*----- Beyond a colour - 02 Hi This is, a you probably know, a story. Fiction, not reality, and so no, it's not about you, whatever you might believe. As usual, if you shouldn't be reading this for whatever reason, or you don't like the idea of guys being gay and falling in love, then don't stay here and read this.
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The music was extremely loud, just how I needed it. In a typical state of not really concentrating on any of the things going on around me enough to be precise in my awareness, I felt the pressure of my earbuds against my ears, like when I yank them out in frustration. Earbuds and not proper headphones because they were less visually intrusive, and it was one of the many compromises that I had had to come to with the school. In this case, because it was more difficult to see my blatant transgression of the `no headphones in class' rule. I looked down at the books laid out on the bench below me, noting that I was holding my fountain pen in my right hand, and mindlessly counting with my left. Thumb touching little finger is one, moving to the finger next to that is two, then the middle one is three, index finger is four, and no other finger is five. I'm not sure why I do it. Sometimes when I'm concentrating, sometimes when I'm feeling anxious, it just seems to happen. I wasn't moving, as far as I could tell, so I hadn't accidentally trapped the cable or anything like that. So what was happening? Was someone pulling them out of my ears? What the fuck, was that actually happening? I looked up just as the earbuds fell onto the bench, allowing the now tinny-sounding EDM (that's Electronic Dance Music, in case you were going to Google it) to escape into the lab. Some student I didn't recognise at all was standing right next to me, still holding the cable and grinning like an idiot.
I was sitting at the back of the physics lab, a large room in a hideous `modern' 1960s extension to the otherwise very 1860s school, with giant metal framed windows that meant it was absolutely freezing in the winter. There were five large wooden benches which could easily accommodate ten people each, not that any classes here were that highly populated. Having not noticed the class coming in for their final lesson of the day I was surprised at being so rudely interrupted. Surprised seems like a reasonable word to use, unfortunately, I'm not always a very reasonable person, supposedly, so my response to being surprised is often one of anger. I glared at the guy whilst also taking in the new class in the room. Glared and probably scowled, as I'm apparently prone to doing, which is never a good sign. Like many things in nature, I give plenty of warning, if you know what you're looking at. You don't think wasps have yellow stripes just for fun or fashion do you? I don't have yellow stripes though, just to be clear. And even if I did, how would you see them under my clothes?
Run. In a moment of very familiar uncertainty, I didn't know for definite what was about to happen, although I was sure that it wasn't going to be good. Get away. But before it did, Emmerson came running over and dragged the guy a few steps away from me, putting himself between us and picking up my earbuds which were by then on the floor.
"Here, sorry, it'll be OK, don't worry." Emmerson said to me. He doesn't mean it.
He placed my earbuds on the bench next to me and smiled. He's nice, although I don't have any idea why he's getting involved in this moment. It's a trick. Then he turned around and started going at the new guy. Emmerson is also, apparently, a little bit scary. That's what he will do to you next. I watched their conversation.
"What the fuck man? What do you think you're doing?" Started Emmerson.
"What am I doing? I was just gonna say hi and..." New boy sounded surprised.
"Well don't. You can't just... Look, seriously, you can't do that."
"But I didn't do anything!"
"OK, you're new here, I get it, But you leave him the fuck alone, OK."
"Fucking seriously?" Yeah Emmerson, fucking seriously?
By this time Emmerson had properly squared up to the new guy. He's going to punch him and it's all your fault. Emmerson definitely looks like the type of boy who's been in a few fights, and I could believe that he probably won, although I think that's just in my imagination as I've never actually heard of him being in a fight. The new guy put his hands up in a gesture of compliance as he backed away.
"But who the fuck is that kid?" New boy asked.
"He's in our class, just be nice, and leave him alone." Thanks Emmerson, I think?
"Why, is he some sort of retard?"
Retard... ha. He knows already. Well that fucking hurts. I can accept that I might be an idiot sometimes, in non-academic ways, but me, am I a retard? I am many, many things, but not that. I'm just... a little different. I know what they say of course, I hear them all the time, but it's not true. You're a useless freak. The name calling, the insults, the constant criticism, the doubts, all the fucking time. I also know it's not true. Everyone knows that it's true. Well I mostly know it's not true, it gets harder to remember that some times though. Of course it's true. You're worthless. Worse than worthless, you're toxic. You're actually dangerous to other people. Literally everyone would be better off if you just fucking killed yourself.
There was a rollercoaster at this theme park I went to once, I think it was called The Rocket or something equally from the eighties and now unintentionally retro'. It wasn't actually very big or anything, but at the start of the ride, you were pulled up backwards up this really high slope all the way to the top. And then, there was a pause, just sitting there, knowing that the only, inevitable, unavoidable thing to happen next would be that whatever device was holding the cars up there would release, and off you would go, around the loops and twists and turns until you reached the other side, where you once again raced up a steep slope, forwards this time, before being grabbed' by the track and held there. It was a pause, but only that. It wasn't over yet, as you were then lifted even higher, before being released to do the whole thing again, backwards. So that moment, of sitting there, powerless to stop it even if you wanted to, before being dropped from a great height. That's how my life feels for basically all of the time. And then it starts. But you don't know it's started, not right away. Even if you can hear the `click', in that instant, nothing happens, but everything has changed. The ride has started, you just can't feel it yet. And right then, at the back of the physics lab, I realised that the ride had started, again. Click.
Emmerson had this bizarre mix of disbelief and anger on his face. He looked back to me again briefly, which was enough for me to be swamped with shame. He hates you for making this happen. Look at what you've done, this is all your fault. Mr Kent, or just Kent in the school parlance of last names only, the head of Physics, had walked in by then and so most of the class were preparing to start the lesson, even though he was walking towards the back of the lab, towards me.
"For real? He's Sta...". Emmerson was loudly interrupted.
"Stacks."
For a short man, Mr Kent has a surprisingly authoritative tone when he wants to. I was feeling disorientated, and even though I thought that I knew where he was standing, it took me a second or two to recovery from the surprise of his voice and find him, visually, and to focus on him.
"Music. Now."
He was pointing towards his ear, as if I might need a hint about what he was talking about. Though to be fair, I sometimes do, and I was also being distracted by the thought that he might just be impersonating an old-style petrol pump. I put in one earbud.
"Emmerson, go and sit down. And you, you must be Gardener, welcome to physics and further maths, go and find somewhere to sit, nearer the front."
Gardener was still gesturing towards the bench I was at.
"But sir, what about...?" He started but didn't get to finish. What about the fucking retard? That's what he thinks. It's what they all think. That's what you are. A useless idiot that everyone hates.
"Nearer the fucking front! Sacks sits here because, well it doesn't matter why. If you're ever even half as smart as he is, then maybe you can choose where to sit too, or teach here, and then I can retire."
Securing the other earbud in place gives me some reassuring familiarity and a temporary reprieve from what might come next, although I immediately pulled it out again by accident as I tried to pick up my books. I liked the fact that Kent swears, not because he swears, but because he's a real person. And I'm definitely not actually as smart as he is. Well, probably not anyway. However, there were now altogether way too many people looking at me. I put in the other earbud, again, and was gratefully entombed in the relentless beat of the music. I closed my books, heading quickly away and into the back lab, a much smaller and sort of private space mostly used by teaching staff or for small tutorial groups. It was empty, which was perfect.
I opened my books and carried on working, or tried to anyway. I was still feeling distracted so it was hard to concentrate, but 90 minutes passed by quickly enough. I was vaguely aware of the bell, which is actually quite annoyingly loud but only a distant drone through the music, so it wasn't a total surprise when, a few minutes later, a pen appeared just above my notepad. I knew it was Kent because it was his pen, but I looked up and scanned around the room anyway just to make sure. He doesn't just randomly put his pen in front of people. That would be weird. It's a sort of code we have worked out, I don't remember how. It's how he can get my attention without touching me as that can freak me out if I'm not expecting it. Although it can also freak me out when I am expecting it so... anyway. He was standing in front of me, and no one else was there. I took out my earbuds.
"It's time for you to go home, Stacks. How are you getting on?" Kent asked.
"Fine sir, I've umm... finished the work you left me, and I've also done the new homework sheet that Baines, Mr Baines I mean, has set for the first year exam prep. I think there's a mistake, though, because in question 5, part E, you can't use integration by parts like it says, but I think that's just because of a typo. It should be e to the x, not ex. I solved it anyway, but I'm sure it's not the answer he wanted."
Mr Kent took my not ever so neatly scribbled notes and smiled as he glanced over them. It doesn't seem to matter how hard I try or how slowly I go, I just can't make my writing be all neat and tidy. But I was confident I'd got everything correct as it wasn't at all challenging work.
"It's good to see you in school, Stacks. Have a good weekend, maybe we'll even see you on Monday?" His voice was friendly, and I knew it was a genuine hope.
"Yeah, well, maybe sir, who knows?"
I wasn't being facetious, and Kent knew it. I really had no way of knowing how things would be on Monday. In fact, I rarely had any sense of how things would be in a couple of hours, never mind a couple of days. He's a really good teacher, one of the only ones who makes any effort at all to understand me or makes any allowances for me. God I sound like a whiny bitch don't I? Yes. I don't need people to make major special allowances for me, just to not be stupid is all. He also happens to teach my favourite subjects, although that's maybe not a co-incidence. Mr Kent picked up his pen and walked off, into the inner-sanctum of the science staff room, and I replaced the earbuds and started packing books into my backpack.
These forays into the real world are all well and good, in theory, but it's always reassuring to return to the bubble of constant noise. Actually noise is the wrong term here, it has to be fast, bass heavy dance, trance, electronic type of music to work properly. I'm not sure why, I'm not sure I even like it. The downside of the music is that I pay much less attention to what's going on around me. Of course that's really the point, but there are some obvious disadvantages, like the handful of times I've only narrowly avoided being run over. In a slightly less dramatic example, I turned to leave the lab and was completely startled by bumping straight into Emmerson, which felt more like running into a wall than an actual person. Like seriously, I don't think he even wobbled. He started to gesticulate at me, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. Oh, right, take out the earbuds.
"I said hi" Emmerson said, presumably again.
"Right, sorry. Hi?"
That's what people do, isn't it? I've definitely seen people on TV have conversations, they usually start with both people saying hi or something. Fucking idiot, he's only here out of pity. And goddammit - I've done this before.
"So... I just wanted to see if you were OK, after, you know, earlier." Emerson asked me.
"Oh. Yeah."
There was silence, it might have been awkward. I felt awkward but that's hardly a novelty and definitely not a good measure of what is actually going on.
"Sorry, thanks, Emmerson - right?" Wow, you sound stupid. I hate to agree but yeah I did.
Like with the vast majority of the school, which is approximately 1200 boys, I've never had any conversation with Emmerson before. I mean, I've not spoken to most people at my school. Not that most people have not spoken to Emmerson. Probably the opposite. I try and avoid people. Of course I knew his name, he has semi-hero status for being on the very successful rugby team.
"It's no problem Stacks, none at all." He seemed to be... smiling?
Well fuck, yes, I'd almost forgotten that tiny detail from earlier in the afternoon with the idiot new boy. But this, this was rapidly becoming something a whole lot more serious than that.
"You know my name? Why?" I asked, possibly accusingly.
Sometimes I really need to try harder to filter before speaking. But realising this after I've spoken is obviously too late.
"Of course I know your name, you're always in this class with me, and we have English together. Or at least we do sometimes, if you're here."
He was... smiling? I think. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck. This was much worse than I had ever anticipated. Abort, abort! I need an emergency exit from Lab Three. But there's no analogue telephone ringing. He knows my name, he knows I'm in his class, he knows I'm not always here. This is way too much. I mean, what is he, some kind of weird stalker? Apparently, all of my skills and special powers of being able to be basically invisible had failed me. And no, I don't mean that I actually believe I can be invisible. That would be stupid. Awesome, but stupid. I had to get away.
"Sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I managed to mumble as I pushed past Emmerson and headed quickly for the door.
Not quite soon enough I was down the stairs and out the doors, but into the outside world. Seriously, things just go from bad to worse sometimes. I mean, outside. Ugh. This is going to go horribly wrong. He's seen you. You know you're going to ruin everything. And when he realises, he will hate you just like you deserve.
"Seriously just shut the fuck up!" I said to no-one other than myself, fumbling for my earbuds again.
I hurried home, becoming increasingly desperate for the solace I hoped it would provide as I got closer and closer. Knowing I'd have the whole house to myself for at least a couple of hours was comforting, allowing me to recover from being in school all day. I slammed the front door behind me and headed straight to the kitchen, dropping my bag at the bottom of the stairs ready to collect again as I go up in a few minutes. But then, how often do plans really work out as you expect? I pulled out my earbuds.
"Mum?" She was sat at the little breakfast bar we use all the time.
"Hi honey."
"Why are you home so early? Sorry. I mean... Hi."
Mum closed her laptop and walked over to give me a hug.
"It's great to see you too. Tell me an unusual thing that happened at school today."
Why can't she just ask how my day was like a normal person? I grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and poured myself some milk as I thought about the question.
"OK, well, I talked to Emmerson today." Idiot. Why would I say that? Just lie like everyone else. Stupid. And it's not like we really talked, like, barely at all. He talked, and I mumbled like a tool.
"Oh? And how was that?" She asked.
"You know..." I gulped down the milk and poured some more.
"Uh-huh." She says.
She was already half back to work, typing on her laptop, as usual. But I've fallen for that ruse before, many times, she's still listening. And that off-hand `it hardly matters' tone, that's always not true. There is a pause, I don't know how many seconds, but more than five.
"So, who's Emmerson?" She eventually continued. I knew it was coming.
"Just, a guy. From class." I really wanted to move away from that conversation. I really am an idiot.
"So Mum, why are you home early?" I continued.
"Because we're going out, remember? Dinner at Christine and Michaels? We talked about it last week."
"Oh, yeah, of course." I could feel my heart literally sinking.
I had no recollection of this whatsoever but I tried to sounds enthusiastic, I honestly did. But that's hard to do when faced with the possibility of an entire evening with the dullest people ever, like literally ever. Mum works with them, they are all partners which invariably means that conversation is only ever about work. And even without that, I was genuinely unsure as to my ability to leave the house again, let alone actually try and be sociable.
"Alex will be there." She looked up, with an innocent smile as fake as anything.
"Stop that!" I tried to sound firm but maybe it was more shouty and high pitched than firm.
"What?" She asks as if she doesn't know.
"You know what."
"I'm just saying. I know you like him."
Alex. The son of the dullest people in the world ever, who is also, in no shock at all, incredibly dull. And stupid. Like, actually really stupid. Oh, and insanely fucking hot. He literally looks like a fucking model or something, it's crazy, but there's no way I could go as far as him being attractive. He's pretty, if you like that sort of thing, but the second he opens his mouth, any level of superficial hot-as-fuck-ness disappears instantly. For me it does anyway.
"Yes Mum, I like him, I guess, as a friend. A. Friend. Nothing else. No-thing."
"OK, whatever. We're supposed to be there for 7:30 so can you be ready by 7:00?"
I check my watch, it was just after 4:00pm. This was going to be tight.
"Fine." I said. I could really do without this.
"Are you OK?" I don't know how to answer that and swallowing the lump that just appeared in my throat didn't bring any new insight.
"Yeah, of course." I said a little too quickly.
"Really?" I knew she was serious because she had stopped working again.
"Yeah. Like, probably."
I headed off up to my bedroom where I immediately started not getting ready. After several minutes thinking about it I went and got a shower, hoping that would perk me up somehow and drag me closer towards the kind of place I needed to be in to survive a very dull evening with other people. Unfortunately, it didn't work. I mean, the shower worked OK, as a shower. But it didn't have any magical power to rebalance my brain. I persevered through the increasing sense of the world spinning out of control around me, and the feeling that everything was becoming more distant. I'd even got as far as choosing clothes, which is no small achievement for me at the best of times. Standing in my bedroom, music blasting, clothes all over the floor, my hands shaking whenever I stopped remembering to make them stop doing that, I resigned myself to what I'd really known to be true since back at school, no matter how hard I tried not to. I pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt and went back downstairs.
"Mum?"
She was still sat at the counter with her laptop, and was probably only half concentrating on me as she looked up. I guess we've been through a lot together, and so sometimes she has this very annoying ability to know exactly what is going on inside my head. Mostly annoying anyway. But other times, she still seems surprised.
"Honey?" Her look was suddenly at full intensity. This is so stupid, I know it's stupid, yet I'm suddenly on the verge of crying anyway.
"I don't think I can go."
"Oh."
There was a moment of silence, filled with the tone of her disappointment, further mixed with fear and genuine concern. She hates you just like everyone else does. Look at what you do to her. You are such a problem for everyone.
"Really?" She asks.
It was a needless question, but I understand why she asked. Are we really doing this, again, right now? Are we really back to this fucking ridiculous situation? Are YOU letting this happen again? Are you ruining every fucking thing, again? OK, maybe that was just what I had asked myself already. I nodded.
"But what happened? When? Have you been skipping your meds?" She asked.
"What!? Of course I fucking haven't!"
I realised too late that I was yelling. Again.
"No, I'm sorry, I know you wouldn't. I just... things have been good for a few months and..."
She didn't finish the sentence, but gave me a big hug instead, much better than words.
"So, you go. I'll be OK, I promise, I'm just going to go to bed." I eventually replied.
We'd had almost this exact argument so many times before that we can just shorthand it by now, so there's no wrestling between options. I know, and she knows, that her staying here won't actually make things any better, or worse, as far as I'm concerned. I'll be in bed anyway. So there's genuinely no hard feelings when she goes out and leaves me for a few hours. It's not even like staying would make her feel better, because there's nothing she can do.
I went back upstairs, turned the music up, got undressed, and into bed. It was still early, but this is my best chance. I pulled open the drawer in my bedside cabinet and rifled around for a few seconds until I found the box I was looking for. Fuck you Emmerson. This is you're fucking fault. Why? Why did you have to do that? I popped out a tablet and swallowed it. I know it's not really his fault. How could he ever know? Grrrr. I just hope that it's been long enough that my body has forgotten and so one of these tablets will effectively knock me out for a good few hours and things will feel better by the morning.
The sun fully set, my Mum came and checked on me before she went out, the night passed, and the sun was fully up again. I wasn't aware of any of those things happening. But now the sun is proper shining around my curtains, and I'm awake, and... yeah, OK, not too bad. That was a scary close call. My positive mindset was mostly just bravado, but at least I could hope that things would improve. Over breakfast Mum tried to gently clarify things.
"So... do you know what happened yesterday?" I waited a good few seconds, maybe a minute. I was really trying to make sure I knew the answer.
"No."
This, technically, was a lie, but I wasn't able to say it out loud, or even properly acknowledge it to myself just yet.
"Oh, OK. And now, how are you doing this morning?" She asked.
"I'm OK Mum, it will be fine."
Another blatant lie. She probably knew anyway as I said it far too quickly. In a series of events that neither of us were surprised by, it was a couple of days before I made it back to school. The first requirement was, as usual, to report to the headmaster to explain my absence. Fucking great. I knocked on his door and waited. He made everyone wait, always. I assume it's a power thing. Dick. We don't get on well. I think he only tolerated my staying on for A-levels because he thought I might go to Oxford or Cambridge, so when I told him that I wasn't planning on going to University at all he got very annoyed. Eventually he opened his door.
"Ah, Stacks, come in."
I entered his office and stood in front of his desk. There were chairs, but I'd never even got a hint that sitting down would be acceptable.
"Absent for two days."
It wasn't a question, obviously, but it did require a response.
"Yes sir."
"What reason this time?"
Because I'm a crazy fucking mentalist, sir. No, OK, I won't say that.
"I wasn't well" I ventured.
"Again?"
Yes sir, I'm sorry, I'll have a word with my psych team and tell them to improve their game because you think it's unacceptable for me to have a significant mental difficulties and for it to inconvenience things too often.
"Yes sir. Again." Fuck-wad.
We exchanged a few further terse words before I left. Seriously, you don't make it any easier to come back to school. Things weren't so bad after that, as in, I made it to lunch time without really having to speak to anyone. This, of course, is much easier when most people assume you are a freak and so do their best to avoid you, which is fine with me. But lunch is still some of the most difficult time to navigate successfully.
*-----
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