"Are you ill?" I put my hand to his forehead; the skin feels warm and dry. I take his hand and go with him; it feels comfortable to walk like this. As we go over the bridge hand in hand, a group of boys shouts "fags!" at us, and shoves me into the side of the bridge as they pass. I feel my face crumple. Why would they do that? Something buried deep inside me roils, but I can't remember what it is I'm feeling, and it subsides into confusion.