I have watched people's heads turn and look at him when we are out together.I have watched people's heads turn and look at him when we are out together. I have seen men and women stare at the beautiful boy and I sense that they are attracted, enamored of the boy with the lithe graceful body. I know they wonder whether I am his father or merely a friend. The boy feels deliciously warm and his body seems to glow with energy and life. His skin is perfectly smooth with the silky oiliness of a child, a dry warmth emanating from a lustrous brown body. I know that sooner or later I must write this all down. He is growing up, my first memories of the boy are less certain now, the details grow hazy every passing day. This morning, as I lay back in the pillows I decided to begin. The story that follows is based upon what I have discovered myself, from what Rafael has told me, and from what can be reasonably supposed about his life before I came to know him. The story is a long one, it's a story that is sad but one which needs to be told. Too many people don't understand, or don't want to understand. This morning I picked up a writing pad and began to write. This is the story of another way to live, of a boy who discovered that he could play in the major leagues. Most of the names of people, the clinic, and the institution where Rafael lived have been changed, though the protection I have given them is undeserved in all but one case. This wonderful young boy, now eleven years and four months old, came into my life at a time when I needed him, or someone like him. |