Disorderly Men

by Edward Cahill

Roger felt the queerness of all those hapless fairies in his own exhausted blood. And he knew it would follow him like a dark shadow for the rest of his life. Whenever he had the temerity to imagine that he’d put his problems behind him, it would rise up again, seize him by the throat, and throw him in a ditch.

Julian knew this wasn’t exactly true. In fact, he’d wanted to be seen. He wanted to be graceful and fly through the air and be seen by someone as he did it. He wanted there to be at least one person watching him in his small, private space, and he wanted that person to be his mother, applauding rapturously and telling him he was magnificent. It wasn’t embarrassment he’d felt that day, but disappointment.

But he did know. It wasn’t the alcohol or even his unrequited love for his best friend that had undone him. It was the excruciating recognition that, no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be as free and affectionate as Schuyler was. He’d never feel merely brotherly feelings for other men. He’d never love Corinne the way Schuyler loved Marjorie. He’d never really be happy.