Disclaimer : This chapter is by no means meant to be misogynistic.
With school starting, it's taken me a while to write this out, especially since I tend to be a perfectionist. But after quite a few corrections - it took me three times as long to correct it than it took me to write it - I've finally finished. I hope whoever reads this enjoys it. Comments of any kind are welcomed and encouraged at the above email address.
BLEAK FUTURE
Interlude -- 2
I've just turned sixteen. It's a cool autumn evening. I am on a "mock date" with Brie Preston. I say "mock" because it wasn't my idea. It was my aunt's, the ever-present pain in my ass, continuously trying to set me up with girls from work, from church, from "nice families". All blond-haired. All with pounds of make-up and clothes from Abercrombie and Fitch. All with fake highlights and tans from salons. I don't know where she gets them. Brie is the only one I've agreed to go out with because my aunt's promised to pay for EVERYTHING.
Brie is a seventeen year-old senior in a private school in the city. She is blonde, a few inches taller than I, and uses the word "like" as a bridge between every word in every sentence she utters. I've taken her to Stunt's for dinner (paid for by my aunt) and Brigham's for ice cream. In the middle of walking her home, she talks, while I pretend to listen.
"Oh God. Can you, like, believe, that I, like, got into college? I mean, it's, like, so incredible. Don't you think?" Her voice is perky, like a spear from one ear to the other.
"Yeah... Incredible," I say, hoping that God, out of sympathy, will strike me with lightning.
"I mean, okay, yeah, you know, I did okay in school. You know? It was, like, kinda hard at first. Like, I got Ds and stuff, you know? But then, I totally started, like, doing so much better. I started getting, like, C pluses and, like, B minuses and like, my parents were totally proud. So, I'm like, going to Simmons next year. I so don't know how I'm gonna deal though cause, like, there are no guys there, and like, I'm a girl, you know? I, like, NEED guys, you know? They're like my air or something, you know?"
My eyes widen; my ears ring. I look at the gloss on her lips. I've been looking at it all night, but now I feel repulsed. I can't take it anymore. "Um, Brie, how `bout we don't talk till we get to your house?" I say, hoping that we don't ever have to speak to each other again.
"Do I have, like, bad breath or something?" she asks, then starts to laugh nervously.
I shudder. "Uh... no, I just need to think, so your talking doesn't really help."
We walk in silence until we arrive at her front door. Her house is white with black doors and sidelights. On the porch, we sit on the steps while she stares at me. "What?" I ask, more annoyed than I think I should have been.
"Nothing. Wanna come inside?"
"Uh... no. Not really."
"Oh... Okay, it's late anyway. I think I have to, like, work or something tomorrow."
"Okay. Cool. I'll talk to you later then," I say, knowing that it's a lie, hoping that I never have to see her again. When I start to walk down the stairs, I hear the door creak, then footsteps. Before I know it, her lips and breasts are pressing against me.
"Jesus Christ!" I yell, pushing her away. "What the hell, Brie?"
"What? I just thought you, like, forgot or something!"
"Forgot what?"
"You know... to give me a goodnight kiss."
"No! No. I wasn't gonna--Jesus!"
"What?"
"It's the first date! People don't kiss on the first date!"
"Yuh-huh. People fuck on their first dates. Kissing is, like... it's just first base. It's basic. Come on, I'll show you."
"Look," I say with both hands up, ready to stop her by force if I have to, taking a step back, "I'm gonna miss my bus back home if I don't go, okay? I'll talk to you later." I'm fighting the urge to spit, to wipe my mouth of her saliva. Yuck, I think.
On the bus, I can't stop thinking about what a jerk Brie was, but the hour ride placates my anger. When I get home, I tell my mother what happened.
"So? What's the problem?" she asks, obviously not getting it.
"Mom, the girl attacked me! She just grabbed me and kissed me like a piranha, man!"
"Yes... And?"
"Christ, Mom! It was gross."
"Watch your mouth, Tristan." Her calm annoys me.
"It's just pretty traumatic, alright? I don't care if I ever kiss another girl again. Damn! Are all girls like that? Are they all freaking piranhas? Do they just assume that all guys want `em?" I'm pacing around the living room, running my hands through my hair, overreacting.
"Tristan, calm down. You're making too big a deal of this."
"All I'm saying is, she shouldn't have done that. You know, I don't care if I ever see her again. Christ! Gross. I mean, if all girls are like that then I don't want to have anything to do with `em."
"Tristan..."
"No, mom! Seriously. Jeez."
"Well, hon. Maybe you're gay because most boys would be begging for what you got tonight," she says. Her voice is calm, a bit mocking, but calm. Her hand is on my shoulder. A big smile is plastered on her face.
"I'm not gay, Mother. I'm just upset. Alright? I'm not a fag!"
"Tristan! Watch your mouth, I said. Actually, go take a shower and go to your room. Calm yourself down."
Part 6 -- Recon...?
It Figures...
Channel surfing always takes up all my attention -- not to the channels but the buttons on the remote, the little noise the television makes between each channel -- so much that I never notice when my mother enters the living room. I don't notice when she sits next to me on the couch. This is a daily routine.
"Hey, babe," she says. I can hear the fatigue in her voice from working for fourteen hours non-stop. Her face is a bit drained, wan, her eyes are a bit bloodshot, but there are still no signs of wrinkles. People still mistake her for my older sister.
It takes a while for me to answer, mostly because I'm not paying attention to anything but that little period of time between each channel, that little static noise it makes. "Hey mom," I say without turning from the television. There are too many thoughts in my head to stop changing the channels. I hardly see what I'm tuning to. Every thought leads to Paul.
"You all right, kiddo?" Her voice is without trepidation. She's not very worried.
"Uh... yeah. I'm fine."
"Okay. I'm going to bed. I'm so tired I could sleep for days," she says. Her hands are wiping her forehead of invisible sweat. Her fingers are at her temples, messaging away all the complaints she might have gotten during the day.
"Actually, mom... Mind if I ask you a question? I mean, a hypothetical one?" I can always speak to my mother. When I was younger, I called her my guardian angel.
"Yeah, sure."
"Okay... Um... Sure you don't mind?"
"Not at all," she says, lifting her legs and resting them on my lap.
"Okay. Then, let's say there's this person that I like, and I think they like me back, right? And at first, they were always talking to me and I never really talked back. I mean, that person was always being friendly and for some reason, I never really responded the right way, I guess. I always ignored them. But now, I'm trying to talk to them and... and they're not talking back. I mean, they're avoiding me, ignoring me like I'm... I don't know. I mean, I know that I was rude first, right? But, it's kind of pissing me off. In the end I responded, but the worst part is--" She stops me by putting her hand up. "What?" I ask, a bit upset that she won't listen to the whole story before judging.
"Why don't we start with his name?"
"What do you mean by `his name'?"
"I mean, Tristan, you're playing the pronoun game with your own mother. I might be a waitress, but I'm not stupid. What's this boy's name?"
"Paul," I say quietly, too stunned to lie, for any real thought to go through my mind.
"Paul what? Doesn't he have a last name?"
"Marshall. Paul Marshall," I whisper.
"You mean the boy you were friends with freshmen year?" She says this nonchalantly, matter-of-factly.
"No," I shake my head. Sometimes, it's as if my mother has short-term memory. It's annoying.
"Yes. It's the same boy." She seems too calm.
"No. Mom, I just met this kid. We've been in the same class for the whole year, but we never really talked. I just met him. I swear."
"Okay. Let me ask you this, then. Does he have red hair?" Her eyes are piercing into mine.
"Yeah."
"He's kind of tall?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Really skinny?"
"Not too skinny, but um... I guess so."
"I used to see him all the time at the bank, every Friday when I deposited my checks. You know him. You've known each other since you were freshmen. Since before you were freshmen. We met him when we first moved here, Tris. He asks about you all the time. At the bank, I mean."
"He does?" Do people get brain freezes in the middle of summer without having something cold on their skulls?
"Yes, he did. He doesn't work there anymore though."
"I know."
"So, it's him?"
"I don't know. I mean, I'm not sure. I don't remember..."
"Well, maybe that's why he's not speaking to you."
"Huh?" My mind is elsewhere. I'm trying to figure out if that's why he's been giving me the cold shoulder. If I'm the one who's been the idiot all along.
"If I'd known you for three years, and you didn't remember me, I'd ignore you too."
"Mom, he kissed me. And I kissed him back and then he just freaked out. Like, he didn't want me after just..." I stop and turn back to her, going from the brink of emotional distress to anxiety. "But... you're... Are you okay with this?"
"Okay with what, hon?"
"Okay with me being... you know. With me liking Paul?"
"You mean, am I okay with you being gay? Honey, as long as you're okay with it. I don't necessarily agree with the whole...you know, thing, but what can I do? I figure that all I can do is love you and hope that you give me grandchildren," she smiles, realizing what she'd said.
"What about church and... everything? I mean, I know that it's kinda--"
"That's between you and God, babe. I've been praying for you since before you were born," she says, waving her hand as if it hadn't even entered her mind, "so that's none of my business. You're old enough to figure that out yourself. You know what I think?"
"Uh... no?"
"I think it's my job to love you, protect you, and shelter you. It's also my job to remind you of that fact. Everything else is in God's hands. He'll protect you and love you too, but as your mother, it's my earthly duty. You understand? I'm supposed to give you unconditional love no matter what, Tristan. I'd have to love you even if you decided to be a serial killer. I'd have to. And what I figure is, homosexuality is much less harsh than you doing drugs and killing people."
"I guess," I breathe, but again my mind is veering to Paul. I think of what he must think of me.
She smiles and rubs my neck. "We should probably hug now, right?"
"How `bout we don't and say we did?" I laugh.
"Come here." She holds me tight for a while, then lets go to put her knuckles to my scalp.
"Ow! What the hell?"
"Watch your mouth! You deserve that."
"Christ!"
When I turn to look at her, I see her smiling at me.
"So... um, how'd you know about...? I mean, I don't think it's that obvious."
"Brie. I've known since Brie," she says, nodding as if a picture of what had happened was playing in her mind at that very moment.
"Brie..." I whisper, taking a while to remember. In a way, that did explain it.
It's seven o'clock in the morning when I arrive at James' door. I knock several times before deciding to just throw rocks at her window. For what seems like an hour, I throw rock after rock, but nothing happens... until I hear a crack that must have been the rock piercing through the window and falling into the room.
"Shit!" I whisper, turning to leave, when I hear the sound of the window being pulled up.
"What the fuck?" a groggy man's voice whispers loudly.
I turn to find a shirtless John poking his head out the window. Wrong room. John must have, for some reason, traded with James.
Truthfully, I'd never noticed John's naked chest before, even though I'd seen it many times. Today, it looks... well, dazzling. Built, but also slender and tanned -- something I'd never been able to achieve or rather, never really tried. His face has the slightest traces of blond hair stubs on it, and his eyes look half closed with sleepiness.
"Hey, John!" I whisper loud enough for him to hear.
"Tristan? What are you doing here? You know what time it is?"
"Yeah, it's like seven or something, right?" I say, pretending to have no idea.
"Uh, yeah! This better be an emergency."
I chuckle with my left hand nervously rubbing the back of my neck and ask, "Your sister, she here?"
"Couldn't this wait till later?"
"Not really. It's sorta important. Kind of an emergency. Can I come in? I've been knocking for half an hour."
"Yeah, just gimme a sec," he says, rubbing his eyes, leaving the window frame. "Lemme put some clothes on."
"You don't have to," I mumble to myself, surprised at once by what I'd said.
By eight, everyone in the house is up. James and I are in her room, lying on her bed, watching our favorite Saturday morning cartoon, Batman Beyond.
"So what's so important that you had to wake everyone in the house up?" she asks, sipping loudly the milk from her bowl of Fruit Loops.
"I met this person," I say slowly, cautiously, pretending to pay close attention to the "funny rabbit" in the Trix commercial.
She smiles. "O...kay."
"And, I need your help cause I--well, I think I really like this person," I mumble.
"Yeah?" she says, knowingly, her brows knit. "Maybe you should just stop saying `person' and tell me who it is, Tris."
"It's kinda complicated."
"Yeah, I'm sure it is," she says, biting her thumbnail.
"Just... it's..." I can't make the words come out.
"Spill!" James says with her thumb still in her mouth, her eyes seeming wild with excitement.
"You know that kid we work with? Paul?"
"Uh-huh." Her lips engulf her whole thumb so that all she can do is mumble.
"We made out in his car a couple of weeks ago. I really like him."
"Oh," she says, her thumb dropping out of her mouth, sounding a bit disappointed. "That's it?"
"Well... yeah."
"Oh," she breathes. "I thought it would be something more exciting. More challenging, I guess. I kinda know about you two already."
For some reason, I'm not surprised that she knows. I feel as if I should've known. I should've known the minute she and Paul made eye contact in the store. I should've known when she kept initiating conversation between us. "Did he tell you or did you just guess?"
"Actually," she starts, with a grimace as if to apologize, "I've known for a while. You're the idiot who... well, Tris, you're an idiot," she says.
"I know," I say with a feeble smile.
The Non-Plan
It's noon. John walks into and out of the living room (with a shirt on) where I sit and watch music videos. His newly shaven face looks more angelic than that of this morning, but his rough beauty remains. On TV, I watch the new Weezer video and think of how beautiful Brian Bell is. This is something I could've and might have noticed before, but I've never really thought it before, never really put it in a complete mental sentence. It's a sort of epiphany, like this morning with John. I realize that he's sexy. His wild brown hair gives me chills up my spine.
"So, what are we gonna do?" Harley asks. She's here because she's volunteered to help me with the Paul situation.
"I don't know," I whine, still mesmerized by Brian's eyes and hair, trying to ignore her annoying voice interrupting the flow of Brian's.
"Look," she starts slowly, "my advice is if you really like the guy, just confront him." She stops to make sure that I'm paying attention. I'm not. "Don't pretend and shit. Just tell him the truth. Go up to him and say, `Paul, I really like you. Let's go steady!'"
Realizing how corny the idea is, I laugh. Turning from the television to her, I say, "Haha. That's fucked up. `Steady?' Harley, I want the guy to like me, not think I'm some love sick freak."
She laughs too. "Well you weren't listening. Had to say something. I mean it though. Just tell him the truth." Her brows are knit, her lips pursed. "Don't fake it. Alright? Just tell him the truth."
I nod, feeling a bit chastised. I understand. What she doesn't understand is that I don't know how not to pretend. I don't know how to word my feelings.
I had a dream last night that I was sitting in a corner with my legs drawn up and my chin resting on my knees in a dark room. The room was pitch black except from some rays from a window above my head. There was a light switch by what seemed to be the door. I couldn't see it; I sensed it was there, but I wouldn't turn it on. I wasn't afraid sitting there all alone. I just stayed there in the corner, unmoving, with my heart beating at a standard pace, my body temperature normal. I thought of nothing and stared into the darkness until I awoke from the dream.
I'm now standing at my window after waking up in cold sweat from the dream. When I'd woken up, my heart was speeding and my mind racing. For a while, I thought my brain would implode and my heart, pop out of my chest. When I looked at the clock, it read 3:11. Now, it reads 3:26. The sun has yet to rise, but there's a full moon out. Staring at the trees that have brought me comfort for the past three years, I think of what the dream meant, what my life has meant so far. Without another thought, I run to my closet to put some clothes on.
The dam is a place I discovered when I had first moved here. I was always comforted by the ebb and flow of the water moving from the top of the dam to the lake below. I stare at the water for a while, sitting on my bike that I haven't ridden for at least a year. My eyes concentrate on the little waves with the breeze clearing my mind, the sultry humidity clinging to my skin. No thoughts come to me.
For what seems like an hour, my mind is blank. I sit on the grass with my eyes closed. I see nothing but the darkness that engulfs me, hear nothing but the water falling into the lake. After a while, I hear cautious steps approaching. When I turn around, I see Paul walking towards me.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his lips are trembling.
"Waiting," I answer.
Another cool breeze blows by. I close my eyes to feel it on my eyelids. Holy Shit! Déjà vu! For that instant my eyes are closed, I see it. I see this same scene, except I'm a lot younger. Paul is there, but he's a lot younger. I'm sitting on my bike watching the water flow from the dam for the first time. I'm thinking of my father leaving my mother. I'm thinking of how horrible it is to be alive and in this hellhole of a town. Paul asks me what it is I'm doing here, and I answer "Waiting..."
"Right," I hear Paul say. When I open my eyes, he's walking away.
"Hey!" I scream. "Wait!" I remember this! This happened before. Paul doesn't turn around. He keeps walking away. "Hey!"
"What?" he snaps back.
When I catch up to him, I say, "You didn't ask me what I was waiting for."
"You're not waiting for anything!" he screams angrily. "I remember this. I remember everything, but you don't remember shit. It's just a fucking game to you, isn't it?"
"Look, just ask. All right?"
"What are you waiting for, then?"
My mind is suddenly blank. What was I about to say? "I don't know."
He rolls his eyes.
"Well, um...this happened before, right?" I say in a panic. "We've been here before? I don't really remember what happened back then, okay? I don't... I was kinda messed up back then."
He says nothing; his eyes are piercing into mine; he shrugs and nods simultaneously.
"I think we should forget about what happened three years ago. I wanna be your friend. You're a cool guy... and... like you said, we work together at the store. So it'd be better if we were friends, if not for friendship, then for work, you know?"
He shakes his head and with a solemn voice says, "I don't want to be friends. It wouldn't work."
"Oh," I sigh. Anger and frustration take over my body, and I begin to shake. I don't care if he notices. I sigh again and turn away from him, feeling my eyes well up, unable to stop the tears.
"What I mean is," he says and sighs, "I wanted to forget what happened in front of the store cause I didn't think it could work. You know. Us, I mean."
"Oh," is all I can come up with, still staring away from him. I can feel the tears tumbling down my cheeks.
"But now..." he whispers, then stops. He grabs me by the hand and leads me back to the grass, where the water meets the land. I'm dragging behind, not understanding, tears staining my cheeks. He points to a house behind the dam. "That's where I live," he says. "I always thought it was a sign that we met each other the way we did. Remember how we met? It was like... it was like finding a gem or something at the beach cause it doesn't happen. You know? I always thought it meant something. And when I saw you here three years ago, I kinda thought you were staring at my house. I thought that was a sign too, that we were kinda meant to be... be friends or...something. Like, I thought that maybe it was destined."
I smile and whisper, "I never thought of it that way."
"And when you said you were waiting last time, I wanted it to be that you were waiting for me. I wanted you to tell me that you'd been waiting for me all that time. I kind of wanted you to feel the same way."
I smile and say, "Paul, dude, I was only thirteen."
He falls to the grass; lying on his back, he says, "I know. It was stupid, but it pissed me off. That I could remember stuff so well. Like, it meant something to me but not to you... Well, it was a thought though, right?"
I sit near him and cross my legs Indian-style, thinking how wonderful this is. Frustrating, but perfect in a way. That he's felt this way about me for three years; that he felt for me then what I feel for him now. "Yeah, I guess. It was a thought... So what do you wanna do? We friends?"
He pulls himself up to sit like me and smiles. We stare at each other for a while. He reaches to wipe the tear stains from my face and moves a bit closer. I follow what he does and move closer to him until our thighs are rubbing against each other. Our faces are only a few inches apart. I can feel his breath on my lips. I stare until I can't stand it anymore. As if we are thinking the same thing, we simultaneously move towards each other and our lips collide. His tongue licks my top lip then my bottom. Softly he pushes me to the grass, and pushes his body on top of mine. Our kiss never breaks. Extending my arms above my head, he kisses my neck. I can't stifle a quick moan.
My breathing becomes short and quick. His hands move to my sides, pulling at my shirt impatiently. My hands don't move from above my head.
He moves down to my waist and unzips my pants while I take my shirt off. My eyes don't open.
I feel his eyes on my body, and for a minute, I'm terrified. What does he think? I don't move. I stiffen. He doesn't move either. Curious, I open one eye to find him staring at my underdeveloped chest. I want to say that I'm sorry I don't have a six-pack, but I don't. I stare at him staring at me.
"What?" I whisper, finally, self-consciously.
"I don't know," he whispers, with awe in his voice. "You know how you think of some things so much that at some point it feels like you've already seen it or experienced it?"
I nod, thinking, Great. He's disappointed.
"It still doesn't prepare you for the real thing, you know. The real thing turns out to still be better than what you'd been thinking of."
It still makes you shiver.
I pull myself up, with his hands still at my waist. Slowly I pull his shirt off. HE has a six-pack. I run my hands up and down his chest. My brows are knit because I don't know what to think. How can someone like my chest when theirs look like that??? I kiss the spot between his lats. I kiss each nipple. I close my eyes when doing this, feeling the cool breeze on my naked back and legs. His thighs press against my waist. I get to his neck and suck as hard as I can.
I hear him moan then I hear myself moan. I can't control the groans emanating from my lips. We fall back on the grass, him with his khakis on and me with only my boxers. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist while he kisses and pushes his body into mine. Our separate moans become indistinguishable. I can't figure out which is his and which is mine. At one point, they don't seem to be coming from separate bodies.
Paul breaks the kiss. "We could go to my house."
I'm in a daze. "What?" I moan. My eyes are bleary. I'm lost in the thought of Paul, the flood of Paul's warmth.
He laughs, "Wanna come to my house? Come on. Put your clothes back on."
Finally understanding what's happening, I jump up and try to find my shirt and pants. "You know, you should put my clothes on since you're the one who took `em off."
He only smiles. I think he's in a daze too.
Holding me from behind, he makes me feel safe to the point that I'm glad nothing happened our first time together. I can feel his breath on my neck. The tiny hairs on his legs rub against mine. His arms are wrapped around my waist. His fingers prickle the tiny hairs below my belly button. The heat exuding from his body mixed with mine forms a powerful smell that excites me. I want to move, to look at him, to make sure that this is not a dream. I want to be positive that he's there behind me, that I'm on his bed, in his room. I want to make sure that those are his lips on the back of my neck. I want to kiss him again, to feel his lips on mine, but I'm slowly falling asleep. I'm too comfortable to move. Too safe to worry.
Corey Castor 2001
9/29/2001