Alec

by William di Canzio

At dawn, Alec told himself he had sent the telegram too late. The message likely missed the last post to Maurice’s house, but he would surely receive it this morning. He went about his work quietly and apprehensively, hoping he might hear from Maurice, fearing he would not. He avoided the younger servants, who were eager to josh him about the game. When the Mildreds offered a prize for victory, he said he hadn’t the time, too busy getting things ready for his trip. At day’s end, still no word. He reasoned that Maurice had not replied because a message addressed in his hand to Alec might attract attention. He’d best come unannounced. At nightfall, he returned to the boathouse to wait. Chance, or nature, had mated the young men so perfectly that, even after one night together, their separation was painful to Alec; his flesh remembered Maurice’s, vividly, palpably, as if he were actually present. When he turned onto his belly during his fitful sleep, he came so hard that it hurt and he woke up groaning. Before dawn, desolate, he wrote again: Mr. Maurice, Dear Sir. I waited both nights in the boathouse. I said the boathouse as the ladder is taken away and the woods is to damp to lie down. So please come to “the boathouse” tomorrow night or next, pretend to the other gentlemen you want a stroll, easily managed, then come down to the boathouse. Dear Sir, let me share with you once before leaving Old England if it is not asking to much. I have key, will let in. I leave per Ss Nor...