Chapter I- After School
Alex was one of the best piano players at his high school. Actually, when one dispensed with the modesty, he was the best. This wasn't idle bragging; it was simple fact. Nobody played the Classical greats better than Alex did. He knew it, and anyone who'd ever heard him play knew it too. The trouble was that most at his high school had either never heard him play or- more often than not- simply didn't care. They just didn't appreciate his talents, didn't respect his accomplishments. At sixteen, a junior in high school with no real plans for what was to come next, Alex played the piano better than anyone there and got nothing but grief for it. He'd get ignored some days, have spitballs tossed at him in class on others. On the worst of days he'd get slammed up against lockers or have the straps on his bookbag broken; Alex was smart, though, and had many years' of experience in waiting to get what he wanted.
But he ignored them.
Nearly always, he ignored all those idiots; even the ones who he might have retaliated against, he usually let go. They never changed, those morons, and trying to fight them and inevitably losing wouldn't change a thing.
He didn't always; some days Alex would go to great lengths to see that someone who made his day worse had theirs get a bit shittier in turn, all of a sudden. On certain days, a popular football player's Tahoe might have a flat tire because Alex left school five minutes early, or his buddy's Mustang would inexplicably have the clamps on its muffler gone. One day Alex ditched seventh period and took the key to his house to the side of the football team captain's car. After admiring his work for a minute, Alex walked home, smiling all the way. That had been late in sophomore year, one of the best days Alex ever had in a long time.
But that was the exception. Many of Alex's days in high school had been boring. Some had been bad; and nearly all of them had been lonely.
One day in freshman year, Alex had been asked to write a short paper for English class. The teacher asked each of them to write a paragraph about what they thought of high school. After three years of misery in middle school, Alex was already coming to find high school was really no better, because now he could see the day coming when he could now get mocked for something new- his lack of ownership of a sufficiently 'cool' car. The definition of what was cool and uncool among high schoolers changed constantly, but Alex was pretty sure a 1976 Volvo in a perfectly bland shade of yellow would never be in the 'cool' category. He was going to school with all the same people, and soon the day would be coming when he'd never get a date at that school again. No girl was gonna be caught dead in that car his parents had left over for him.
So after not even two minutes, Alex scrawled two sentences on his paper and turned it in. When the teacher read each of the responses placed on her desk, her eyebrows went up at one. That was when Alex knew she'd reached his; she could hardly seem to believe the words were there. But she read aloud, "To me, high school is like Hell. You get up and go to Hell every day."
The class burst into laughter; they thought it was funny. Sitting in the back, unnoticed and unknown in his mismatched and non-designer clothes, Alex sat in silent, helpless fury. They thought it was funny! He wanted to pick up his desk and throw it at the two stupid jocks in the front row, making jokes and wondering aloud what loser had written that note.
Yeah, Alex had thought, the both of you are gonna go pro. Football's gonna get you a future for sure.
But he didn't care that nobody in the class took what he wrote seriously; Alex knew it was true for all of them.
Alex didn't even care that the teacher recognized his handwriting, or that she had seen his glowering look and kept him after 7th hour that day, concerned and asking him why he'd written something so negative. Alex just shrugged, passing it off by saying it was no more or less than the first thing that had come to his mind. Mrs. Lewinsky told Alex to keep his chin up, stay positive; one day he would look back at these four years as some of the best days of his life.
Yeah, Alex thought as he left the classroom that day, and on that same day pigs will join the 82nd Airborne.
But that day had actually ended up being just what Mrs. Lewinsky promised about high school itself; that day in September 1999 had turned out to be one of the best days of Alex's life.
Waiting for him outside of class was a skinny blonde kid; lean and clearly, what substance he had was mostly muscle- much like Alex. He had crisp blue eyes, a fairly handsome face, and short-cut blonde hair. It had an odd, choppy look to it, though, like he often had to do it himself with a pair of scissors and wasn't very good at it besides. He had even shabbier clothes than Alex did, which immediately made Alex wonder how uncool a car he'd end up driving once License Day came.
Or if he'd drive anything at all.
Alex had stared the kid down for a moment; leaning up against one of the many lockers in the hallway and affecting a casual attitude, he seemed to have been trying to make it look like he hadn't just been there waiting for Alex to come out of the classroom. But Alex wasn't stupid; he was very smart by anyone's account- even the morons who loved pummeling him in the locker room in PE knew Alex was smarter than they were. This kid's lightbulb didn't seem as bright as Alex's… but at the same time, he was no dumbass football player. And he was waiting for a guy he otherwise didn't know in English class; briefly Alex wondered if this kid, too, had figured out who'd written that unusual note today.
Keeping his voice even, Alex asked warily, "You need something, man?"
"Dog," the kid said, and right away Alex knew it was one of the blonde's favourite words. He probably called everybody 'dog,' aside from the ones he addressed as 'man'. "Dog," the kid said again, confirming Alex's first thought. He clearly liked just saying the word. And taking his time. Just as Alex was starting to get annoyed, the blonde continued to say, "I know you wrote that funny paper in English today."
Now Alex did get irritated, but made a point of not showing it. He had excellent control over his emotions- most of the time. Even better, though, was Alex's ability to control what showed on his face. So he kept his face plain, and just said, "Oh, yeah? You thought it was funny, too?"
The blonde shook his head. "No. But the jocks did."
Alex snorted. "They find a lot of things funny. It's like monkeys and bananas."
"Or monkeys and shit."
There Alex had paused; he looked at the blonde curiously, still leaning up against the locker looking perfectly chilled out. This kid seemed… different. Alex prided himself as being an outstanding judge of character, and his first impression of someone nearly always held true with what he ended up thinking once he knew them.
How hadn't he noticed this kid before?
He recalled they'd gone to the same middle school; they'd shared few classes, and somehow or another simply just never found reason to meet. But they'd never had a problem with one another, and if nothing else were two average students at an overrated suburban middle school, just trying to get by and hoping to be left alone. Alex suddenly had a feeling that the blonde, too, had mostly failed to get his wish in those days.
So Alex had let curiosity get the best of him then. He'd just asked what the kid had wanted, and he just shrugged again. "I just wanna talk. You busy?"
Alex shook his head; it was the truth. "Not really."
Mrs. Lewinsky chose that moment to exit the classroom, though, and as she locked it up for the day gave them an odd look. Students did not usually hang around in the hallway like this after school- most were in a big hurry to get home and do something they actually wanted to do. And something else made her eyebrows go up a little more, once she noticed- she'd thought these two didn't know each other, and already she could tell Alex wasn't the type who easily made friends. Yet here he was in the hallway with a boy he simply shared a class or two with, talking like he had nothing better to do.
As Mrs. Lewinsky headed off, Alex started to leave as well. The blonde fell into step with him, and for some reason Alex hadn't objected. He pushed open one of the double doors at the end of the hall and started the walk home; the buses had already left, and Alex rarely rode them anyway. He was rid of the idiots he hated sooner if he took the extra time and walked.
The blonde stuck with him for only a short time, asking questions like "Dog, why'd you write that?" and "I thought it was cool, man. How'd you think of it?"
Finally, Alex just shrugged. "I hate high school."
The blonde had stared down at the ground then, looking a little sad. He seemed to be thinking about more than just high school when he said, "Yeah. Me, too."
Alex had stopped walking then; he did it so suddenly the blonde boy didn't even expect it, and walked on for a moment before noticing. Alex then walked up towards him, holding out a hand and smiling a little. "Alex," he said simply.
The blonde had taken the hand offered, shaking it and smiling a bit in return.
"Eric."
It was almost as if an agreement had been reached that day; Eric had been forced to admit soon after that he lived in the opposite direction, and had headed for home. But they'd sat beside each other in English class every day after that one freshman year. And the agreement they reached when shaking hands had been simple- they'd been good friends ever since.
That had been two years ago now; it was August 2001, and Alex was at home playing the old piano in his room in the basement. Eric was sprawled out on his bed, wearing a t-shirt with the arms cut off that was a little too big for him, almost looking like a pillow case, and faded blue jeans. His worn, frayed sneakers were carelessly tossed off to one side of the room- Eric hated how poor he was, and Alex had quickly learned the best thing you could do was not mention it.
Eric would fast become angry if mocked for his family's lack of money, was fiercely protective of his mother despite her constantly lousy choices of boyfriends, and overall had one of the most peculiar senses of pride Alex had ever seen. Many times through freshman and sophomore year they had sat together at lunch, and more than once Alex had offered Eric a share of what he'd brought, or offer some money he didn't need so Eric could buy some of the school's overpriced Burger Town stuff.
But every time Alex offered, Eric not only refused, but became very flustered and embarrassed if Alex persisted. Alex could tell easily his friend had no actual reason for saying no- he just didn't want to admit it. He'd make up every excuse in the book, and once became angry enough that Alex was startled at how much these things meant to the blonde with the choppy-cut short hair. Whatever else could be said about him, Eric had his pride. Maybe that was why it meant so much to him; at the end of the day, pride might have been about all Eric had.
What Alex took to doing as a compromise, on some days when he could tell Eric was really hurting- hiding the fact that he simply had nothing to eat- was 'forgetting' a $5 bill or something like that, slipping it out of his pocket then getting up to throw out his trash. He'd make some excuse, heading off for class early or whatever, then leave.
The first time he'd done that, leaving a note with Lincoln's face on the front right where he'd been sitting next to Eric, he glanced back when he knew Eric could no longer easily see him. Eric had been staring down at the money, his face a special tinge of pink. He looked furious and grateful, all at the same time. When Alex had returned from the bathroom, though, and glanced back across the cafeteria, he'd noticed Eric sitting back where they'd been, glowering at some jocks while he resolutely chomped away at a cheeseburger. Alex had smiled, and gone on to class. That had been the way he'd handled it ever since.
Eric had never said a thing about any of it to Alex after that, and the dark-haired teen knew better than to ask. But that had been a ways into their freshman year, and Alex knew Eric appreciated it in his own way. Over the next few years, Alex and Eric had steadily become good, and then best friends. Eric, Alex suspected, was even coming to worship him- he began picking up mannerisms Alex had, like saying "shitter" or "shitters" about people he really hated, and saying he didn't give a "tin shit" when he most definitely did not care. Eric was acting as if he'd never had someone treat him this good in his life, and hero-worship was the only way he knew how to return it.
Alex had been very moved when he considered, one day, there was a very real chance that was true.
And it wasn't as if being friends with Eric didn't have pluses for Alex; he realised Eric was nothing if not a good listener; he loved hearing Alex's angry rants about the things wrong with society and with the world. He could always offer Alex an opinion about something, many times surprising Alex by pointing out things he hadn't considered before.
Many people at the high school Alex attended did not appreciate Alex's great artistic and musical talents. He was a writer, a poet, a thinker, a boy who could craft pieces in ceramics class that would stun even the teacher. But he was an inept basketball player, a lousy baseball player, and absolutely hopeless at football. He did not care what a touchdown was, and all the bigshots at his school knew it.
Most guys- and girls- at Alex's school could have cared less how well Alex played the piano.
Eric was an exception.
Today Alex was working his way through Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata", his favourite piece from the great Beethoven besides "Für Elise". Alex loved playing Beethoven; it made him feel at peace with himself and the world, no matter how bad things were. But Alex had a fierce temper, one he'd had to spend years gradually learning to control as he grew up. It could flare at times even now, and on rare occasions suddenly explode.
So far, so good; Alex's hands and fingers moved across the keys with practiced ease, knowing already where to go and when to go there. The music flowed, and even with the piano out-of-tune and old it would leave Eric entranced for about as long as his friend played. Eric could barely play even one note and not mess it up, but he loved watching Alex play. "You look so peaceful, dog," he said once, when Alex asked why he liked watching so much. "And you're really, really good."
Alex had smiled at that. Praise wasn't a bad thing when there was damn good reason for it.
But today wasn't Alex's day, not even with something he normally had mastered any day of the week. His fingers missed a key, then hit the wrong one and messed up a note entirely. Then he forgot he was even playing the "Moonlight Sonata" for a second and started trying to segue into Mozart's "5th Symphony" at the same time. Alex swore violently, trying to get back on track, but he'd lost it. The whole piece was bolloxed up, and there wasn't any bringing it back. Fury surged into Alex, and he balled his hands into fists, slamming them down on the keys.
"Shit," Alex yelled, his voice rising in fury. "Shit. Fuck! GOD-DAMNIT!"
Eric sat up on Alex's bed, his eyes wide and his expression concerned. "Dude," he asked, "what's wrong?"
"I screwed up the fucking Moonlight Sonata," Alex shouted, completely pissed off now. "That's fucking what!"
It was a good thing Alex's parents were both staying late at work today. On the rare occasion Alex got mad like this, he tended to yell at a level that could easily be heard through the whole house.
Eric started to say something else, but Alex abruptly started picking up books from his shelf beside the piano, hurling them across the room. "Fuck!" he yelled, getting angrier all the time. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"Dude," Eric said, "watch out for your fucking computer!"
"Fuckit!" Alex threw a dictionary. It hit the wall with a thunk.
Suddenly he stopped, looking at Eric sitting up on the bed. A magazine from the gun store "Ammunation" lay open beside him; Alex got regular issues of those, and clearly Eric had been reading it.
"What were you reading?" Alex asked, his breathing slowing a little as he became curious. He already knew what Eric had been reading; what Alex wanted to know was why.
Eric looked at Alex cautiously, as if worried the sudden tirade of fury would come back if he moved too quickly. But Alex just stood there waiting for an answer, so after a moment Eric must have decided it was safe.
"Dog," Eric said, "I was looking at this."
He held up the magazine- Ammunation had an article saying that in the next year or so, they'd be doing clearances on TEC-9 submachine guns. There was another one, talking about the role Ammunation had played in securing a large number of AR-15s for the civilian market.
"Dog," Alex said with a hint of sarcasm, "you thinking about shooting some dogs?"
Eric smiled a little, but shook his head. "Naw, dog," he said. "It's more fun to shoot people."