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Memphis got up and dug his waterlogged copy of Leaves of Grass from his knapsack and handed it to Henry. “What now?”
“We’ll need to be close to each other. We need to be touching.”
Memphis flinched just slightly. Not enough to be obvious. But Henry had been trained all his life to spot these reactions. It was a matter of survival. Henry had learned to change his walk, his manner of speaking, anything that might “give him away” and make some fella uncomfortable, perhaps even uncomfortable enough to do Henry harm. But he hadn’t thought he needed to hide himself from a friend.
Henry remembered one time going with his father to the barbershop. He might’ve been four or five years old. Young. He’d been walking in the French Quarter with his handsome father, taking note as his father stopped and said hello to the other men on the street, all of whom seemed to look up to him. Henry had been so happy and proud, he’d wanted to give his daddy a kiss. When he tried, his father got angry, pushed him away. “What are you doing?” he’d reprimanded, keeping his voice low, and Henry understood he’d done something wrong, but he didn’t know what or why. “Men don’t kiss other men,” his father said briskly. They’d walked on as before, but Henry’s happiness had been stolen, replaced by shame.
A knot formed in Henry’s throat. The familiar swallowed howl of shame. He was afraid he might cry, though he’d been told his whole life that men didn’t do that, either. “You know, on second thought, I’m bushed. I should probably get some rest,” Henry said, saving face.
But then Memphis put his hand on Henry’s arm. “I’m sorry. I never… I… I don’t know how to do this right.”
“Does anybody?” Henry asked. “Here.” He handed back Leaves of Grass. “You hold on to that. I’ll do the rest.” They lay down on their mildewy Red Cross blankets. Henry edged a foot over, touching Memphis’s foot. They waited.
“Now what?” Memphis said.
“Now you become my lover man.” Henry cracked up laughing. Like alchemy, he’d transformed his shame into wit. Laughter was power.
Memphis laughed, too. “Okay. All right. I see you.”
“Do you?”
Memphis quieted. “Trying.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Henry took a deep, cleansing breath. “Sweet dreams, Memphis. Good luck.”
It took some time for sleep to come. When Henry woke at last in the dreamscape, he was surrounded by waving stalks of golden wheat, and there was Theta, wearing a silver gown that Henry recognized as being her favorite among her Follies costumes. Henry was overjoyed to see her. They’d never been apart so long.
“Theta? Theta, darlin’. It’s me, your old pal, Hen.”
“Hey, Hen,” Theta said, twirling slowly.
Henry looked around for Memphis and was disappointed not to see him. Perhaps their powers didn’t work together after all. He could at least try to get some information.
“Theta, darlin’. Are you in Bountiful?”
“Bountiful?” Theta said, and Henry couldn’t tell if that was an answer or not.
“Can you tell me where you are?”
“I’m here,” Theta said dreamily. She watched a line of Cherokee women as they danced. Henry was struck by how much she favored these women. Almost by instinct, Theta began to move as they did.
“But where is here, honey?” Henry pressed.
“The circus.”
A drop of rain fell slowly, growing bigger as it descended, spreading out like a new universe straining at the borders of its raindrop womb until it popped. Out sprang a boldly striped circus tent. The tent wrapped its arms around them until they were all cradled inside its expanse. In the center of the ring, Theta lifted her arms, like a ballerina before a performance. And then, to Henry’s astonishment, Memphis entered the ring. Neither seemed to recognize the other directly, but each wore a vague smile. Memphis took Theta’s hand. The top of the tent became a silvery moon, and then they were moving together in a beautiful dream ballet. Memphis lifted Theta into the air. She arched her back and spread her arms like a bird flying. People reached for meaning inside dreams. Their yearning found expression in endless ways. Everything was possible here. Futures were born. For how could anything start without a dream first?
Memphis cradled Theta gently in his arms, twirling around until they became a bright ball of energy that soared up, up, up. And then everything was gone. Henry was alone.
“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” Henry said.
“Henry? Henry!”
“Ling!” Henry shouted.
She was on the other side of a river.
“I found you,” she called.
