Welcome to the world of Tobias Gray. Right now, it's a bleak, lonely place, and it has some foul language, violence, and same sex relationships between teens. And if that's alright with you and the law, then it's alright with Tobias. He certainly needs someone to talk to. But if it's not your thing, then maybe Tobias and you would be better off if you didn't read any further.
There was one new arrival to the Easton Boys Dormitory in January. He was a tall but skinny youth, with a defeated expression, a polite but forced smile, and he was hunched over as if carrying some great weight. In fact, he carried very little; only a beaten up pack and a large duffel crisscrossed his back. He was near silent as he checked into his room, he took the key, mumbled an introduction and began the trek up to his new home on the 5th floor.
Easton was the home to most of the male population at the Bellwether Academy. Some of the faculty were residents, and half of the male students were. You see, the entire point of the academy was to get the unfortunate children out of their homes and out of the hair of their parents for whatever reason. As a result, the students had various idiosyncrasies, ranging from social ineptitude to downright miscreant behavior. It made for a very interesting mix of students. But as any group of young people do when they are holed up with nothing else but each other for months, they developed a general community, and with few exceptions, got along with each other.
The 5th floor, being the most tedious to access, was always reserved for the newest arrivals to the dormitory. The new boy was somewhat relieved by this, for he didn't feel like interacting with anyone, let alone with the older boys who were bound to be pushy and cruel to younger boys. So, with a relieved sigh, he arrived unmolested to his room.
I had reached the point of not-thought by time I made it to my room. The roulette wheel had picked up speed to where the individual colors were a blur. I had flickered between despair and hate and anger and guilt and fear and times when I felt like I could actually fucking do this. But now I was in between. I had a new chapter, a roomate to get along with, and my last year of high school to finish. And I had this in front of me no matter how screwed up my emotions are. So, I had resolved to shove it all into tomorrow. I'd deal with it when I had time. Until then, I'd just get by.
My room was pristine. The two beds were stacked, both made carefully. There was not any sign of imperfection on the walls the floors, the desk. I doubt the room had looked quite this good when it was first made. There was no sign of a roommate, and it became clear that I didn't have one. "Finally," I thought. "Something's going right." I tossed my bag down and hiked up to the top bunk. I took my baseball cap out of my bag and set it over my eyes. I fell asleep rather quickly, thankfully.
The phone woke me. I jumped, nearly falling before I realized how high up I was. Stumbling out of the bed, I slapped down hard on the ground, the carpet stinging my feet. Gonna have to work on that, I though. I didn't know why anyone would call at this hour, but I couldn't just ignore it. "hello?" "Tobias? Is that you?" hearing that voice brought a fierce grin to my lips. "Alyssa! How did you get my number, sis?" "from the room papers they sent dad. I had to get them from the trash, if you can believe it." my voice dropped at the mention of my father. "Yeah. I can. Why didn't you call my cell?" "He said he's going to start checking the phone bill... don't feel bad. He'll come around." "Thanks sis, but, let's not talk about that." "How is it?" "It looks great. Everyones so friendly. I'm looking forward to it." as much as I hated lying, I didn't want her to worry. "Good. Maybe you can find... You know, a boyfriend." "I already have one." in the background, I could hear the creak of a door opening. And then I heard my fathers voice. "Who are you talkin to, lyssa?" "A friend from school, dad." "No its not. 'Sthat faggot, isn't it?" I heard the lopsided cadence to his words, the slurring. Oh shit. Dad never drinks. "Wait dad, no!" I hear him loud and clear. "Faggot boy! I thought I got rid of you! I told you to stay the fuck away from my family!" I didn't bother with answering. "And I don't won't you callin 'im, stupid girl! He don't exist to us no more!" I heard the unmistakable crack of an open palm on a face and my sister cry out. That's too far. "You drunk bigot, if you touch another hair on her head, I'll kill you!" "You'll WHAT?" click the line went dead.
I couldn't believe it. He hit my sister. The man whom I'd called father and friend for 17 years threw me out of the house, disowned me, but he did not have to touch her. She was the only one left on my side, the only one I'd cared for. And now she had to put up with him. Were I not halfway across the country, I'd go there and save her. We'd find a way.
Now that i was riled, there was no way I could find sleep again. I busied myself unpacking what little I had, hanging my clothes up and trying to make the room a little more personal. It didn't take long. Once i reached around to the bottom of the bag my hand closed around a familiar object. It was a carving, minuscule and perfect, of yours truly. My best friend Jacob had carved it for me, and it had taken him nearly two months. Those two months were the nexus of our brief but sincere relationship, which developed after we learned how much we enjoyed each other's company, or the warmth of our arms around each other. We never went all the way, but that's only because we believed that we had all the time in the world. I set his carving on the shelf with a tear in my eye, and the irrational hope that maybe he was unpacking my drawing of him at the same moment, miles away, wherever he was. Of course the facial features weren't that recognizable, but my hair, clothing, and awkward teenage height were unmistakable.
Now that I'd thought of Jacob again, I closed my eyes and daydreamed of him, his face appearing instantly as if he'd been on my eyelids all along. I could see the fierce grin that lit up his face whenever he saw me, and the vacant, innocent expression he'd take when we lay together, with me tousling his unkempt hair and him thinking about our future together. I could feel that spot in the small of my back warm up, like his hand was were he liked to put it when he was kissing me. Even the kiss that ruined my life had scrambled my brain, making me wonder how I'd managed to stay upright.If we'd hadn't been seen, I would have carried on like that for a week. But it only took a few moments, and bam, the son of one of dad's bosses walks in, bam, we're both outed, bam, I'm disowned, bam, we're shuffled off as far away as possible. And the rest, is history.
I was snapped back to reality my cell phone vibrating. Curious, I flipped open the display. It was my little sister, calling from her cell. "Hey Lyssa? What's up? I thought you said you couldn't call my cell?" "It doesn't matter anymore! Oh god, Tobias!" Her voice sounded hysterical, her throat raw. Damn it, if he'd put his hands on her! "What did he do to you, Alyssa? Did he hurt you?" "No Toby... Tobias, they're dead! Both of them! James, they're gone!" My world dwindled down to a pinprick of light and sound. I was aware of nothing except the tired voice of my sister... "Alyssa, no... what? ... how? Oh God..." "They crashed! He was drinking and she tried to stop him but he drove off and oh god oh god..." "Alyssa. Hey, hey. Listen to me. It's gonna be alright. Calm down. Have you called anyone?" "Yeah, everyone's on their way!" "Listen to me. Stay on the phone with me. Go outside, make sure with you're with someone. You shouldn't be alone. It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna fly there as soon as I can to be with you. I need you to hold on for me, okay?" "Yeah, okay. Okay." "Are you with someone." "Yeah. I'm out here with the paramedic. I can see Mr. Dowell pulling up now." My heart skipped a beat. Mr. Dowell was the gay bashing, bible thumping bigot who'd trained his son to report on me when he saw us. He was also my father's supervisor who'd threatened to fire him if he didn't straighten me out, so to speak. I'd never seen him face to face, but I still hated him and all he stood for. I wanted him to have nothing to do with my sister. She stayed on the line breathing softly. I hear her say quietly, "Yes, it's him." Then I hear another voice on the line. It's hard and precise, betraying no emotion. "Listen boy. Your father wanted me to take care of your sister in case anything happened to them. So, I have graciously agreed. But understand this: You and your kind are not welcome in my house. Do not call, do not write, and if you even think about showing up on my property I will personally have Chief McClanahan write you up on trespassing charges. So stay away. Do you understand?" Without thinking, a few choice words leapt to my mouth but all I could get out was "Listen, you!" before the line went dead. They were taking my sister away. The realization slowly drained the warmth from my extremities, and soon all my limbs went numb and cold. "Well." I thought. "This is it... they finally destroyed me." I couldn't even shed a tear, because I'd cried enough for a lifetime. A lifetime that just didn't make any sense without the only two people I loved in the world shut away from me. I had no clue where my Jacob was, and I didn't doubt Mr. Dowell's word. He was in with the right people, and him and his homophobic clique could very well make life difficult for me. Well, more difficult. Like in a dream, I felt myself mechanically sit up, and jump down to the floor. Not bothering with a coat, I slipped outside my room and walked down the hallway. I passed a boy, who of all things, wore a white jacket and a aura of contentment. As he passed, me, I saw a look of concern flash across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a radiant smile. I returned the gesture, but quickly dismissed the boy. "Too late, now." I thought. At the end of the hallway, there was a door marked "ROOF ACCESS-AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" It was unlocked, and it slid open silently. I stepped up onto the roof top, and nearly fell from the gravel on it. There were a few vents and antennas, but other than that the roof was large and featureless. I stepped outside of myself as I walked to the edge. I saw myself, a young, foolish boy, who had much to learn about the world but never would. I saw the baseball cap on my head, the one he'd bought me for my birthday. I saw the slim braided bracelet she'd made me before I'd left. And I saw the lives they'd have to live without me. My thoughts were peaceful now, poetic. "I won't be cursed to walk the earth alone. So, I'll fly." Like the gravity of the world was focused before me, I drifted near the edge, and let go. I was flying. and as I cleared the building, I could swear I could see the shadow of my wings, and hear them push through the wind... and then, darkness.
Outside the academy, there was a solitary figure on the roof top, with no one else to watch. Even if they had, there was no clear explanation for what took place. A careful step, of leap of faith, and a bright flash. Darkness descended over the building again, and the snow swirled round and round, covering up any signs or foot prints.
I'd never wondered what the first thought, if any, do people have after they commit suicide. I had several, and to be honest, I wasn't keeping track of which one came first. "Oh god, it hurts!" and "What the hell did I just do!" and "Where am I?" were the ones screaming the loudest. My eyes were closed, and it didn't feel like I could open them, so I tried to sit up. That was a king in a long line of bad ideas. Every bone in my body felt shattered, every muscle and tendon snapped and pulled like a tug of war rope. I tried to scream, dear god I tried to scream, but my lungs felt shredded and useless. Well. What did I expect my first few moments as a jumper to be like?
After I'd nearly shut out the pain, and the weakness, and the despair, I became aware of another sensation. It was a hand, on my chest. It was warm, and otherwise unremarkable, except for the fact that it felt profoundly right. It became all I could think about, like it was pulling me back, forbidding me from shuffling of any mortal coils. I was dimly aware of small movements under my skin, bone mending and shifting and other tissues knitting back together. I got the impression that such a thing would normally cause excruciating pain. As cliche as it sounds, I felt as new as the day I was born. When the process was complete, I could open my eyes. I had to squint because of the brightness. I was in some small white room, but it seemed to be shimmering and shifting. I could see the hand on my chest, and I looked up to see who it belonged to.
He was a youth, but not in any normal sense. I say that because he seemed ageless, as if he could be 10 years older than me or 10 years younger. I say youth because of his relative size. And I say "he," because he looked like a boy more than a girl, but could probably be either one. Either way, he was beautiful. He had exquisite features, immaculate cheekbones, grey eyes, and pale white hair. It was as if the sculptor that designed everyone else had shuffled them off to apprentices, but saved this particular piece for himself. And he was smiling at me.
"O, that I had arrived sooner. I might have saved you from some discomfort." His voice was like he was, careful and beautiful and musical.
"Where... am I?" My voice grated against the peaceful silence his had left. It felt like I hadn't spoke in ages.
"You are still here, as it is not yet your time. You are yet in my care."
"So, who are you then?"
"I am Raphael. I am he who is given to those in need of healing, and I have returned to this world for you."
"So, you're... you're an..."
"Your kind has long called us angels." With that, he stood up, and the world around me shifted and moved, and I could see that he had folded his enormous wings around me. As he retracted them, the world suddenly got colder. He folded them around his shoulders, and with a subtle shifting and a trick of the light, they formed a silken jacket on his shoulders. He extended his hand to me again, and I took it. Easily but carefully he pulled me up, and I wavered. The world seemed clearer. Sharper. New. I took a step, tentative. I stumbled, and he caught me. He had a strength about him, silent and calm and not quite human. I realized I didn't mind having his arm around me. For a long time, I didn't say anything. When I spoke, it was quiet, and fearful.
"So what do I do now?"
"Right now? You rest. I've held you from death's grasp, and what you've been through has exhausted you greatly, even though you can't feel it. But your body isn't all I've been sent to heal. We'll have much to discuss when you awake, my friend. But for now, let nothing trouble you." He put a hand on my face, an affectionate gesture, but more like a mother's than a lovers. I looked into his eyes, and saw age, and wit, and kindness, and love. I could tell those eyes had seen joys and horrors, and I figured what I'd done was one of the latter. I don't know if he knew when he saw me on my way to death, or if some divine insight had sent him fluttering down to save me. I'd consider it later. But I suddenly felt tired, and leaned into him without even thinking. He smiled, and unfurled his wings again, and I could just dimly sense flying in an angel's arms up to my room.
I maintained a small sense of hope in all things. Tobias and I were opposed in this, so it became my duty to cheer him up. To hold him and tell him that there was a chance it might work out, so there's no point in giving up. I wasn't exactly religious, but I didn't think it coincidence that I'd met him. He would sit across from me on the bus when we were younger and stress and worry and fret, and it amused me before I realized it was tearing him down. We were kids then, and although we can barely say we've matured, we didn't have love or hate on our minds. Life was simple for us, and we were going to grow up and take on the world together. I'd convinced him of that. So we were friends, before we even needed lovers, before we even needed boyfriends.
I didn't blame my father for sending me here. Sure, I was disappointed. I'd hoped his love for me would have outweighed any political or social demands. But he had placed a lot of stock in his work, and he really didn't want the negative attention he'd get from having a son "like me" around. It's not that he was opposed to the idea, I don't think his morals quite extended that far. I just think it served him better to shuffle me off for some alternative education. I think I'm better off here, though. Better to be away from all the hate and disgust from the same people who I'd lived and worked with all my life. I had a new start. A clean slate. And as soon as I was reunited with Tobias, we'd pick up where we'd left off. That was a treat worth waiting for.
When we started, there was of course plenty of awkward teen gesturing between us, but none of usual confusion with having feelings for a guy. Tobias was mine, and I, his. I knew his moods, his desires, his expressions. He was introspective, and it was often me who started our conversations, but once I got him to open up, we could talk for hours. We fought too, like any other couple. I wanted him always to see the good in the situation, but it was hard for him to. We often disagreed, and yelled, and ignored each other for some hours, but it only seemed to bring us closer.
And while my thing was music, his was drawing. He could sketch like a master. He once drew the world from the viewpoint of my window, which promptly found a home next to the real one. I made him blush for a week by swearing that I'd hit my head trying to look out his window. And the drawings of me were his favorite. He'd work on them for days trying to hide them, all the while stealing glances at my while I played, trying to catch this angle, or that lighting. And then he'd self consciously show me and I'd insist that the drawings were perfect but he needed to pick a better looking subject. I kept his last one with me. Always. My handiwork was rude and crude, though. I'd put to use a couple of my grandfather's carving lessons to use and made a figurine of him, and it damn near took me the month. I'd painted it painstakingly and presented it to him on our last meeting. Maybe he had it with him. I could only hope.
We had a running joke between us: I gave him a key. E flat minor, to be specific. He insisted that all keys sounded the same, and I in turn insisted that he was tone deaf. I told him it was his key because it was melancholy and sweet, and moody, and utterly gray. When that didn't amuse him, I told him that it was especially like him because it's the key that sounded best under my fingers. That got me one of his rare grins. It was the key I played in when I sung to him, and it was the key I first turned to in my room, on my first night away from him. My guitar cried the tears that I couldn't cry, wouldn't cry, because I knew I'd see him again. But my guitar didn't know that, and she missed him too. So I consoled her, and consoled the part of me that knew Tobias needed saving again and that there was nothing I could do.
Like I said, I'm not exactly religious, but in the phrases of my tears, and the notes of my sadness, there came a wordless prayer, unbidden, a prayer in e flat. And If I didn't hear an answer, then my name's not Jacob James Harrison.
I smiled, and my tune picked up the pace, and became a lively round, and I was sure to write down the changes. I was gonna play it for Tobias when I saw him next, because somehow I knew it was gonna be soon.
When I awoke, my thoughts, as they often do, turned to Jacob. I thought back to something he'd said about names. I stopped calling him Jake after I noticed that he never called me Toby, like everyone else. I asked him why, and he gave me one of those smiles and said, "Names have power. Tobias is the name you were given, and when I say your name, I want you to know that I'm referring to you in every sense of the word. I think that when you love someone it's worth it to say their name." I had nothing really to say to that, except to put my arm around him in agreement. He helped the world make sense. I wasn't stupid, but it was like Jacob had some special insight into my world that he always knew what I needed to hear. And now, that he was... somewhere, and I had no chance, no hope. I knew I'd do something, I just needed a direction.
"He thinks of you. Even now." I bolted upright, and saw he... she... it again, sitting up in the opposite bunk. The events of the last night snapped through my head again.
"Oh god... it happened?"
"Yes... You sought to end your life. And I am tasked to show you what you still have to live for."
"And how do you plan on doing that?"
"I have not yet been informed."
"From....?" I gestured vaguely up.
"Precisely."
"Can you ask him why he's doing this to me?"
"Doing what?"
"This! All of this! I'm alone and trapped and I don't know what to do and he's god knows where and my parents are dead and my sister needs me and"
"Calm down brother. There is still good in the situation."
"What, I'm still alive!? Oh yeah, that's great. I didn't asked to be saved!"
"But he did."
"Why would he care! He'd doing this to me! Why should he force me to stay!"
"You misunderstand me. I am referring to the same "he" that your thoughts never stray from. As I said, he thinks of you. Even now."
"Who? Jacob? Where is he! Tell me!"
" I have not yet been given this information."
"Well what DO you know!?"
"All I was told was that there was someone here who needed saving, because someone who loves them more than their self asked for it. I passed you in the hall, and saw the despair in your eyes, and leaped down after you.I've been watching over you ever since. Your Jacob must love you more than anything, for such an unusual request to be tasked to me personally." I instantly regretted getting angry with him. I'd been so stupid, and once again Jacob had a little hope for me.
"Yes. He loves me, and I love him more than anything."
"I do not doubt you. Rest more, Tobias, it is not yet dawn." I laid back down and was silent staring at the ceiling for what seemed like an hour.
"Raphael?"
"Yes?"
"How often has this been done? You know, you coming down..."
"To Earth? Only once. But that was long before your time. Only a few records still exist of my deeds here among men."
"Yes. Yes he does love me."
And now for something completely different. This story has been in my mind in bits in pieces for a while, and once I met my characters, it was enough to make me take up this writing thing again. This of course won't be going on indefinitely, and I'm already sitting on a few different directions the plot will go. But stick with me, and I'll try to show you a good story, ok?
Comments, criticism, love mail, hate mail to: inlwtx@yahoo.com. Hope you like.