His eyes were closed, and his hands lay atop one another. The cushions enclosed his suit, holding his peaceful body in place. He had seen so much that no one knew. It was too late for his story to be told. There was no one where he was; there were only people around him looking at his eyelids wishing for one more glance into their green beauty. If any man could be called “beautiful,” it would be him.

His jaw line was strong but not wide; he was confident but humble—a beautiful man.
“There he is, huh?” said Jack.
“Jack, what are you doing here? You know you weren’t invited.” piped Jen.
Jack shrugged his shoulders, “Good kid he was, a good kid indeed.”
“What do you know of that boy? He hated you.”
“What? Nah, he loved me. He loved me very much.” Jack looked down at his hands. They had veins extruding, visible under the skin.

“Grandpa! Grandpa!” he said
“Oh, my young man, you are getting so big. How old are you now?”
“Ten and a half!” He smiled, hugging Jack again.

“A good strong boy you are, young man.” Jack chuckled. “If you stay strong and know what you are doing, you can rule the world, you know. Your avenues are wide open.” Jack’s speech was interrupted by a series of coughs. “Oh, excuse me,” said Jack, “stay strong, boy.The strong rule the world, command many, and answer to none. Believe me, I'm one of them.”

“But, grandpa, I don’t want to rule the world. I want to just be me.”
“HA!” Jack patted him on the shoulder and coughed, “No you don’t. You want to be strong.” Jack sat down and helped the boy onto his lap. “Let me tell you a story, young man.” The child looked into his grandfather’s green eyes, smiled, and nodded. “Good!” Jack exhaled. “I had a friend back in college. The young man would give his life for anyone. He was the selfless kinda guy. I didn’t get him, but he was funny so I stuck with him. His name was Gene. Now, Gene was the guy you went to if you needed something and he, unfortunately, gathered the wrong sorta crowd.”

“What do you mean grandpa?” asked the boy with eager eyes.
“He didn’t get that his “friends” were dicks. In fact, when he was a senior, a few of them convinced Gene to break into the chem lab and get some things for them. They were gonna play a fun prank on one of the guys ex-girlfriends—well, that’s what they said.
“What did they want?” queried the little curious cat.
“Let me tell the story, boy.” Jack thundered,
“Sorr—“

“Anyways—Gene was convicted of accessory to the production of restricted substances. He was expelled from school, lost his full-ride, and was put in jail for fifteen years. I waited to hear from him. I wanted to hear from him. Fifteen years later, no one was let out. I went to the jail house and asked about him. The bailiff said, ‘Eugene Rogers… Uh, sir, Eugene Rogers was the victim of a fatal beating in the courtyard fifteen years ago.’ That was the first time I had cried over a lost friend and the last time I cried at all.   Turns out, Gene was found by one of the guys that he ratted out for making meth. He and a few buddies gang raped Gene to death.” Jack was attacked by another coughing fit.

“Grandpa, are you alright?” asked the boy.

Jack ignored the question. “Anyways, boy, you never wanna be the nice guy; they finish last, if they ever finish at all.” He put his hand on Jack’s cheek and Jack saw the smooth skin of the boy’s knuckles.

“I said, you aren’t welcome here, Jack—leave” said the boy’s mother.
“Huh? Why not? He loved me,” said Jack.

“You are a dick, dad! He hated you and you never treated him well. Remember his twelfth birthday? He didn’t want any gifts and he just asked to hang out with us and have fun. You said—oh, how did you put it, ‘F*** that, boy. Without demanding things, you will never rule the world.’ He cried and wouldn’t come from his room for days.”

“Nah, he loved me.”
“Dad, leave,” she said.
“But—”
“Leave,” she repeated.
Jack picked up his cane before gathering himself and, as he was reaching the door to the church, turned around to look at her, “You know the strong rule the world, Jen. We rule the world. He never finished.”
“Oh, f*** you!”

“Goodbye, Jen.” He said as he walked out the door.

He found the nearest bench and sat down. His elbows fell on his knees and his face in his hands. He lifted his head back up and looked into his freckled, age-marked palms.

“You know you want to be strong, boy,” he said with a puff of smoke. He smiled at the boy, showing his teeth. They reminded him of coffee-stained papyrus. He went to Jack and hugged him around the waist. Jack patted him on the head with a smile and said, as the boy looked up, “We will fix this attitude right out of you.” The boy’s eyes glistened with salty tears. His chin quivered and Jack peeled him away from his grip. Jack crouched to eye level and, with a smoky cloud, chuckled, put his cigarette in the boy’s mouth, and walked back in the house. The boy spit it out and sat down where he was. He began to cry and thought, almost aloud, “God would forgive me if I walked behind him with a pen and put it through his neck.” But something inside him pushed that thought right out, “No, don’t give him the satisfaction. You can kill him in other ways.” He looked at his moistened palms, giggling to himself.

“Where did you go wrong, Jack?” Jack said. “You weren’t strong enough… No, he looked up to me, he did, I know it, he would have ruled the world if it weren’t for that other boy, you know it, Jack, why did you let him die, why did this happen to you, you did everything you could, and you never went wrong, he went wrong, he was the one who messed up, so just shut up, this isn’t my fault.”

Jack stood up and walked to the boy. The air was frigid and the sky was clouded. But with his gloves, Jack’s knuckles wouldn’t crack and bleed—so he was comfortable. He reached the lawn and looked for the boy’s rock. On it was written an inscription that Jack muttered to himself. He bowed his head and a tear fell from his right eye, it landed next to his rock.
                               

The rock read, "JACK: Bitter Sweet."
                                         
“The strong don’t exist without balance. I love you, Jack.” He removed his gloves and touched the stone. When his skin made contact, something rushed through him. “I love you, Jack.” He put his gloves in his pockets and walked off the lawn into the misty streets of New York.

His knuckles didn’t crack.