by John Arthur Raymond Petrik he was beautiful out there two years after graduation, the day before Thanksgiving, surrounded by a stadium of sugar maples, playing tackle with guys still strong enough to kill each other with one lowered shoulder, no pads, dodging defenders and stiff arming, spinning, our bodies sliding one by one down his hard, lean body, my lips pressing to his leg in one final desperate kiss as he shed me, advancing to an end zone that had no lines, all of u