Copyright 2006 by Orfeo Sunstone
Disclaimer: Subject matter of this fictional short story is of homosexual nature, if this offends you or it is illegal to read in your state or country, please leave immediately. All individuals depicted are a figment of the imagination, and any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.
Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between. Write to orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com
I, Roberto Aleman
Chapter one
The halls of the school were deserted as I walked out of detention. My right eye still throbbed in pain from the fist Scott planted on my face this morning. I'm happy that I landed a couple of blows on him, well, maybe more than a couple. Now I await tomorrow's confrontation with his best friend, David Wentworth, who just happens to be the guy I lov--
"Mr. Aleman," shouted Mr. Hurley, my English teacher, interrupting my thought process, "don't forget you have detention all this week." I glanced back at him, nodded, and continued my way home enraged that Scott wasn't reprimanded. He started the altercation, he threw the first punch, but since Mr. Hurley only witnessed my fists flying in the air and landing on Scott's pretty face, I got detention, he got to see the school nurse.
For the first time in my sixteen years of life, dear Reader, I got into a fight and received detention just because in my government class I, Roberto Aleman, managed to outperform Scott Huntington in a debate about the growing concern of drug use in the country. Mrs. Bright, who had this ingenious idea of putting everyone's name in a white hat and the two names she pulled would be debating whatever issue was pulled from her black hat. I was praying to god that I wouldn't get picked; I become awful nervous when all eyes are on me and, besides, I'm extremely shy. It was already spring and I had been lucky for the past three months not to get called upon for her dreaded debates, blending in like a wallflower. But today the world was against me.
My name was pronounced first and I felt as if the girl behind me struck a blade in my back. Sweat began to gather on my forehead, my heart palpitated with exasperation wanting to escape the body that enclosed it. At this point I wanted the intercom to go off requesting my presence in the principal's office just to flee this ordeal. Then the nightmare worsen, David's name was pulled out from the white hat, but he wasn't in school today, I heard from the girl in front of me that David was still in Europe and would be returning tomorrow, and my agony was prolonged for several more minutes which felt like an eternity.
The classroom door suddenly opened and in walked the principal, Mr. Truax. For a mere moment relief filled my head, but that quickly dissipated as he said a few words to Mrs. Bright and walked right out. Anxiety took charge and I began biting the pencil I had seized with both hands. I prayed that I wouldn't make a fool of myself; that this would be brief and painless.
Next came the name of Elizabeth Smith, but she was part of the school band club who just happened to be performing at the state capital. Nauseating, my stomach wanted to hurl the breakfast it didn't eat this morning.
To test my luck, or rather my adversity, I was called to the front of the class to pick out a name from the white hat. My footsteps were heavy as I reached the front and slowly I dipped my hand inside the hat and lo and behold the beige paper read: Scott Huntington. I about choked on my saliva when pronouncing his name. He quickly walked up to Mrs. Bright, gave me a perverse sneer, pulled our debate issue and took his place in the right side podium. I took the opposite.
Scott took the initiative voicing his solution by securing the US-Mexico border to prevent drugs like cocaine and marijuana from entering the country. His assumption was that everything illegal entered the country through that particular border and that by closing it many problems would cease to exist, including the drug nightmare plaguing the country. That's all he got to say as I began my discourse with the simple economics equation: supply and demand. As long as there's demand for drugs, the suppliers will find a way to fulfill the demand no matter how secure the border is. And I ranted on and on emphasizing the legalization of drugs, to consumption being the responsibility of each individual, and that the government's only role ought to be the regulation of drug sales to minors.
Apparently, without my knowledge, my "other" was doing the speaking, I spent the next twenty minutes persuading the class and Mrs. Bright on the argument I brought forth, which I'm still not sure I had an argument. But just as the torrent of words spilled from my mouth a sudden drought stopped the flow. Scott stared with such animosity I thought a vain was going to pop from his neck. Mrs. Bright praised my performance and assigned Scott to read several articles on drug use and regulations and to prepare a report on his findings. As we took our sits I heard a male voice snicker "The Mexican whipped you good Scotty", echoed by several whiplash sounds and giggles.
Our homework was given and as I was placing my class book and binder into my backpack, a note landed on my desk. I looked up at the girl that dropped the note wondering what the heck she wanted. She pointed to Scott and told me to read the note and that Scott would be waiting at the indicated location. I opened the note and she walked away. It read "Meet me in the 3rd floor of the library after class so I can beat the crap out of you for your impertinent mockery. And don't you dare not fucking show up, BEANER." Dread leaped from the walls of the room and began attacking me.
Everyone rushed to escape out into the hallways as the bell rang. I was the last to depart. A dilemma presented itself without consultation and now I was confident blood from my body was going to shed this morning. I proceeded to the library to confront my judgment, leaving behind my destiny with the sun and the moon. My world seemed to be imperceptibly coming apart.
The nervous sound of my sneakers resonated on the stairs as I approached the third floor of the library. A few students roamed the rows of books but quickly turned towards me as I advanced to the center where Scott and a few of his friends, mostly from the football team and a couple of swimmers, stood. Panic circulated through my skin imploring my resignation.
The confrontation instigated rather abrupt as the next thing I know Mr. Hurley is lifting me away from Scott who laid on the carpeted floor, blood splattered across his face. All stared at me in disbelief. I would have stared as well, except that the acceleration of my heart prevented me from concentrating on anything other than continuing my assault on Scott, but the hulking stature of Mr. Hurley prevented me from launching at him again.
That, dear Reader, is how I got into my first fist fight, was caught and received detention. Mr. Truax called my parents to inform them of the happenings, but he couldn't reach them at work, so he left a message at our home number. Fortunately for me, the message will never get to them because they never check for messages nor do they understand English. The only evidence will be the slight discoloration of my left eye, but I can blame that on my physical education class.
Throughout the remainder of the day word got around that I, Roberto Aleman, beat the shit out of Scott Huntington, the 5'11" shortstop of the baseball team, he was also one of the running backs for the varsity football team. And to validate such allegation, my light blue t-shirt was stained with his blood. But now another rumor began to spread: David Wentworth, the 6 foot quarterback of the varsity football team, plus midfielder for the soccer team, was going to kick my ass once he learnt that I pummeled his best friend.
For that reason alone, dear Reader, I'm opting to catch the flue in the next five hours from one of the patrons in the restaurant I work part time after school. Maybe food poisoning will do the trick. Anything that'll prevent me from standing face-to-face with David, the blue eyed blond that in dreams, comes into my room, into my mind, and makes passionate love to me. Ah, but those are just dreams.
Chapter 2
I have some bad news to relate, my dear Reader. The flu did not take effect nor did the food poisoning. I'm perfectly healthy--for the time being. Last night at around 10:30, right about the time I got home from work, my dear mother gave me a message from a friend named Sofia Hayes, requesting that I give her a call back as soon as I got off work. Now, I know who this girl is, what I don't know is why she would be calling me, plus I didn't know she spoke Spanish. We're certainly not friends, she's popular, great looking, has a ton of friends, and I have none of the above. I've never managed to interest someone in becoming a friend, only one person but that was many years ago. No, no one wants to hang out with the loser I represented. I didn't return the call. I was tired and my body requested respite.
A nightmare. A nightmare assaulted my sleep. The macabre dream involved a few of my body parts flying around the school parking lot. But I quickly snapped from the horrendous dream and examined my form in detail, making sure nothing was missing or misplaced. Only the bruised eye reflected in the mirror.
This morning I almost drowned in the shower. Somehow, without my permission, I must assume I was under the chaotic control of my subconscious, the body that carries my brain around decided it was a great idea to stand with my head lifted up under the showerhead letting water filter into my nostrils. That certainly woke me up.
I managed to get to school in my dark blue corroded car just in time before the bell rang. Chemistry was my first class and David Wentworth shared it with me. He looked amazing, perfection personified. Everyone was asking him about his trip to Italy and Spain, including our teacher, Ms. Voigt. He informed the class that he was having his annual party at his house and for everyone to expect an invitation. He had parties quite often, but I've yet to receive an invitation. Many years ago, I anxiously waited for an invitation to arrive, always wondered what a party would be like, but the invitations never came, I never got one. Only the popular or rich crowd got invited, which was the majority of the student body. I was neither. Navigating to my seat, a note awaited my arrival. Fantastic.
Ignore it, my mind spoke. But I couldn't. I opened it and it read: "You didn't return my call." It wasn't signed but I knew it was Sofia's who sat in the opposite side of the classroom. Before I could interpret her objective, Ms. Voigt informed us we would be switching lab partners, to walk to the lab tables in the back of the room, our names would be on each table. We all walked back, I found my name, ignored who my partner was as the prior one's never contributed to the experiments, and began gathering information for the new assignment.
Swiftly, like the summer breeze, a discrete smell of green tea leaves filled my senses with contentment. But quickly I realized that only one person in the entire school carried that scent around; I squirmed in my chair. Please don't let it be my partner, I prayed to the deity that printed the chemistry book which sat in front of my eyes. Sweat populated the tip of my noise and fell like a drop of ink into the beaker that I clutched with both hands. The presence standing next to me coughed, but I still didn't want to look up. Another cough, and with no other hope, I lifted my head, closed my eyes, turned to the right, opened them up, and what do you know, a pair of blue orbs stared right back.
We stared at each other for an eternity. Time: Man's invention or God's craziness? He seemed to be scrutinizing me, trying to decipher the matter that formed my person. I just marveled at his beauty. His short cropped blond hair was tidy as always, but his eyes were darker than usual which meant something was out of order. I wanted to crawl into the crevice of my backpack.
"So," David interrupted my reverie, "are you going tell me what happened yesterday or are you going to stare at me the entire period?"
"Stare..." That did not just come out of me. Shit. Where are you oblivion when I need you? Think of something you idiot or else he certain is going to beat the hell out of you, I told myself.
"What do you mean stare?" his right eyebrow snapped up with an incredulous glare.
I know. I'll pretend to faint to escape this tribulation. If I remember correctly, I should grab the desk with both hands, ask if the room is spinning, stumble from side to side, and fall softly on the floor. That should do the trick.
"Beto, can I talk to you for a minute?" Ah, saved by who knows what person standing behind me. I wondered why anyone would be using a diminutive of my name. I broke the stare with David and turned around to confront the demigod: Sofia Hayes.
"It's Roberto, not Beto," I replied, ignoring David's question.
"Sorry, I just thought--" she began to apologize.
"Stop thinking." Wow, I really need to learn to control what I say out loud. "Um...sorry. Do you...do you want to talk now?" I asked hoping to escape David's questioning face.
"No, we have to work on our experiment," answered David who glared at Sofia.
"Now would be good," Sofia continued without giving David a thought.
"Okay, I'll ask Ms. Voigt to let me use the restroom and you follow behind." I walked out obliquely towards the door followed by Sofia.
"Ms. Voigt, I forgot my safety glasses in my locker, may I go get them?" I heard David's voice ask. I quickened the pace so that he wouldn't see what hallway we sneaked into. We ended up in the confines of the soft lit auditorium.
"So, I got your phone message," I began as I pulled out the note from the right side front pocket of my blue jeans, "and your note from this morning. What can I, Roberto Aleman, do for you?"
"I like how you say your name," Sofia giggled.
"Yeah, well, I like how I say it too. Now, what do you want?" I demanded and she started digging through her backpack, I didn't know she carried one around, and took out a black journal with a blue eye in the middle of it and--
"What the hell are you doing with my journal?" I shouted at her. When did I lose it? She better not have read it. I freaked. My heart began to pound my chest. I'm positive my face must have lost some of its color at this revelation.
"Calm down, its okay. It fell from your half opened bag yesterday in the library. I tried to find you to return it, but you disappeared from the face of the earth." The air around me was heavy, I couldn't breath.
"Did...did you...did you read it?" Please say no, please say no. My hands became sweaty, and my feet began to shake. I could feel the brain pounding against my temples.
"Yes." Damnit. The pounding resounded throughout my body and now my heart began to accelerate. My ears became hot, blood rushed to the head. Deny everything, my brain began to formulate, but its command didn't reach my mouth. Then, like a dream, David appeared in the entrance of the auditorium. I stared into his blue pupils that were approaching with every second that traversed. No, he can't find out what's in that journal. I won't make it out alive if he does. And I fainted.
Is there any person, so unhappy, so abandoned, that he doesn't have a little shelter into which he can withdraw and hide away from questioning stares? Yes. Me.
Although I was not abandoned, per se, I was unhappy with my life. But try as I may, there was not a hiding place, especially now that I wanted to escape the school nurse's office. Sofia, the witch that still had my journal, which by the way, dear Reader, contained information about my feelings and some fantasies about a certain blond, blue eye beauty that just happened to be named David Wentworth. That annoying parasite kept asking over and over if I was feeling better. I got tired of answering her impertinent questions so I just wrote yes on a piece of paper and every time she asked a question, I would flash it.
It would have worked perfectly well, except she asked if I was in love with David, at which point the yes paper flashed up, I was on auto. Seconds later realization smacked me on the face. I had inadvertently admitted that I, Roberto Aleman, am possibly ga--
"So everything I read," Sofia interrupted my slow processing brain while holding up my notebook, "in this journal is true. You're in love with David." Deny it you idiot, I told myself once again.
"Who's in love with me?" Both Sofia and I turned to the door and there stood David, staring at me as if asking if it were I. My brain was still on auto and slowly my hand containing the piece of paper began to rise. But it was quickly slapped down by a warm skinny hand.
"Now who would even want you?" answered Sofia. I definitely would. "For your information, the David we were having a private conversation about is not you but my cousin."
"And who's in love with him? Roberto?" Asked David with a raised eyebrow, while continuing to stare at me, challenging me to answer the truth. He somehow already suspected I was, you know, "different". Damn him and his powers over me.
"No! And that's none of your business," responded an annoyed Sofia.
"Right...Roberto, can you tell your custodian here to leave the room for a moment; I need to talk to you. In private." Oh no, that's not going to happen. My guardian angel is not leaving my side.
"David, go plant a tree and hang yourself, we don't want to talk to you," Sofia voiced in anger.
"Actually," I began, standing up from the bed, "I'm heading out, the nurse has already released me." The rush of blood to the head left a few side effects. Hesitantly, I walked to the door, tripped on my untied shoelaces and fell forward onto David who caught my body from hitting the cold tile floor.
Time gave me a few more seconds to marvel at the splendor that held me in his strong arms with a worried looked. The aroma radiating from his body flowed to a particular spot that my jeans confined, which began to rise. Body against body. Control yourself or kiss this life goodbye, voiced my head.
"Are you all right?" asked the mellifluous god. Of course I'm fine; now that I'm in your arms. I gave a positive nod. He leaned forward, his arms still wrapped around me, and whispered in my ear: "Then stop staring."
Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between. Write to orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com