Stanley Raymond Kowalski was born three weeks premature.

When he was a kid, his mom liked to tell him all about it, like it was this exciting story. His parents were still in the middle of moving into their new house -- their own house -- busy unpacking and moving everything around and setting everything up. And it was still high summer, not the calmer fall they'd been waiting for. They thought they still had a couple weeks to get everything prepared, his mom said, gazing at him fondly, but he came as a shock, bursting in their lives before they were ready.

Mom said she had planned to call him Gloria Ann if he was a girl, but then when he came, she left it to Dad to decide on a name. "Stanley Raymond is a strong, sturdy name, though," she said, and Ray would try not to roll his eyes as she went on. "A child this small -- so tiny! So precious and perfect -- and this impatient and stubborn -- well, he needed all the strength he could get against the world." Then she usually wrapped the whole thing up with a hug.

Ray figured the story at least explained why he was so bad at waiting.

Two.

Ray was kidnapped by aliens when he was ten years old.

"Liar," his cousin Billy said when Ray told him.

They were both tucked into the four-post bed in the attic at Gramma and Pop-pop's house. They were supposed to be asleep already, but neither of them was sleepy, so they whispered in the dark instead. They could hear the grown-ups downstairs still moving around and talking, getting things ready for the party tomorrow.

Ray whispered, "Cross my heart and hope to die."

Billy made a disgusted noise and rolled over onto his side, his back to Ray. "You're such a liar, Stanley," he repeated. "And a cheater, too. I told you a real secret--"

"It is a real secret!"

Billy snorted and said, "Yeah, right."

Ray glared at his back. "It's true, you jerk."

"I bet. They were probably looking all over the place for a big enough freak to take. Good thing they found you. Perfect four-eyed runt sissy freak specimen."

Billy was a year older than Ray, and a lot bigger, so if Ray had stopped to think about it, he would have been pretty sure he was going to lose. He didn't really think at all though before he gave Billy's back a shove so he fell onto the floor, and then jumped down on top of him.

He did get two good hits and a headbutt in before their moms came up to find what the noise was all about. And the next day at dinner, Billy looked a whole lot worse than Ray did. It pretty much made up for the grounding he got.

Three.

The summer he was thirteen, Ray spent every Monday and Wednesday afternoon sitting outside the athletic center across town.

There was a bench in the shade across the street. Ray sat there, chewing gum, maybe reading a comic book, fidgeting and tapping his feet and waiting. He wasn't good at waiting, never was, but he could do it. If it was important.

Stella's swim lessons usually ended at three, but sometimes they got out early, so Ray came by earlier just in case, so he could make sure he was right there every day when she finished.

Stella never looked surprised to see him, and she never said anything about it, either, but she always smiled at him when he ran across the street and started walking in stride with her.

"Hi, Stella," Ray said. He was smooth. He was cool. He was working it, and he had Stella's hand in his.

"Hi, Ray," Stella said.

She smelled like chlorine and sunscreen. Ray wasn't sure if that was the smell of summer or of love or of victory. Maybe it was all three.

Sometimes they walked to the convenience store and if Ray had money, he'd buy her a pop or an ice cream cone, and then they'd walk to the park near Stella's house and sit and talk, if she didn't have to get home real quick.

One time when they were talking Stella said, "You should really learn to swim, too, Ray. I bet I could teach you."

Ray flushed a little and laughed it off. "What do I need lessons for? I got you around to get me if I ever go under, right?"

Then Stella flushed a little pink, too, and looked down at her ice cream cone, and Ray grinned.

Four.

Ray lost his virginity junior year, the week after Christmas.

Stella had gone to Indiana with her parents for the holiday, so Ray hadn't seen her since school let out. When she called from her house to let him know her folks had let her come home early, he was in the car on his way over ten minutes later.

Stella answered the door after his first ring of the bell. She was wearing a soft-looking sweater and a tight skirt and sparkly earrings and her hair was arranged all fancy. She looked glamorous and expensive and mature and for a second Ray just stared at her before he came back to himself.

They exchanged gifts in Stella's room. Stella'd gotten him a record, and he gave her a necklace he'd been saving up for. She smiled at him and held her hair out of the way so he could put it on her. When he kissed her she still tasted like eggnog.

Ray lost track of how long they spent necking on Stella's bed. By the time Stella started saying "Maybe" and "I think" and "We're ready" and "I want you to," he felt light-headed, like he was drunk without a single sip of alcohol.

Afterwards he kind of wanted to rest his head on Stella's chest and cry, but instead he held her in his arms and kissed her hair.

Five.

Ray graduated from high school with a 62% average.

When Stella found out, she said, "Oh, Ray" and pursed her lips. Stella was fifth in her class over at her private school. Stella was the kind of person who had refused to talk to him for a week because her SATs were the next Saturday and he was a "distraction."

Ray didn't get that. It wasn't that Ray didn't think school was important. Well, it kind of was that he didn't think so. But mostly it was that other stuff was just more important.

Like Stella. Stella was more important than the quadratic formula or whatever, no question. Being with Stella, working on cars, slaving away part-time at the restaurant down the street to earn money -- there was a hell of a lot of stuff that seemed a lot more important than studying. And then when his dad had his heart attack, well, there was the responsibility of his mom, too, while his dad was getting better.

Ray could have gotten better grades. He chose not to.

"You have so much more potential than this, Ray. If you would just get your priorities in order--" Stella had said, but Ray ignored her. He had plenty of priorities already.

Six.

Ray got a tattoo on his right shoulder of the Champion spark plug logo.

First he saved up for the engagement ring and then he saved up for the tattoo. He was tough. He was cool. He was riding high on that 'yes' for months. No more skinny geek, glasses and stupid name and pissing himself in public -- all of that was gone, this was him. He sat in the chair, needle at his arm, feeling like -- yeah, like a champion.

Stella thought it was a pretty stupid thing to do, and she told him so as soon as she saw it. Dumb, but "I have to admit, it's kind of sexy, too." She smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, and they had sex in the backseat and Ray felt like a stud. That was a good night, and every once in a while he'd glance at the tattoo and still be reminded of the whole time.

Stella thought it was stupid because it was permanent and what if he changed his mind and what about twenty years from now and what about what people would think?

But, Christ, permanent -- that was the whole point.

Seven.

One time Ray had sex with some guy he had just met.

It was in the bathroom at a party held by this guy Dave who Ray knew from boxing. Stella hadn't come, supposedly because she had to be up early in the morning to meet her girlfriends at the fitting place, but mostly because she thought Dave was a dick. Which he was, but that didn't mean he wasn't a good guy, too. Stella didn't get that.

So Ray went to the party by himself. It was okay, nothing special, lots of beer, lots of ribbing about the wedding and tying himself down and being pussywhipped. Just the usual, same as ever.

He ended up in the kitchen, talking to this guy -- Alan? Mark, maybe? Something like that. He was funny, seemed smart, a good guy, and Ray was having a better time than he'd expected to have. He was still a little fuzzy about how they ended up making out in the john.

"Wait," said Ray, jerking his head away and clunking it against the wall. "Wait, I don't-- I have a girl--"

Mike or Alex or whoever stopped kissing him, but he didn't move his hips away from where they were pinning Ray against the wall. He licked his lips. "So do I."

"Oh," said Ray. "Okay, then. That's good." Between the fuzziness in his head and the hardness of his cock, it seemed to make some sort of sense, so he shifted to help the guy get his jeans off his hips, and he closed his eyes and held on to the towel rack while the guy sucked him off.

The guy let Ray come in his mouth, and then he spit into the toilet and got off his knees. They kissed some more, wet and sloppy and bitter, while Ray jacked the guy off. It was awkward, because the only dick he'd ever had in his hand before was his own, and because now that he'd come he was starting to feel a little self-conscious, but finally the guy came, too, getting it all over the place.

Ray tried to rinse the come off his t-shirt in the sink some, and then he went and found his jacket and passed out in one of the bedrooms. He woke up the next morning having a hangover from hell and feeling like an asshole. He bought Stella some flowers later in the day but he never told her why.

Eight.

Ray stuck it out at college for almost two full years before he dropped out.

Of course, he knew way before then that it wasn't the right thing for him. It wasn't exactly big news or anything. He graduated from high school, and he did the community college thing, and it made his mom and dad happy and everything, not to mention Stella. He worked mostly, took classes part-time, all this stupid stuff, algebra and Spanish and world civilization and whatever. It sucked, he sucked at it, but each semester he kept on with it.

And then him and Stella got married, and they moved into their tiny little crappy apartment, and Stella was studying for her midterms all the time and Ray worked at his job and did his stupid classes and came home, and then it struck him, like a frying pan to the head: What the hell was he doing?

"I wanna be a cop," he told Stella one night at dinner, and Stella looked up at him from her books.

"Really? A cop?"

"Yeah," said Ray. Before, it had been sort of half-formed and hazy in his head, but now that he was saying it out loud, it was true, it was what he wanted. "Yeah. I do."

He put off telling his folks for as long as he could, but he was kind of hoping they would end up being really pleased, really proud. He had this fantasy he'd tell them and they would just be happy -- shocked, but happy, like his dad was going to shake his hand and his mom was going to hug him and make him cake, like a police officer was a great thing to have in the family.

When he did tell them -- it was during Sunday dinner at their place, pot roast and mashed potatoes -- what really happened was that his mom said "Oh, Stanley" in her disappointed voice and his dad put his fork and knife down on his plate with a clank and stood up from the table and went out to the garage and stayed in there the whole rest of the afternoon.

His mom said his dad just needed time to get used to the idea. But then they moved to Arizona after he graduated from the academy, and he talked to his mom on the phone a couple times a year and got a card from them at Christmas and his birthday and didn't see them again for more than a decade.

Nine.

Ray quit smoking when he hit thirty.

Part of it was the health thing; his doctor had been on his back about it for years, how he was killing himself and fucking up his lungs. So, okay, there was that. Ray hadn't always been all that worried about that kind of stuff, but it was going to be important, he had to stick around.

And then the house -- you couldn't have those things around the house. You had to be ready. Set a good example for kids. Keep them healthy. All that stuff.

Stella wasn't all the way convinced about kids yet, yeah, but she would be. They were getting older, they were grown-ups, their jobs were going good, their lives were going good. Ray just had to be patient. And okay, Ray sucked at being patient, but he was going to wear her down eventually. He'd convince Stella about this, just like he convinced her about the two of them when they were kids.

He just had to show Stella he was ready, he was committed, he was into this. She'd come around, and they'd have a family to show for it.

First he just had to get off the habit. That was the first step. So he flushed his cigs down the toilet, and stocked up on gum and toothpicks. It was worth giving up for what he was gonna get in return.

Ten.

Ray realized his marriage was over on Thanksgiving.

He'd been out of the house for about five weeks at that point. Stella needed time. And space, she needed her space. Ray didn't see why she couldn't have that stuff with them together, but fine, whatever.

So he was living (not living, staying, he lived back at home with Stella) in this dinky little place, all dank and depressing and messy. But it didn't matter because he wasn't going to stay there. Any day he'd be back home, and things would be good again, Stella would be done having her fit.

He called Thursday morning when he woke up, and left a message. He watched the parade in his underwear and called and left another. He made himself grilled cheese and potato chips and watched the football game and then he called again.

After football he called his mom and dad in Arizona and listened to his mom flutter all about dinner and her shopping plans and all that stuff. When she asked about him he said, "No, uh, everything's going great here. Fine" and she sighed and said she was happy he was doing well.

He went out for beer. The store was open but deserted, and the girl at the counter looked like a kid. He drove back home and drank a little and watched some more tv before he tried calling Stella again.

This time she answered the phone.

"Stella, baby. I want to come back home," Ray said, eventually.

"Ray, why do you keep doing this?" Stella said. Ray started to answer, but she kept on going. "I can't do this anymore. It's not -- it hasn't been working, not for a long time, and you know that."

"I do not know that. I don't know anything like that."

Stella took a breath, and it sounded halfway between a sigh and a sob. "Yes, you do. You just won't admit it to yourself. You don't -- you don't know how to let anything go, Ray."

"I know enough not to let things go!" Ray said, raising his voice. "Look, you got to listen to me. You're being crazy. I gave you space, I gave you time--"

"Calling me every other night, leaving all the messages, that's giving me space?"

"--I'd do anything for you, you know that," Ray went on. "Just -- Stella, just tell me what I can do to make it right."

Stella made another one of those weird sobby-breaths.

Ray said, "I love you."

"I want a divorce," Stella said, and Ray sank down to sit on the filthy floor. "I love you, too. But I want a divorce," Stella repeated, her voice a little firmer, a little more certain.

"I love you," Ray repeated, lost, but by then it was all over except for the papers and the stalking and the years of humiliating himself and the stepping into a new life to screw up.

Eleven.

Ray didn't believe in love at first sight.

Actually he had his doubts about love altogether. Love sucked. It tore your heart out and made an idiot out of you. You just had to look at all those kids running around acting like their lives were perfect and complete and they were gonna be happy forever together to see how stupid it was.

Ha. Hardy-har-har.

Ray almost had to laugh except for how it wasn't funny at all.

Because, bang, right there was the punchline. Ray could not believe in love all he wanted, but did it matter one fucking bit? Obviously it did not. New job, new life, he was working, he had it together now. Different person, ignore the past until it goes away -- and then he turned around and there was a good-looking crazy guy in a red suit, and bang. Someone was laughing their butts off up above.

Stella was untouchable, and Ray touched her anyway and fucked it up. Fraser was a freak, he was unhinged and Canadian and he talked a lot and got pissy and polite and way too smart, but he was kind of untouchable in his own way too.

Love didn't last anyway, so it was okay. Partnership, that was the important thing.

Ray spent a lot of time not thinking about how long that was gonna last.

Twelve.

The first time Ray kissed Fraser was on their adventure.

It was about a week or two in, and they were in their tent, all settled in for sleep. Ray was bone-tired now that they were off. He was falling asleep immediately every night, like when he boxed when he was a kid, only ten times more. And also colder. So he was almost asleep when Fraser started talking.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Ray grunted and shifted around in his sleeping bag. "Fraser, this isn't a good time for one of your scary stories."

"I didn't mean..." said Fraser. There was a pause, and Ray shifted around again, trying to get comfortable, because now that he wasn't dozing off everything felt bumpier and rougher and more annoying. After a little bit Fraser said, "I used to see ghosts. Just the one ghost, actually. Well, to be precise, there were two ghosts, but I only saw the second the once, and she didn't actually speak, whereas--"

Ray rolled over, finally, and threw his arm out, groping till he hit Fraser's arm. "Fraser."

Fraser became still under his hand. "Yes, Ray?"

"You saw a ghost?"

"Ah. Yes." The tent was quiet except for Fraser's deep breath. "My father--"

"Your father's dead, Fraser."

"Yes, that's generally a requirement in ghosts, Ray."

"Right."

"My father," Fraser said, "was a ghost. For the last few years, after his death, he's been ... visiting me, I suppose. Giving horrible advice, telling stories of his heyday, and generally just being, well, irritating."

Fraser took another of those deep breaths, and Ray took the opportunity to say, "Fraser, that's kind of weird."

"Indeed. But it's true, nonetheless. At least I believe it is. I suppose there's always the possibility that I truly am unhinged." One of Fraser's hands came over to meet Ray's, where it was still holding onto his arm, and Fraser laced their fingers together as he went on talking. "When we caught Muldoon, my father... justice had been served. He ... he was there with me in that mineshaft, and then my mother appeared."

"So, uh, are they still around? Like right now?" Ray said, trying not to freak out and start looking around the tent. Especially since it was pitch black. And he wouldn't be able to see them anyway.

"No," said Fraser, "no, they're gone. My father said goodbye to me, and my mother -- I got to see my mother. And then they were gone."

Fraser went silent, squeezing Ray's hand a little tighter, and Ray swallowed.

"So why are you telling me this story, then?"

Fraser said, slow and a little awkwardly, "I thought, somehow, that my father's ghost would always be with me. But nothing is permanent, Ray, and ... well. We're always close to being alone. I'm grateful that you chose to be here, along with me, and I felt..." He trailed off again.

"You wanted to get it in while you still could," Ray said, filling in the blanks along with him, connecting the dots. He got it.

"Exactly," said Fraser, sounding a little relieved, and that was when Ray hauled himself half up and aimed his mouth for Fraser's in the dark.

Thirteen.

Ray knew he was going to stay in Canada a long time before he and Fraser got around to talking about it.

Ray figured it out halfway through the adventure -- not like a great discovery, but more like a realization of something he should have known already, something that popped into his head one of those days out on the sled. Fraser, on the other hand, didn't say a thing about it until they'd finished, crawling up to a decent hotel for beds and showers and all that luxury stuff for the first time in weeks.

Maybe Fraser wouldn't have ever mentioned it if he didn't know that Ray was planning on staying. But Ray wasn't sure about that. Maybe he would have. Ray knew Fraser better than he knew anybody, but people could surprise you. Ray had surprised himself, up here, over the last few weeks. Getting fit, getting these skills, seeing this whole different world that Fraser lived in, that Fraser was crazy about. Getting better at all of it, as Fraser got happier and happier -- at being home, at Ray, at all of it, maybe.

And it wasn't like Ray was a natural, and jeez, he didn't belong in Canada or anything. He was never going to be like Fraser. But Ray had always just figured he belonged in Chicago, like that was where he was supposed to be. That all he had was the way his life was supposed to be, like fate or destiny or just the way things were.

Well. Fuck that.

"You're certain you don't want to return home?" Fraser was combing his hair carefully in front of the mirror on the dresser, getting ready to go out to get them food and talk to people and face civilization. Ray sat back against the headboard of the hotel bed and grinned at Fraser's reflection.

"Home? You mean the crappy apartment, or the failed marriage, or the job with no partner? Yeah, you know, I can see where you get the appeal there."

Fraser set down the comb and gazed down at it. "I just -- I want to be sure, I want you to--"

Ray stared at Fraser's lowered head. He kind of wished he had something to throw at it. "How?"

Fraser turned halfway and looked at Ray for a long moment. He broke into a small, wry smile and confessed, "I have no idea."

"I'm going to move to Canada and live happily ever after, Fraser, and you can't stop me, so don't even bother to try."

Fraser made some sound that was a little like a laugh but more like a snort. "I think by this time I've learned better than to cross you when you have a notion stuck in your head."

"Really?" Ray asked, with a slight grin. "Because, uh, that's new."

Fraser shook his head and advised him to stop lounging and get out of bed before the whole day was wasted, but Ray felt good about sitting around and wallowing for a while more. The bed was comfy, he had nowhere else to be, and Fraser would be coming back.

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