My Theory of Justice

My Theory of Justice By: Edwin E.

Disclaimer: This story deals with male/male relationships in high school; don't read if you're not supposed to. This story is complete fiction: the people, places, situations, etc, mentioned below never existed. This is copyrighted to me. If you like it, tell me!

Quick note: I just turned 25. Yay! So wish me a happy birthday! LOL.

Part VI: Coffee and a Car Ride

"Alright," began Patrick as he lit his cigarette and continued walking, "where do you want to start?"

"How about in general: what's your take on 'em?" asked Jude. The two new friends had agreed to talk some more, so long as Jude didn't mind a lengthy walk. Patrick always met his girlfriend at a small coffee shop a good fifteen blocks away from the school. As long as Jude was willing to make the trek and get a ride home from there, Patrick didn't mind engaging in casual conversation.

"Okay," Patrick said as he pondered how to begin. "Here's my take: Philip is a very nice guy who is unbelievably unhappy; Adrian is not a nice guy at all, and is even unhappier."

"And how do you know that?" Jude asked.

"They never smile," was the response once Patrick took another drag. "All you have to do is check them out at school or in last year's yearbook. Adrian doesn't smile in any of his pictures, and Philip only smiles a little bit - but even then, it's clearly forced. His lips may curl up but his cheekbones aren't raised and he doesn't use his eye muscles: all signs of phony smiles. If you have to pretend so much, how happy can you be?"

"I don't know," Jude wondered aloud. "Philip's never struck me as being too unhappy, though. Since I met him, he's seemed a bit more serious than other people I know, but not necessarily 'unhappy.'"

"There's no doubt about it - that guy's miserable," Patrick said with an indifference that Jude shouldn't have found surprising, and yet did.

They continued to walk - side by side - through the streets of downtown. It's quite amazing the effect two good-looking young men can have when merely walking with a casual confidence. Perhaps it was the way their steps were almost in sync, or how their eyes always looked forward and not toward the ground (a definite sign of insecurity) - either way, they were noticed.

As the coffee shop seemed to remain at a healthy distance, Jude continued their conversation. "So that's it huh? Adrian's just 'not nice' and 'unhappy?'" He asked.

"Pretty much," Patrick answered easily. But then he tilted his head at an angle, as if debating a point in his head. "Actually, that's being too generous: he's one mean son of a bitch. People are only that mean out of fear or sadness. And in all honesty, I don't think Adrian is afraid of anything. But that asshole is profoundly... dissatisfied."

"David and Max make him sound like he's evil or something."

"Evil?" Patrick repeated with a laugh and a smile. "That's a bit melodramatic, even for Philip's camp. But I guess both sides tend to exaggerate when it comes to the other. We're in high school for heaven's sakes! It'd be stupid for anyone to try and give those guys' bullshit some sort of Manichean significance." As he said this, he tossed the spent cigarette butt onto the floor and stepped on it. "Adrian's no more evil than Philip is angelic."

Jude turned his head slightly and looked at Patrick with some hope for elaboration: why was there an antagonism for Philip too? Wasn't one supposed to be better than the other? But Patrick didn't seem to notice the unspoken questions, and continued walking.

Adrian sat on one of the four benches clustered under the inescapably large tree marking the entrance to Cassidy. School had let out a half hour ago, and yet he hadn't left. His patience, however, was growing thin; he wanted to jump into his car and meet Tanya or fuck Miles or do homework. But he was waiting... seated on those damn benches. He hated those things: all "gifts" by senior classes of years long gone by. To this child of an individualistically elitist world, the commemorative plaques screwed onto each bench (designating each respective donor class) symbolized something innately dreadful: a nameless legacy.

Yet he sat and waited... for Brad.

He had heard through a friend that Brad would be staying late to work on an essay with his English teacher (apparently the poor guy has "had a lot on his mind lately" and needed the extra help). Adrian felt his lunchtime confrontation with Brad was an unqualified success. Nevertheless, a quick reinforcement was needed to keep Brad on the right path. Adrian knew the routine all too well: the attack must be constant and relentless in its application.

When Brad finally left his English class, he had to walk quite a bit before reaching the exit. As he stopped just outside the classroom door to shove all his books in his backpack, he couldn't help but think about Adrian - AGAIN. The drama playing out in Brad's life was consuming him. In retrospect, the greatest mistake he made was going to that party a week and a half ago and getting sloshed. He felt the events of that night could prove a valuable lesson on the dangers of alcohol consumption: "Be careful kids! Don't drink or you might out yourself at a party by having lots and lots of sex with the Spawn of Satan." Add a catchy melody and you'd have a first rate public service announcement.

It was cold out all of a sudden. Low lying clouds looked more like a curious fog that seemed to not want to get too close to the ground. The air was full of moisture, crystalline - cutting and stinging the face if one walked too fast. It felt like a winter day, though Time was still holed-up in early autumn. Brad had not been prepared for such unexpectedly frigid weather. Hmm, it seems even Mother Nature was against him. So he zipped up his thin windbreaker, crossed his arms, lowered his head, and walked toward the exit.

As soon as Brad spotted Adrian, he stopped cold - the very sight of him bringing a torrent of apprehension, confusion, and anger.

"Don't look quite so depressed Brad - it makes you less attractive," Adrian said once he stood up and walked over to his "friend."

"If I keep it up maybe you'll leave me alone," Brad replied.

"Keep dreaming," Adrian scoffed.

Brad sighed with infinite resignation. Protesting to these encounters only drained him and made them last longer than necessary. The easiest course of action was to just get through them and hope Adrian would get bored soon. Still, that didn't stop Brad from speeding things along. "What do you want?" He asked.

"One: to remind you about the party. And two: to give you this..." Adrian took an index card from his backpack and scribbled on it.

"What is it?" Brad asked as he looked at the card curiously.

"It's my cell number - in case you want to talk before Friday."

"Right..." Brad said with obvious sarcasm, though he readily accepted the card. Adrian raised one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows as a smile crept up on him. He knew Brad wasn't going to call, but that was hardly the point. At this particular moment, transference was the name of the game.

Adrian had always been able to objectively and analytically dissect aspects of human nature he found interesting. Of course most people tend to do this naturally, to a certain extent. But Adrian used his insights and conclusions for one purpose: to enhance his already refined ability to manipulate. And here was a perfect example.

Human beings have such an odd fetish with material objects. They'll take ordinary things and ascribe onto them certain feelings - transferring and creating whole personalities in an effort to fill a void. This is why kids are forced to give their grandparents a class picture every year; why husbands present their wives with diamonds on anniversaries/birthdays; why foolish women keep old love letters, etc, etc. The pretense, of course, has always been benign: symbolism. These imbued objects are meant to symbolize abstract concepts such as "love," or "the past," or whatever, when the real thing is not close at hand.

Adrian was astute enough to understand that people cherish such objects out of an irrational ne ed for personification - and not symbolism. Those pictures on the mantle don't merely symbolize your grandkids - in a very real sense, they ARE Your Grandkids simply immobile and framed; that isn't a symbol of your husband's love dangling from your neck - in a very real sense, that IS Love in the form of perfect carbon; those old letters aren't reminders of your past or youth - in a very real sense, they ARE the Old You tucked in a tattered shoebox under the bed.

In such a jaded time, Reason demands the world speak in similes and yet everyone lives through metaphor.

That stupid little index card with ten digits scribbled in a sloppy hand did not just symbolize Adrian. Oh no, no, no - it personified him: replete with his ambition, vindictiveness, rage, and undeniable sexual magnetism. When Adrian could not be the physical thorn in Brad's side, The Card could. Whether in Brad's pocket, in his backpack, on his desk, or hidden in a dresser drawer, that card would unleash an unending stream of whispered doubts into his ear.

Those doubts are what Adrian was doing his utmost to create. You see, to get Brad to even consider the possibility of consciously betraying Philip would be the hardest part of conversion. The only way to accomplish such a feat would be to cleave Brad's mind in two and create a dialogue of uncertainty: pros and cons, dos and don'ts, what ifs and whatnots - all leading to the most important question, should he or shouldn't he?

A divided mind is defenseless; keep questions coming at a constant rate and one will be too distracted to say "no" when necessary.

Adrian could see the way Brad continued to hold and stare at the index card as he walked away. One by one Brad's defenses were falling. Perhaps it was for that reason that Adrian called out to Brad and asked him if he wanted a ride home.

And perhaps it is for that reason that Brad sighed... and accepted the ride.

Once Jude and Patrick reached the coffee shop, they had a guest waiting. Patrick went up to a beautiful young woman and gave her a nice kiss and small hug before making introductions. Once the three got settled out on the verandah, they all just talked and talked. The first half hour was spent getting to know one another. Jude told them about his old life, about how his father got transferred, about how he made friends with Philip online (a story that elicited a none too subtle eye-roll from Patrick). Similarly, the other two participants engaged in a robust dialogue filled with jokes, debate, anecdotes, advice, and so on and so forth.

It didn't take long for Jude to come to a conclusion regarding Patrick's girlfriend: Julie was absolutely great. Jude was impressed - not only by her beauty, but by her elegance, outgoing personality, and intellect. She wasn't a snob - though she came from the same stock as most other Cassidy alumni - and she wasn't helpless in her humility either. Come to think of it, Julie was a pretty darn good example of the Aristotelian idea of Virtue as the middle of two extremes. Perhaps that's why Jude hit it off with her instantly: two peas in a pod type of situation.

Jude learned that Julie was a freshman at the University and had been dating Patrick for almost a year. At Cassidy, she was popular in her own right, which seemed to explain how she knew so much about Adrian and Philip when the conversation inevitably returned to those two. Patrick, of course, wasn't shy to mention - again - his displeasure at them. But Julie just smiled as Patrick ranted and ranted, sitting back as she finished her muffin.

It wasn't until Patrick got up to use the restroom that Jude decided to ask Julie a few pointed questions.

"Can I ask you something?" He began cautiously.

"Of course," she responded happily.

"Why does Patrick not like Philip? I mean, he's told me that he doesn't care for either Philip or Adrian, but he doesn't really give a reason."

"Well," she began after looking over her shoulder to make sure Patrick wasn't coming back anytime soon, "there are a hundred and one ways to look at those two. Patrick views them through a very specific lens, where others may use one slightly more flattering."

"I've only been here a handful of days," Jude said as he leaned in closer. "But I've known Philip for months now, and I like him and his friends. And I want to make more friends..."

"Which is hard around here unless they're aligned with Philip too," Julie finished.

"Precisely. Philip reminds me of my friends back home - a really good guy with very little reason to hate him. I guess I'm just curious as to why Patrick does when he's not part of the 'feud'"

Julie sat back a bit, figuring out how to explain her boyfriend's feelings on the subject. "Patrick tries to take on an objective stance. So he focuses solely on the social dynamics of the school - and how those two affect that. From that point of view, he sees very little difference between them. In a way he's got a point: both Adrian and Philip are gorgeous, they're popular, they're great to their own friends, they can be vicious to their enemies, and they generally ignore everyone else."

She would have continued if not for Patrick's return from the restroom. Both Jude and Julie were glad to see him, though at the same time they wanted to continue their conversation about him. Jude would have been happy to drop the issue out of courtesy to his newest friend, but Julie took control of the situation.

"Hey Patrick," she said after he sat down, "could you run inside and get me another muffin?"

Patrick looked through the window. "But there's a long-ass line," he complained half-seriously.

She took his hand and gently ran her fingers over his knuckles. "Please?" She asked with such a graceful smile.

Patrick turned slightly toward Jude with a sheepish expression on his face. "Anything for you," he muttered to Julie before giving her a quick peck on the lips and heading back inside, a little embarrassed but still smiling.

"Anyways," Julie continued, "that's pretty much it. Patrick is so against the system that's in place: mandatory choosing of one side, limited options available once that choice is made, etc, etc. And he blames both of them. Plus, for any new person, it's not like one choice is qualitatively better than the other."

"Pharaoh's on both sides of the Red Sea," Jude surmised.

"Pretty much," Julie nodded. "In fact, I think Patrick's more disappointed with Philip than with Adrian."

"Why is that?" Jude asked with surprise.

"If one had to pick a side to take the high road, the best bet would be on Philip. But he hasn't done it - and he won't. He continues to embrace and perpetuate the divisions. They're both beholden to some old hatred that drags down everyone else with them, but, in Patrick's mind, Philip should know better."

Julie stopped talking to look through the window and check on Patrick's progress. Jude turned his head and nearly laughed at the way Patrick was incessantly tapping his foot behind an old woman who seemed to have a hard time moving and deciding what to order. In fact, Jude could easily picture Patrick tossing the old bitty aside out of frustration. Though that would've been horrible, the image had Jude laughing hysterically on the inside.

"So how do YOU feel about them? Did you know them before you graduated?" Jude asked.

Julie grinned. "Oh, yeah I did. And I tend to disagree with Patrick, at least when it comes to Philip."

"Why?"

"Everything Patrick believes is valid. But I don't think one can ignore the subtleties. There's a lot to be said about personality and degrees of decorum. Philip is nice and sensitive 80% of the time - and Adrian is not; Philip is polite and courteous whereas Adrian is just fuckin' rude. I think that does make a difference.

"Yeah," Jude agreed.

Julie gazed at him curiously. "I hope you're not going to base any future actions on what I've said. I mean, if you like Philip and his friends, then you shouldn't change that just-"

"Oh no!" Jude interrupted with a reassuring smile. "You could've told that Philip's an asshole - the way they talk about Adrian - and I'd still be friends with him cuz I haven't seen

that side. I'm just curious, is all."

Patrick finally returned to the table with the muffin...and a side of grief: "They have their own homes, they have their own parking spaces, why can't they have their own lines so they don't tie up everyone else!" He muttered, referring to the octogenarian who was slowly making her way to her car.

Julie and Jude broke out into laughter at how serious Patrick had delivered his diatribe. It wasn't long before Patrick was laughing too, and they all went back to enjoying their time together.

Ten more minutes passed before the mutual decision to head home. Julie offered to give Jude a ride home, which he readily accepted. Patrick was dropped off first, but not before he and Julie made out a little bit in the front seat of her convertible in front of his house as Jude looked on with a grin.

"I'll see you tomorrow Jude," Patrick said once he pried himself from his girlfriend.

"Alright man," Jude smiled.

Once Patrick was inside his home, Julie turned around. "Hey, I hope you don't mind, but I have to pick up my brother from my parent's house. He needs to use the library at the University and I told him I'd help him out. We'll just grab him and then I'll take you home."

"Sure, that's no problem at all."

The drive didn't provide ample time for much discussion, but Jude did learn that Julie was undecided as to what to major in. She was leaning toward Philosophy or Russian Literature, but also understood the benefits of a degree in something more practical.

In no time, they were in front of a nice house as she honked her horn several times. Jude was rather surprised when Miles came rushing out of the house.

"Jude this is my brother-"

"Miles," Jude interrupted as he smiled and gave her brother a quick "buddy" handshake.

"You know each other?" She asked.

"We have Drama class together," Miles informed his sister. He too was surprised to see Jude, but it was a pleasant surprise.

"Patrick didn't mention that Miles was your brother," Jude said, addressing Julie.

"Oh," Miles somewhat grimaced, "you met Patrick? That sucks."

"Watch it," Julie warned, just before she smacked the back of Miles' head - though not necessarily hard.

"I'm sorry!" Miles said, holding his hands up apologetically.

Julie and Miles talked to each other for the majority of the ride to Jude's home, though they were both very good about keeping Jude involved in the conversations. But Jude was happy just watching them: being an only child, he always found it interesting the way siblings acted toward one another. They obviously shared a deep affection, though it was clear they could also get on each other's nerves.

As a side note, Jude noticed that Miles was remarkably funny. And the way he used lots of hand gestures when talking - most likely a product of being involved in Drama for so long - was rather entertaining. Jude could easily see himself becoming friends with Miles.

Once they reached Jude's home, he wished them all goodbye and headed up the driveway.

"Hey wait up!" Miles called out as he jumped out of the car and jogged over to Jude.

"Yeah?"

"There's a party Friday night at Adrian's house. You should think about going."

"Oh," Jude said, not having expected that. "I'll think about it."

"Great," Miles smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright. Take care," Jude replied as Miles ran back to his sister's car. A few seconds later, they zoomed off.

Not a word was spoken between Adrian and Brad during the eight minute trip from Cassidy to Brad's home. Brad's silence was a product of his perpetual confusion and fear over Adrian's intimated threats, whereas Adrian took the time to plan out the next few minutes.

With the car parked, Adrian kept his gaze forward - waiting for the moment when Brad would go to open the door before being lured into another round of emotionally-plagued badgering. But to his surprise, Brad didn't move - there was not a single effort to get out of the car. He, just like Adrian, just kept staring through the windshield at the uninspiring vista of Brad's neighborhood (uninspiring in Adrian's opinion, of course). For long moments all that could be heard was their own breathing and the intermittent bounces of a kid playing with his basketball half a block down the road.

Brad finally broke the silence.

"I want you to leave me alone," he said very quietly - though with the stillness in the car, it seemed to be delivered with such force. But there was something in the way Brad spoke that spooked Adrian. There wasn't an overt confidence in Brad's statement - you know, the type of empty bravado that would be expected of someone desperately trying to make a stand; nor was it pathetic, like someone who was already defeated. Adrian was disturbed by the sheer sincerity in it; or to be more specific, he was disturbed by how that sincerity made him feel.

Tanya's words from the prior week were suddenly filling Adrian's ear: "if Brad is just barely coming to terms with his sexuality, manipulating him... would be so incredibly wrong." But Adrian had decided days ago to ignore her admonition, so why was there an unwanted white streak of compassion trying to force its way through his usually icy veins? After all, one of Adrian's core beliefs (which, truth be told, remains true in its universality) was that emotions could be controlled - easily bent and curbed by the Will.

So it was that out of the corner of his eye, Adrian could see Brad's finger tracing the outline of the index card located in his pocket. This subconscious action on Brad's part managed to distract Adrian from his thoughts, and focus, instead, on trying to understand what was going on in Brad's head. It really wasn't too hard to figure out: Brad's sincerity, though indisputable, was misplaced.

"I want you to leave me alone," repeated Brad in the same genuine voice, thinking Adrian hadn't heard him.

"The thing is," Adrian began with an even tone, "that I don't think you do."

Brad wouldn't turn his head, but it was clear he was somewhat exasperated with Adrian's response. So he continued on with frustration. "If I tell you that I want you to leave me alone, it's because I do."

"No," Adrian corrected, "you tell me because you're trying to convince yourself." The way Brad's fingers suddenly stopped moving was telling. "You're upset; not because you're against what I'm offering, but because you have to make a choice. And you're not man enough to own up to it."

"What choice?" Brad scoffed as he leaned his head back onto the headrest. "I'm pretty sure I don't like you."

Adrian chuckled. "Oh, come on. We've gone over this already; there's no need to mince words. You hate me, Brad. But, AGAIN, that's just a nagging corollary - a minor detail..."

"'The Devil's in the details,'" Brad interrupted.

"Cute," Adrian said irritably. "Like I said, you hate me - no question about that. But what you hate more is what YOU'RE willing to do...BECAUSE of me. This is all on you buddy. Besides," he continued, "if you truly wanted me out of your hair, you could've done it. As it is, you and Philip already threw a wrench in my original plans. And you know that Philip is the only one who can shield you - one word and you could've unleashed him. But you keep him at a distance; something here must interest you."

Another awkward moment passed with nothing but the wind to break the annoying quietude. Brad had since closed his eyes, looking like he was falling asleep. But even Adrian could sense the headache Brad was trying to master. Then Brad opened his eyes and turned to face Adrian for the first time since leaving Cassidy.

"Do you think I don't know what this is all about?" He asked a little flustered. "All this talk about 'helping' me and opening up 'opportunities' is bullshit. You know it would hurt Philip if he knew I was...talking to you. And hanging out with you and your friends? Forget about it! He'd be extremely angry. But that's what you want, right?" He asked challengingly.

Adrian shook his head, glancing to the ceiling for a moment, in disbelief. "I swear I don't understand you people," he muttered under his breath. "You're ga y - and closeted; you have absolutely no one to talk to; you have no friends who can understand you; you have no one with whom to hook up; you have no resources available to you; you live a life of forced isolation and lies - and you're worried about Philip?"

"He's my best friend," Brad said, a bit surprised at Adrian's verbal pelts.

"Oh, yeah? And how's that friendship working out for you?"

Silence.

Adrian continued. "You have a lifeline being thrown to you on an issue that's eating you up. Does it matter who's the one throwing it? And does it matter who you'll leave behind so long as you get out of the wretched situation you're in?"

"How can you be so callous?" Brad shot. "You can just ditch a friend at the drop of a hat?"

"Yes," Adrian answered calmly. "It's easy once they've proven their uselessness."

"I won't hurt Philip," Brad emphasized.

"No one's asking you too - that's what I'm here for. My question is: will you help yourself?"

"I'm leaving," Brad announced as he reached for the door handle. But Adrian took hold of his elbow.

"Simple question: would you prefer to be unhappy with people you like, or happy with people you don't?" He asked. "To choose the latter wouldn't make you a 'monster' or 'evil' or even 'bad' - it would make you real. Let's face it Brad, you're neither a martyr nor a saint; so quit acting like one. Do you think Philip would be so noble if he had to choose between his happiness and the happiness of those he cared about?"

"Actually, I do."

"Hate to break it to you tiger, but he wouldn't be. In fact, he wasn't noble at all."

Brad didn't get the meaning. Little did he know that he was getting a brief clue as to the reasons behind the Divide: an event that remained a mystery to everyone - save the two involved. But it was not Adrian's intent to rehash the past, so he reached for the keys and restarted his car.

"Don't forget: Friday night. My house. Six o'clock," Adrian said.

Brad nodded his head - not necessarily agreeing to be there, but merely acknowledging his understanding of the details.

But let's be honest. Brad was going to attend. Everyone knew it. And soon Philip would too.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's note: Ok. So I'm definitely not the fastest writer out there, which must suck for those of you who are still interested in this story. Lol. In an effort to try and make the wait more structured, I'm going to update this sucker on Mondays (which, depending on which portal you use to view these stories, will be posted by Mr. Nifty Man that day or Tuesday). So if a Tuesday rolls around and you don't see a post, don't expect one for at least another week. And so on and so forth. C'est tout.

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