Major Conflict Read Online Free PDF Page B

been standing in front of me I would’ve beat the shit out of him.
    After finishing my shift I hurried through the revolving doors and started walking briskly down Fifth Avenue. It was the last week in April, an unusually warm night, humid, windy, strange. It felt like rain. They’d been calling for rain all day, and I’d brought my big golf umbrella with me to work. At Fifty-sixth Street, while waiting for the light to change, I took off my suit jacket and flung it over my shoulder and loosened my tie.
    I’d calmed down since the phone call from Greg and managed to get him out of my head. I had homework to do when I got home and ROTC matters on my mind. The light changed and I crossed Fifty-sixth Street. I passed Harry Winston, the famous jeweler, and was just approaching the Rizzoli Bookstore in the middle of the block when I noticed a figure standing up on the steps of the church. I realized that it was Greg, always so solemn, with his books and his worn-out shoes, his school-boy sweaters and his old blue corduroys that shone from too much wear. I froze, then made a beeline to the street, started walking across Fifth, trying to act as if I hadn’t seen him. But he’d seen me, and he started coming after me. “Jeff! Jeff! Wait!” he shouted, and I started to run then, down Fifth Avenue. But he was faster than me, and by the time I reached Fifty-third Street he’d caught up with me. The light was red and there was traffic and I felt trapped.
    â€œYou fucking hypocrite!” he shouted. It was obvious he’d had a few more beers since the phone call.
    â€œDo you know how ugly hypocrisy is? Do you know how ugly that is? It’s the ugliest thing in the world, Jeff; it’s the ugliest thing you can be. And it’s like a disease, it’s like a cancer, it’s insidious, it’s going to eat you up until you’re empty, until you’re dead!”
    I didn’t look at him. I didn’t speak. I tried to act as if he were a crazy homeless person. I couldn’t wait for the light to change. I had to get away from him, so I turned down Fifty-third and starting jogging away. He jogged after me. It started to rain hard—one of those tremendous spring storms. I opened up my umbrella and, realizing I wasn’t going to outrun him, just walked briskly across Fifty-third Street, trying my best to ignore him. But he didn’t have an umbrella of his own, and as he yelled at me he kept trying to get under mine, and I kept hurrying up and pulling away, leaving him stranded in the downpour.
    â€œChrist, Jeff, do you think I’m blind? Do you think I’m an idiot? I see. I know. You keep saying, ‘I’m straight, I’m straight, I’m straight,’ but I see what’s in your eyes when you look at me! Look at me. Look at me! Look at me now, Jeff! You fucking asshole, I can’t believe I ever got involved with you. What am I doing? What am I doing? I can’t believe . . . it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Do you think I moved from Pittsburgh to New York so I could sneak around with some fucked-up closet case? You’re straight? Straight! Do straight boys hold hands? Do you hold hands with your straight friends on the OTB counter at Grand Central? Do you talk on the phone with your ROTC buddies for hours every night? Go ahead, walk away, I’m soaked, fine, it’s just water, Jeff, it’s only rain, natural, a natural substance, I won’t melt, unlike you. I know you can hear me. You’ll be hearing this voice for the rest of your sad sorry life unless you get your shit together and face up to what’s happening inside you. God, Jeff, you want everything to make so much sense! You want the whole world to make sense! You want
structure
. Your religion, the military. You need those nice, neat little hiearchies where everyone knows exactly what everything is and precisely where everyone stands. Everything wrapped up