Along the great rectangle of a building, leading from the school to the gymnasium, was a long, covered walkway. As he walked along he kept his eyes and ears open for the mysterious presence. Horace could hear the sounds of students walking to and fro, the clamorous electronic school bell announcing the end and beginning of classes, one guy running after another, laughing and out of breath, who has told his girl friend that he saw him with another “babe,” the sound of two girls arguing over the outcome of their favorite soap opera, the sound of lady teachers, their high heels clicking, on the way to the principal’s office . . .

What had changed him? Could he have swung so far in such a short time? The summer that followed that first year of high school did something to Horace. Suddenly he became fully aware of his responsibilities as a man, and the possibilities of his being a homosexual frightened him beyond reason.

His grandfather began to take a special interest in him, encouraging him to think about sports in the fall, asking him about girl friends. He would ask Horace to drive him around, showing him off as his near-about grown grandboy. Look a there, don’t he look a lot like Sammy? He sure does. Wants to be a scientist, he does. Don’t know nothing about it, but spect he’ll do fine. Why, he’s a Cross ain’t he? We always do fine when we sets our minds to it. Yes, we do. A fine boy. Right fine, indeed.

Conversely, Horace became very fond of his grandfather, noticing his age as it gracefully overtook him. He noticed him falter a bit more when he walked, his shuffle getting slower. He noticed how his back, still straight, had a little more of a forward lean to it. Some Sunday mornings his grandfather asked him to shave him. On the back porch Horace would lather up the sagging brown face and slowly, tenderly pull the old safety razor across those brown jowls, paying particular attention to the folds of flesh and the stiff bristles he might have missed. His grandfather would chuckle and look at himself in the chipped and slightly distorted mirror, feeling his face after splashing himself with water from the basin. He would wink at Horace and tell him, Much obliged.

How could he tell his grandfather that he was not like him? How could he even consider telling him? How would Ezekiel Cross respond if he knew?