It was an unmentionable and unspeakable part of war.Whether it was environmental or genetic, Lisa--or Tristan--didn't know. What she did know, however, was that her mother continually reminded her that women were good and men were not. She gazed upon the site of her boyhood home without fondness. She remembered an unusual ritual in their basement, when her mother and an older sister shared a few of their paste-on fingernails with the youth. They put one of the plastic adhesives on Tristan's forehead and stood there laughing. They teased him about being such a little sissy.Tristan ran away from home when he was just fourteen. He found his way to Minneapolis with forty bucks in his pocket. He had originally wanted to go to Los Angeles to meet John Wayne. He didn't know how a bus ticket, and forty dollars he'd stolen from 'the sock' that his stepfather kept in his parents' bedroom, would get him an audience with the undisputed Duke of American Cinema, but he knew it was something he. Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Here, lean against me. Okay?”“Would you take me home?”“Sure. Can you stand the ride?”“I’ll make it. But I think I’d better go.”“Okay.”“Sure you aren’t mad at me?”“Hell, no. This ghost story stuff always freaks me out anyway,” Wayne confessed. “Much rather take you home. The fresh air will do us both good.”It was just after eleven when they reached the dorm. She leaned heavily on him as they walked in. The dorm monitor at the desk carefully turned his head away as they signed in. As long as they weren’t disorderly, he wasn’t going to turn them in as drunk, even though it was obvious.Wayne walked Judith to the door of the women’s wing and then paused. She tilted her head toward him, and for the first time their lips touched. Talk about electric. Judith almost forgot she was supposed to be sick.She broke away from him suddenly and looked him straight in the eye.“Can you hold that thought till later?” she said.“Sure,” he answered.“Like tomorrow?” she.
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