Chapter 1: Stark, Raving Mad
"You're absolutely, stark raving mad," wait. Pause. And- "You know that, right?"
I suppose at this point, I a) should have known this or b) must have been brainwashed into thinking it. After all, the exclamation and following question had been following me around all day like some lovesick puppy dog. The dog I wouldn't have minded. But it was being parroted to me every hour (sometimes- scratch that, definitely more) by one of my best friends and my current roommate.
I could practically hear his cogs turning from across the room as he paced back and forth, biting his lip, and on the verge of whimpering. To say he was overly concerned on my behalf would have been an understatement.
"You're published!"
Now, this was a new statement and the novelty of it had caused me to look up. "Yes. I'm published. You were there with me when I got my first acceptance letter, Demyx."
"See? This is exactly why you can't go through with this," always dramatic, the blonde mullet owner of our happy household practically threw his back out as he leaned back and his hands slapped to his face and raked through aforementioned outdated haircut (but honestly, he could pull it off-which is probably what pissed me off about it in the first place) and moaned. "Oh my god, my poor, naïve Axel, you're going to be eaten alive if you can't even understand what I'm saying. How did they even pass you? In fact, why are you published? Here I am, thinking you're intelligent."
"Okay, stop," I rolled my eyes and put down my notebook, train of thought completely derailed and the poem, at this point, unsalvageable. The irony of comforting Demyx on a potentially aggravating lifestyle choice that I had made for myself was not lost on me. "I'm published because I'm damn good at what I do."
"Then why are you switching careers?"
"I'm not. I'm simply-"
"Throwing yourself into hell."
"Demyx, come on, it's not hell."
"It's high school, Axel. High school. We worked our asses out of that place as fast as we could and now you're going back? When did all of-" he wildly motioned in front of him. "-this happen anyways?"
"I told you six months ago that I was going into the accelerated program to get licensure and I've been gone for class and practicum six nights out of the week. Where did you think I was?"
The pin dropped. Demyx bit his lip and bounced on his heels once, his eyes glancing off.
"Or did you even realize I was gone?"
Hands to the face again. "I kinda, sorta remember you mentioning it now. It's…I…you know I haven't been home much either!" when he removed his hands his face was red.
"Ah, the boyfriend," I chuckled at the utter Demyx-ness of it. "You've been too busy f-"
"No! NonononononoNO."
"Excuse m-"
"Shh!" Demyx's voice dropped down to a whisper. "Don't jinx it."
"Demyx, it's been sixth months. That's significant..for you. I think it's okay to say the 'f' word."
"Yeah, I know," he glanced away and nervously started piecing apart the tail of his mullet.
Demyx was a romantic. He wanted all of that end-of-the-world, "I'll never let go, Jack" crap. But every time he mentioned how great the 'bedroom talk' was, it would end. Literally the next day. It was kind of freaky and uncanny and when it happened for the third time, Demyx had forbidden the word. This was the fourth. And it was also the only one to send Demyx into silence in brooding, moody but not angst-y contemplation. Whoever this guy was (and really, who was I to rag on him when I hadn't even met said boyfriend of over six months), Demyx had fallen Shakespearean hard for him. And he, whoever he was, had better not f- shit, I mean- screw it up.
Maybe Demyx was right. If I couldn't control my language, I might be out on my ass on the school sidewalk after attendance, 1st period. But then, I didn't want to just drop it either. I had already been hired (the district was desperate. Apparently being a flaming red head with facial tattoos, a questionable background, and slight pyromaniac tendencies was A-ok at this point). And, there was the obvious for why I couldn't send in my resignation and continue with life as normal.
"See, Demyx. This is exactly why I'm taking the job," I said, breaking him out of his reverie and trying to hide my amused smile. "I'm bored. I'm losing inspiration. I'm writing crap and a few hours a day in hell sounds fun as shit to me at this point."
Demyx raised an eyebrow. The light at the end of the tunnel was in sight. "You're sure about this?"
"Hey, the way I see it, it won't matter much anyways. You're in a long term relationship and an honest-to-god principal hired me to teach high school English, so the apocalypse must be around the corner."
Demyx laughed at this and walked away to grab some leftover dinner. "True," he turned back holding a milk carton. "Just don't say I didn't warn you," he made a face. "Oh, and this milk expired two months ago."
"Oh. My. God."
"I did warn you."
"Oh-my-GOD."
"It's too late now, Axel. You should have listened to the all-knowing Demyx."
I shoved the pillow harder into my face. Suffocation was just as effective a cure for boredom, right? I ripped the pillow off. "We're we that bad?" I hoarsely whispered. "We're going to hell, Demyx. Or we should belong there already. If that's how bad we were I would lie in a court of law to let our teachers get off scotch free for murdering us. Torture optional."
"You wouldn't be able to vote. You'd be dead," Demyx replied and pulled a spoon that had once been full of ice cream from his mouth.
"You look happy."
"I had sex this morning," he was practically oozing self satisfaction and romantic gooeyness.
"You're disgusting. And I hate you."
"You just wish you were me," he sing-songed.
"No, mullet brain, I wish you were me," I grumbled and rolled off my bed (which was really a mattress pushed against one side of the wall in our one room studio). I stumbled to the window and pushed it open onto the noisy, gasoline filled night. "I need a cigarette," I murmured and lit one, taking a deep breath.
"Was it really that bad?"
"You know that Chuckie doll?"
Demyx shuddered. "Yeah?"
"He would piss himself if put in the same room with one of them."
"Ouch," Demyx grimaced before smiling brightly, "Well, it can't have been all bad."
"It was like I didn't exist for half of them and for the other half I was that stupid ass milk carton that just needed to be tossed out by any means necessary."
"Any means necessary?"
"Demyx, I pride myself on my ability to spontaneously spin obscenities. I occasionally make a living out of it. But these kids were coming up with shit that made my jaw drop to the floor. And half of them walked out! In the middle of class!"
"What about the other half?"
"Apathetic," I sighed. "Honestly, Demyx, I think that's what killed me more than anything. I wanted them to have conversations with me. I wanted them to see how cool and exciting Walt Whitman, Ezra Pound, Allen Ginsberg, and Charles Burkowski are."
Demyx groaned, but I could hear the smile in his voice. "Now, see, this is exactly why I can't take you out in public," he was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry you had a rough day. You going back tomorrow?"
I thought about that, taking a drag and blowing it out into the night. "Yeah. There was one bright spot. Small girl, blonde, quiet. Out of all those little f-"
Demyx shushed me with the suddenness of a whip cracking, his eyes reproachfully glaring.
"Demyx, I don't think it counts out of context."
"You don't know that."
I rolled my eyes and continued, letting that slip. "She was the only one who looked me in the eye. She was doodling something, yeah, but she would always look up and acknowledge me if I looked over."
Demyx came over from the kitchen and flopped onto my bed, hugging one leg to his chest. He smiled conspiratorially. "Kinda like a bombed concert. You get bottles and cheap food thrown at you, but there's still the music. And there's still that one person who can sing along and whose just as pumped as you are."
"Yeah, exactly," I smiled.
"And, hey, you didn't kill any of them. That's gotta say something about and this cracked up decision."
For awhile, silence reigned with that statement. A part of me had been hoping to be inspired by the people and the environment, but all I felt was exhaustion.
I grinned as a forgotten observation flitted back to the front of my brain. "Well, I could be wrong, but I'm pretty damn sure the janitor is screwing the crosswalk attendant from the elementary school next door."
Demyx's jaw dropped in delight. "No way," he breathed, laughter bubbling its way up. "If that doesn't make for a good poem or short story, I don't know what would."
I joined in his laughter and, heck, maybe he was right. And if that was the first day brought, who knew what the rest of the week would come with. Too bad it was only starting and I had yet to see the worst.
