Tom walked by his son's bedroom in the dark hallway and stubbed his little toe on a football helmet. He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming, looked down, and saw a thin ribbon of light coming from under the door. He rubbed his sore toe, and then knocked lightly.

"Billy?"

He heard a click and the light under the door disappeared.

Tom tried the door and found it unlocked. He turned the knob, then let it go. He stared at it for while. Then he grabbed it again, and opened the door.

"Billy? he whispered.

"What Dad?"

"It's two in the morning."

"I'm going to sleep now, Dad."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Billy didn't sound right. Tom switched on the ceiling light.

"Dad!"

Billy turned away, but not before Tom saw the tears on his cheeks. Tom studied his son's muscular back and shoulders, noticing how football practice and weight training were shaping his son into a man. The tears jarred him into remembering the man's body was still connected to a sixteen year old's feelings.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Leave me alone. Please." Billy put his arm over his eyes.

"Billy ..."

"Dad, please," Billy insisted.

Tom stood there for a long time, silent. Then he shrugged, turned off the light, and left the room. He resumed his journey to the kitchen. He fixed a sandwich and ate without tasting it. The milk was cold, that's all he remembered. When he was done, he turned out the light.

Tom walked by Billy's room. The light was on again. He leaned his ear to the door and heard Billy talking on the phone. It sounded like he was leaving a message on an answer machine. Tom knocked on the door. Billy hung up and turned out the light.

Tom opened the door and turned on the overhead light again. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Dad, I don't want to talk about it." Again, his back was turned and his arm was shielding his eyes.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Nobody."

Tom pulled the chair from the desk and sat down.

"Dad, I want to go back to sleep."

"So do I. After we talk."

"Talking about it won't help."

"You don't know until you try."

Billy laid there, silent. Tom sat there, waiting. It was a stand off.

"Is it school work?"

"No, Dad."

"Football?"

"No."

"Rebecca?"

Silence. Bingo.

"I was wondering why we haven't seen her around here for a while."

Further silence.

"Did you have a fight with her?"

"No ... we don't go out anymore." Billy's voice cracked on the last word.

"Why not?"

"Dad ..."

"Is there someone else?"

"No. She just doesn't love me anymore." Billy's voice broke now. Tears sprang from his clear blue eyes and ran down his cheeks. He wiped them away.

"And your life is over, right?" Tom said, smiling.

Billy sighed, and rolled his eyes. Well, it looks like I'm not going to joke my way out of this, Tom thought.

"Do you still love her?" Tom asked softly.

"Dad, I can't talk to you about this."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll make fun of me. You never felt this way."

The words broke a barrier inside Tom. Memories from more than twenty years past flooded into his mind. Tom turned away and looked absently around the room, at the football trophy, the pictures of Michael Jordan on the wall, the clothes scattered on the floor.

"You're wrong, Billy. I know exactly how you feel." Tom didn't recognize his own voice. He sounded strange, even to himself.

"Sure..."

"I mean it. I never forget my first love."

Billy turned around and studied his father. "You?" he asked..

"No ... never mind. If your mother ever found out, it would really hurt her."

Billy sat up in his bed now. "I won't tell. I promise."

It was Tom's turn to study Billy.

"I swear," Billy said raising his hand in a boy scout salute.

"This has to stay man to man. Understood?"

"Understood."

Tom swallowed. Where to begin, he thought. After a long pause, he said. "Her name was Jennifer."

He searched Billy's face. There was no shock.

"I was about your age. Maybe a little older. I loved her. I mean, really loved her. With all my heart. Way too much."

"Yeah." Billy shook his head in agreement.

"When we broke up, I felt like I was going to die."

"What happened?"

"You know, looking back at it, it wasn't anything major. Our last fight happened when I wanted to leave a movie and she wanted to stay."

"So?"

"So I left and she stayed."

"What do you mean you left?" Billy asked, eyes wide.

"I got up and walked out."

"You left her there!"

"It was no big deal. I waited for her outside until the movie was over."

"Oh. And then what happened?"

"I mean, to me it was just a fight. But to her, oh boy, it was the worst thing anyone could ever do. She had friends in the movie theater who saw me get up and leave. When the show was over, she marched right passed me, heading home by herself." Tom paused to collect his feelings.

"And then what?"

"When I caught up with her, I started to apologize. She wheeled around and slapped me. Hard. She said, 'Don't you ever talk to me again.' Then she walked away. I followed her home, like a jerk, begging her forgive me, but she wouldn't hear of it. That night, she stopped loving me. Just like that." Tom snapped his fingers.

"How do girls do that?" Billy asked.

"I don't know." Tom was reliving the pain and hurt now. He could feel his eyes getting watery. He looked away and wiped them.

"It was terrible," he continued. "I'd call up, and she'd get her father to answer the phone and say she wasn't home. I'd walk by her house, and she'd close her bedroom curtains. In school, she walked the other way when she saw me."

"How did you get over her?"

How did I, Tom thought. He thought of his life now. That kind of pain was absent, an alien emotion. He looked toward his bedroom, and felt contentment slowly transform his face.

"I married your mother."

"Right away?"

"No, not right away. Years later."

"What did you do in the meantime?"

"Hey, life went on. I tried to have fun. But when you scratched the surface, I was still hurting underneath."

"But you loved Mom more, right?" Billy asked.

He doesn't let up, Tom thought. He stood and paced while he considered the question.

"More? Probably more ... but it was also different. I never will love anyone the same way I loved Jennifer. I still carry a little of it around with me. I probably always will."

Tom glanced over at Billy and saw a lost look on his son's face. Tom felt ashamed.

"I shouldn't have told you that."

"No, Dad. I'm glad you did." His face doesn't look glad, Tom thought.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Sarah was standing there in her bathrobe. Tom looked over at her, and then looked down. She yawned, rubbed the sleep out of her sweet brown eyes, then walked into the room.

"What are you boys talking about?" she asked, putting her arm around her husband's shoulder.

"Nothing," Tom answered. Sarah pursed her lips with puzzlement as she studied her husband. Then she studied her son. A soft, understanding smile slowly tugged on her lips.

"You're not seeing Rebecca anymore, are you?" she asked Billy.

"No," Billy answered. He looked at his mother. The pain returned to his eyes.

"And your father was telling you about his first big heartbreak. What was her name? Jennifer, or something, wasn't that it?"

Tom and Billy stared at her, eyes wide open.

"I saw your guilty look," she said, letting go of Tom. "You men are such children when it comes to love." She went over to Billy and hugged him. "You're a wonderful young man," she said. "Some other girl is going to be very happy Rebecca let you go. It's her loss."

Tom watched the pain melt from Billy's face. Sarah held him a long time, and then stood up.

"Now, let's get to sleep," she said, holding her hand out to her husband.

"Honey, I'll be right in," he said. "I just want to finish my talk with Billy."

"Okay," she said, leaving the room, muttering something sarcastic about male bonding.

When Sarah left, Tom started to say something, then stopped - started again - then stopped. Finally, he bent down and hugged his son. At first he felt awkward, and then it felt natural. When the time was right, he let go.

"Good night, Billy." Tom smiled.

"Good night, Dad." Billy smiled back, and then yawned.

Tom walked to the door. Before he switched off the light, he turned around.

"Billy, the older I get, the more I believe I'm the silly romantic, and your mother is more realistic about love. I don't know if that helps, but I think it's true."

THE END