Hide and Seek
Chapter 1: Sounds
Tapping feet, the sounds of a loquacious teacher going on a bird walk, and snores of students who had succumbed to the teacher's monotonic voice and the room's dimming fluorescent lights; were all the sounds that rang in Dirk's ears. His head constantly shifted from being down to looking up, facing left then right; and his eyes wandered behind his shades towards a small clock whose numbers were barely visible as he clicked his pen in impatience.
Tick, click, tick, click; the tempo of his pen doubled the clock's as he scoured over heads to find familiar black hair and rectangular glasses. He lifted his chin and arched his back to try to not make it obvious that he wasn't listening to the teacher at all. On the edge of his seat now, there he was; windswept hair, a forest green army collared shirt, a dog tag, and bracelet made from miniature wood-carved skulls to top it all off. Three years since Dirk's been closeted and has been admiring Jake from afar since freshman year, when he ventured to try out for the football team (which he didn't make).
He fluttered his eyes and slipped into a state of daydreaming; imagining the feel of his arm around his shoulders, him resting on top of his nicely sculpted abs, and the slight scratchy feeling of his face when their lips would meet. Still in a sublime state, Dirk reached for his journal and started to flow out words on a blank page.
"Dear English,
I can hear the bells, wedding bells; not the aggravating high-toned pitch that comes from the school's outdated rust-embalmed bell. I can hear the susurruses from our unnerving and happy friends and family as they sit in white-washed wooded lawn chairs, decorated lightly with orange and green flowers; not the murmur of gossip and trash talk that exchange in-between students as they sit in heavily vandalized 20-year old plastic chairs through a lecture. "I do" is all I hear, and I'll do whatever it takes to see those bright green eyes, staring straight at into mine as an aubade replays in my head the next morning - but how unfortunate Striders are, cursed with only being able to watch wind-swept, luscious black hair from afar. How unfortunate that it seems that if it were revealed for a man to love a man publicly, society would begin to fall apart by its poorly sewn seams. Wishing for you in such an environment driven by an outrageous, yet popular opinion; is like wishing for a tropical storm as I stand in the Sahara."
