way he looked, the way he smelled, the way he looked at me. He hadn't even noticed me sitting there, sitting there and loving him with each passing breath.