'Hold his legs!'� said Tom. 'That's it! Force him down on the tracks!'�

You could feel the June heat coming off the rails, even in the evening as the sun sunk down behind the hills. The metal burned Bobby's neck and legs right through his clothes. The boys forced his arms out flat, Christ-like. He tried not to scream but he shook with the fear.

'Hold him! Hold him!'� Tom ordered. 'We'll teach this sonofabitch what happens when you talk pig!'�

The guys pushed hard on Bobby's limbs, laughing into his trapped eyes. Tom smiled. 'Get the glue! Get the fuckin' Power Glue!'� he said.

Steve dug into his blue jean pocket for the big tube of glue, while Gomer the fat kid, sat on Bobby's chest. Forcing Bobby's arms flat and still along the hot summer-cooked metal, the boys went about gluing down the exposed skin of his forearms and elbows and the short sleeves of his button-up shirt.

'Goddamn!'� said Steve, 'my fingers are sticking to his shirt!'�

Tom laughed. 'Ya better pull 'em off, dickhead. That's sticky shit.'�

Cricket raised his small hands. 'Toss me the glue, dude!'� He and Gustov worked on making Bobby's jean legs adhere permanently to the rail running underneath his calves, the sticky chemicals flowing out hot from the thick plastic tube. 'I'm getting dizzy '�'� said Cricket.

Gustov pulled a tube from his own pocket, cut the tip, and breathed in. 'It's the fumes '�'� He stared at the missing skin on his fingertips.

The boys held Bobby until the glue set solid.

Tears rolled down Bobby's cheeks and into his ear canals. He listened frantically for the hum of the oncoming train.

'Now,'� said Tom, 'maybe you're wishin' you didn't squeal like a little fuckin' baby! You fuckin' rat.'�

Gustov pulled a pocketknife switchblade. 'Hey Tom, whatabout the mark?'�

'Huh? Oh yeah, from that movie. Sure. Lemme have it.'�

Tom pushed the button on the handle and the blade leapt out. He leaned in over Bobby. Bobby shook. He tried not to make any noise. His eyes pleaded while screaming pure hatred. 'This,'� said Tom, 'is called the 'mark of the squealer.''� He pushed the tip of the blade into the left corner of Bobby's mouth and cut a straight red line across his cheek.

'Heh,'� said Steve, 'he looks like a baby G.I. Joe. Heh.'�

Bobby let out a short scream, 'Ah fuck '�'� His mouth filled up with blood as he coughed, gaggled a little, and mumbled: 'I hope you guys get butt-fucked in jail!'�

Gomer wore thick black boots. He liked to stomp on cat's tails with them whenever possible. This time he used his boot to kick Bobby on the side of the head. 'Fuckin' sissy,'� he said. Bobby's left ear turned bright red as tears streamed down his dirty cheeks.

Cricket kicked Bobby in the nuts. 'Ya fuckin' rat!'�

Bobby groaned, his knees straining toward each other, the glue holding fast. Wet sobs broke from his heart and mind and mouth.

Steve looked worried. 'He's making an awful lot of noise. We better get out of here.'�

Tom shook his head no. 'And let someone find him here, so he can fag-off on us all over again? I don't think so. No fucking way. Gomer, glue his fuckin' mouth shut.'�

Bobby shook like a fish on a hook. His eyes bulged with terror. He preened his neck up as far as it would allow, but the glue held his hair and the skin of his neck and the collar of his shirt. If they would just leave, he thought wildly, I could tear my skin away '�

Steve and Gomer grabbed his mouth and pressed his lips shut while Cricket and Gustov held his arms and legs. It didn't take long. 'Man,'� said Tom, 'that is some sticky shit.'�

Bobby didn't say anything.

Tom smiled. 'It's getting dark. You better learn sign language with your fingertips, boy.'�

Cricket laughed like a little elf. 'Hey Tom, you ever see that monkey, what was his name, Coco?'�

'No,'� said Tom, 'I ain't never seen that monkey.'�

'Fuckin' funny man, talks with his hands and shit.'�

Tom shrugged his shoulders. 'Let's go.'�

The boys nodded their heads in agreement and followed.

As they walked away Bobby could feel the faint vibration of something moving, humming on the rails. He struggled but couldn't move. The guys had stolen enough glue to do the job right. His arms burned. His calves burned. His neck burned. The vibrations grew stronger. He thought about the train. How fast did they travel? Would it be over quick? Could the passengers see him from the windows? No, too dark now. Was there a Heaven for a guy like me, who hung out with guys like that? Bobby thought about a cliché he had heard in school about a train passing through a tunnel as a metaphor for sex. He thought about sex. He wondered what it was like. He wondered what it was like for the guys the other night. Could they have enjoyed it? That way? He thought about the girl. He felt the sudden heat of guilt inside his chest. Why couldn't he have done something to stop them? Right. Why couldn't he have stopped himself from getting glued to the train tracks? Some things you cannot control, he thought, like the sound of the train hammering down the road. But sometimes you could do something and he did do something, he thought. He told the truth. But was it worth it? Was it worth it? Was it really worth it?

Sure, he thought.

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