My deepest apologies. The summer has started and I want to straighten out my priorities. I need to work more and play less. I don't think I'll be completely off posting stories- I delayed for this long and finally gave in and wrote. If anyone has any tips on management, I'd like to hear them. Maybe send me a private message if you feel obligated to.
It's short, but I won't delay any further. Please enjoy.
Chapter 1
Do you ever think that- No, no. That's not right.
Imagine a time when- Darn it, that's not it either. . .
Ok, ok. Remember when- Argh! I-I'm sorry. It's not easy for me to talk about this. Please, could I have just a few minutes to think some of this through?
Thanks. I appreciate it.
. . .
. . . . . .
. . . Ok, I think I got it.
Have you ever felt. . . oppressed? Not like just "haters" or bullies, but by yourself? Like your own physiology and mind- your own personality- are your enemies for an unfathomable reason, fighting down every attempt to be what your heart truly wants to be. That God himself made you this way, with dissonant intentions, for some sick amusement, down to your DNA links. Or maybe, constantly watched, like you're wearing your darkest secret like the king and his "new clothes", something that makes you less than what you should be and that everyone knows about it? Something that you may not even be aware of.
That you can never be completely human?
Well, take my asthma for instance. It's not my best example, but still follows, I think. I'm not athletic like my sister and anytime a seasonal bug goes around the family like, say, a cold, I'm basically bedridden with pneumonia for days on end. I don't have to participate in gym class as much as the other students, but I honestly want to join in for as long as I can, even if it's those dumb Billy Blanks Tae Bo videos (I cannot believe people still use VHS tapes) or line dancing. I straight up don't belong, just because of the limits set by my body.
Or how about this: the family business. I know my dad basically has a position waiting for me when I'm of age- he's even offered me a job as part of the cleaning staff in the main building. "I know you need a worker's permit from school, but it'll help you get to know the layout of the place and where you'll need to be when you work a real job there in the future," he explained before, sipping his morning coffee. "Not to mention that you'll have some funds in the bank for college- you know it's never too soon to start saving." And I get that, I honestly do. I never wanted to let my father down and I wouldn't mind working for him, but I don't think I'm much of a business person. It's just not me. Laid back, notebook open, scribbling down excerpts about elves, magic, princesses, strange worlds and high adventures- that's where I'd rather be. Maybe I'm like that because of all the books Mom and dad read to me. I've never grown up in that sense and I don't want anyone to know. Especially not dad. Sure, maybe I could work in mom's publishing branch, but I still can't shake the sense that I'll have. . . failed somehow.
And. . . well, there's that . . . meaning what I was doing before I met him: taking a break from my "writing" and admiring a view I really shouldn't be admiring at the back of the class.
It was Rylan Wicker, flirting with a collection of about four school girls. He's base and vain, just like most of the popular kids from my grade, but makes up for it in looks- Black hair, green eyes, that smile, those hips. He's straight as far as I know, but nothing else about him peaks my interest. It's perfectly fine watching from a distance. And this situation- I guess it was how I coped with how I am, just indulging in it like a secret fetish and not really acting upon it. I've suspected I was this way since I was twelve, known for sure shortly after my fourteenth birthday (I was in denial for a long time). This is safe. This is permissible. I thought, No one would come out at this time, right? I certainly wouldn't have- the people there attack you for the littlest things, like if you don't dress the right way or date the wrong person, even if you pick the appropriate gender.
I'll probably be alone for a long times anyways. I have school to worry about, along with college and that job with my father's company, so it works out in a sense.
The bell rung and there was a commotion. Laughter bubbled up. When I turned I only caught sight of a redhead running out the doorway with a bundle of books in his arms. I thought he tripped at first and the others indulged in some tasteless amusement. How petty. That's why I normally never get involved in ordeals like that- just not worth it. That boy though- the redhead- I saw him again shortly after that, the same day. If I remember correctly it just at the beginning of the semester, so the weather was still bright and warm. He was waiting at a crosswalk on his way home. Must have spaced out because he stepped down onto the walkway, almost in the way of a speeding car. I remember it pretty well- Fortunately I was close enough, right behind him actually, to yank him out of the way.
I pulled him back and everything just. . . froze.
Looking back, his face was actually pretty plain. At the same time, that could have been yet another compelling detail about him, why I couldn't leave him alone at first. His eyes were brown, like rich dark chocolate, too good to be thrown in cookie dough or cake batter. Kind of strange to go with red hair, neatly trimmed and swept to the side, but hey- it didn't look bad. Actually looked pretty . . . well, not necessarily hot, but he was still attractive. Aesthetic. A few freckles dotted his cheeks. Sunken cheeks. And his skin looked pale, not it's natural tone as I would later learn. He was well dressed that day, too, probably something like a school uniform with a black polo and khakis, but with long sleeves some reason. He was in my class- maybe we're the same age. Our gazes locked, just like in the movies, and the air was suddenly alight with some energy, ignited by his shocked. I guess he didn't expect me to have to save him.
He started to talk. "W-wait, why did you-," and with a sigh he was suddenly on his knees. All his materials from earlier were sprawled on the concrete. That guy was light for his size, at least back then- I could tell that much from holding him up. It reminded me of my mother the handful of times she worked to hard and skipped meals as a result. I suddenly found myself spewing out a line of questioning that would mirror my father's as I helped him gather everything he dropped.
"Hey, are you ok? When was the last time you've eaten something? Can you stand up?"
The redhead continued to collect everything frantically and didn't lift his head up. What, does he think I was mad for his legs giving out? The thought suddenly dawned on me that maybe he wasn't shoved earlier but that he had fallen then, too. "I'm fine. Please, just leave me alone. I-I'm busy."
"No, you almost got hit by and car and you've just collapsed."
"I'm ok-"
"Hey. Calm down. I'm not like those other guys."
And finally he stopped, eyes analyzing me. Yeah, I know you were in my class. He really did look scared. No, not scared. Maybe, but now that I think about it, it was more like disbelief, like I could still be playing some sort of joke. This guy isn't the cynical type, or at least he isn't anymore.
I handed him the small book he dropped- a tan pamphlet of various prayers, judging from the cover. "C'mon, when was the last time you've eaten?"
I don't think anyone bothered us- they were probably on their iphones or something. And if they were staring I wouldn't have cared. Slowly he reached for the booklet. That was when I noticed the wooden rosary on his wrist and the golden letters on the green leather bound book he was holding to his chest. I caught the word "Ignatius" on the cover, flipped outward. And finally, he answered me in a small, abashed muttering. " . . . Yesterday morning."
Ok, that is not good at all! "C'mon, I'll take you to my place. You can have something there."
" . . . I'll get in trouble."
"Trouble?"
That was about the time we finally got off the ground. He was really thin- I could make out nearly every bone his clothes didn't cover up. I suspected an eating disorder, but didn't entertain the thought for very long. "My mother is expecting me home soon. If I don't get back she may be angry."
Well, at least there's something about this guy that's normal. I wouldn't say angry, but I know my family gets worried if I don't at least text them and let them know I'm home or at school. I think it had something to do with the paparazzi that used to follow dad around so much. "Here." I fished through my pocket for my clamshell cellphone (All those apps and games are petty time-wasters I would rather do without). "You can call her. You know your house phone, right?"
Silence. His eyes darted this way and that, trying to find an answer.
"You don't know your own house phone?"
"No, I know the number."
"Then just call. It's not that hard to do."
But he shook his head, spat out a quick "I'm sorry" and ran off. He was gone before I could catch him.
My classmates might have called him a weirdo or freak after a first impression like that. But that was. . . more or less worrisome, unnerving at the very least for me. I've had health class before. I know about physical and social well being- the redhead I had just met didn't fit either one of those images. I suspected a disorder of some sort. Maybe not as extreme as schizophrenia, but he could have been paranoid or just plain anxious. And that book. Ignatius- the word circled and circled between my ears. I didn't even remember most of the walk home that day.
I'll need to do what I to best.
FST
Hopefully you all like the start. Second chapter should be out soon. Prepare for out of character writing! XD I don't intend that they all be this short, but it's a start. In the meantime, be well. I'll see you all in the next chapter.
-Magician Irono
