Randy. Did you hear that? I said, did you hear that? Randy nodded his head. Came from over there, Paul said. Something in the bushes. Could be anything, he said. A stray cat. Some lost dog. I don’t think it’s a coyote, Paul whispered. Could be somebody trying to sleep. Some husband who got kicked out of the house. A kid hiding from the cops. They laughed

Two men in the backyard of suburban paradise. Sitting at a glass table, drinking beers, and talking over old times. They converse about high school football, girls they laid, parties attended.

Do you remember that boy in school. That one kid who walked funny, kind of swishy like. Talked funny, too. Randy said. He was different. Not like the rest of us. Kept to himself. I don’t think anybody talked to him. Not even the retarded kids and they spoke to everyone. He just had a way about him. Remember?

Barely. I was too busy watching girls. Too busy hanging out with my bros, said Paul.

I wonder what became of him. Never see him at reunions, Randy said while lighting up a cheap cigar.

Yeah. I don’t know, Paul told him. Couldn’t tell you.

Sounds came from the bushes. Two squirrels chased each other. The wind blew warm, and the sky grew dark. More noise. They walk towards the side of the backyard, where neighbors are divided by a wooden fence.

Shhhh, Paul said. Don’t say a word. Don’t make a sound. Shhh.

They approached the noise. A groundhog scurried from the scene of the crime, leaving behind a banana peel and an apple core.

Told you it wasn’t no coyote. They don’t come out here no more, Paul proclaimed. Not since I shot that one. Got him in the hind leg. Killed it.

You don’t remember that queer in high school? Randy asked. Paul shook his head. Huh. I guess I’m the only one who thinks about him. I wonder. Just wonder.

What’s that? Paul asked.

If he made it, Randy said.

Probably left town, Paul said, lighting up his cigar. Not everyone is that lucky in life. He twirled the cigar in his mouth. They don’t have what we have, he said. Few people do.