Getting used to the rules at his grandfather's house was already proving tiresome, but David was taking it in his stride as best he could. He was used to Matthew's strange parenting from several summer's staying with him; he strived to raise his children with the liberalism to allow them to grow, but with the authoritarianism to make them grow straight.
He remembered his mom would call it the "Vegetarian Hitler approach".
Funny… she seemed to be more of a gay hater.
Monday had been a strange day for him. He went to school feeling happier than he had felt in months, and even slushie facial couldn't put a damper on the fire that had finally been reignited within him. If anything, it made him question why the bullies were so unoriginal. He took notes in his lessons; he asked questions and did the work.
Miss Imrye had asked after him, and once again he was summoned to her classroom. "Come in, David."
"Yes, Miss Imrye?"
"How did it go with your grandfather?"
"I'm living with him now. I did the test you said I should… I should get results soon. It was aright; really long though."
"I can imagine. Well, I hope you know I'm here if you need any help."
David nodded and left the classroom, and went to his locker. His locker had recently been spray painted with "FAG" in bright red. It was the curse of the fallen bully; everyone he had ever hurt now saw fit to hurt him in return. How bitter sweet justice tasted.
When David got home, he found Matthew in the living room, entertaining a guest. Dave recognised her as one of the women from the community centre; he could only assume she was one of the volunteers.
"David, come and meet Miss Black. She's in charge of the volunteers at 'Little Paws'. She's come to interview you."
The woman was tall and rosy looking. She had a bright smile, and wore a black suit. "Is this like a formal interview?"
"Oh, no! The suit is for my actual job. We'll be spending a lot of time together if you're Brother Bear material, so please, call me Emily."
The interview was laborious, but Emily seemed impressed by his credentials. Who knew that kicking a ball and making campfires when he was seven counted as "credentials"?
It was five by the time Emily left, and Matthew had already started dinner. "Where did you get that—what do you call it—music box?" he asked while peeling potatoes.
"What music box?"
"The purple one on your dresser. Help me peel these vegetables."
Dave grabbed a knife and started on the carrots. "It's called an iPod, Gramps. I was given it by this weird boy at the centre. I was looking for you, and he kept asking about Shakespeare. There are these poems and plays on it."
"And he just gave it to you?"
"I said he was weird."
Matthew filled a pot with water and put it on the hob. He went to the cupboards and started searching for something.
"You should give it back."
"I didn't want it. He said if I can't read it, I should hear it."
"Give it back to him."
"I will."
On the Wednesday, after school, Matthew picked Dave up, and took him to the community centre. He was shown around the facility, and introduced to a few of the children.
He had already chosen his favourites; two little eastern European twins named Mila and Natalya. They had long black hair, put in identical pigtails. They wore identical ragged dresses, and carried identical scruffy bunny dolls. They had a curious way of speaking, but they were quiet; they apparently made the movie den their home.
"Mister David, sir," began Mila, the younger sister.
"Yeah?"
"You are very large. I like that you are large. Can you carry me to my sister? I have lost her, and I do not like it when I lose her."
David smiled and lifted her on to his shoulders. She shrieked in delight and pointed forward. "I am thinking that I can see her."
Emily must have been impressed by him, because immediately after this incident, she offered him the role of "Brother Bear". Being a Brother Bear meant he could be trusted with small groups of the children on his own, or larger groups with Elder Bear supervision. The children were the Teddies or Cubs, depending on age.
At five minutes to six, David bade his goodbyes, and went through the winding corridors and up the never ending stairs to room 431.
He didn't bother to knock, and simply strode in.
Tristan wasn't there this time. Instead, he found a group of girls, all clutching books. The one on the end, the red-head dressed in sparkles and gold, stood up. "Are you here for the meeting?"
"I'm looking for Tristan."
"Oh, then you are! Take a seat! Pleased to meet you. My name is Maria. What's your favourite sonnet?"
"I didn't listen to them. I only listened to a few plays. When is he—"
Now the blonde girl wearing a football jersey stood up, and stalked across the room to meet him. She threw her arms out and hugged him. "I'm Corey. Welcome to the Sonnets. Ignore Mari, she's a bit rude. She forgot to ask your name."
David wrestled free of the girl's grip. Everyone in this group was clearly insane. "David."
"Tristan's running late. You might as well come in and sit."
David sighed in defeat. He went forward in to the room, and sat on one of the blue seats. Finally, the silent brunette addressed him. She seemed a lot more frail that the other two, who were laughing boisterously at nothing in particular. Even her beauty was frail, seemingly untouchable. This one seemed more inclined to feminine coyness, as she looked up through thick, mascara-covered lashed. "I-I'm Alice. Ali, if you want."
"Hey." He liked her the most so far. She wasn't fucking insane.
The door opened again, and Ali suddenly lit up, and became more animated. "Oh, Gregory! I thought you would be late!"
This new boy slunk in silently, and sat next to Dave. He waved shyly at Ali and looked up at David. "Tristan mentioned you. You're David, yes?"
"Yeah… when is he getting here? I just want to give him this back."
Maria, who had clearly been listening, shook her head. "If he gave it to you, you're meant to keep it. He's got like a gazillion."
Gregory smiled softly. "Pleased to meet you. I'm the producer of sorts around here. I do designs and sketches… I act when needed."
"What sort of group is this? I thought it was a study group."
Maria took clear offence to this. Indignation twisted her milky face, and she span around in thespian fury. "We are not a study group! We strive to recreate the drama and theatricality of the original plays. These masterpieces were not written to be read as novels by ignorant and barbarous caitiffs who so cruelly disregard it, never truly revering it as a piece of literary mastery! I can not listen to such blasphemous claims. Why, I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapour of a dungeon—"
"Othello, Act three, scene three."
The group turned to the doorway, and beamed widely to Tristan, with the exception of Dave and Greg, who ignored his entrance. Tristan wandered over to Greg and flung his arms around him. "How are you today, Rory?"
"U-uh—"
"Davey, you're here!"
"I just want to give you this back," he said, holding out the iPod.
Tristan ignored the outstretched hand and turned to the group. "Well, we have a new fellow joining us today. Everyone, this is Davey!"
"I'm not joining."
"But you're here. You're here, so you must be joining."
"I just wanted to—"
Greg placed a hand on Tristan's arm and tugged at the maroon fabric. "Tristan, he doesn't want to be here. Don't make it awkward for him."
"Then why is he here?"
"I just want to give you this back!"
Tristan nodded. "Yeah, I figured you would. But you're here now… won't you stay a bit longer?"
David had never wanted to punch someone so badly. This boy, this infuriating, annoying, overly British boy, was determined to ride his last nerve until it snapped. And what was worse, these people considered this totally normal behaviour.
"Fine," he says finally, his voice chillingly calm. "I'll stay for ten minutes. Only ten minutes."
"Wonderful! That's all we need! What should we do then, guys?"
Maria flipped her curls back. "Well, I personally think that you should do the sonnet. This… this mammet has never heard a sonnet before!"
Tristan blushed a bit. It was surprising; for such a shameless idiot, modesty seemed like a foreign concept. "Um, I wanted to… save that for something else."
"Oh, but Gregory was looking forward to it. Weren't you?" Ali asked.
"Alice!"
"Well, if Rory wants me to, then sure!" The bravado was back then.
There was an instantaneous movement, and all the chairs moved in to a circle around Tristan. Dave was already curious, and he moved to the circle. Corey leaned across Greg and whispered to Dave. "Maria will tear up. It's always funny. Tristan is just that good."
Tristan stood on the empty chair next to Maria, and turned to the group. "This is Sonnet 20. Please, hold all homophobic comments to the end this time, Corey."
"They're not homophobic! I just—"
"Shhh! I'm performing!" He gave a playful wink and cleared his throat. "A woman's face with nature's own hand painted/ Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion/A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted/ With shifting change, as is false women's fashion." Tristan did have an amazing performing voice. Dave couldn't begrudge him that. "An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling/Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth/A man in hue all hues in his controlling/Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth/And for a woman wert thou first created/ Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting/ And by addition me of thee defeated/By adding one thing to my purpose nothing." He paused and sighed forlornly. He smiled with soft fondness in Dave and Greg's direction. "But… But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure/ Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure."
The group applauded, and Tristan bowed. Even Dave had been moved by the tender tones and wistful whispers he had employed to aid his story telling. Maria had burst in to hysterics, as Corey had predicted. It was Greg who had the most interesting reaction. He had seemingly succumbed to Gorgonian temptation, and merely stared at Tristan, the faintest cherry blossom hue resting on his delicate cheeks.
Were all artsy men flaming queers? Or was it just the ones in Ohio?
Tristan jumped down from the chair with feline grace and sat down. "Alright, Corey. Have at thee."
"I'm not homophobic. I like you, don't I?"
"Barely."
"Well, don't be such an annoying douche all the time." She stuck her tongue out and continued. "It's not one of my favorite sonnets, and I just don't accept it as proof that he had a thing for the Fair Youth."
Dave raised his hand. "Who?"
"Nobody knows," Ali said, fiddling with the hem of her flowing dress. "It's one of those brilliant mysteries that surround Shakespeare. It might have been a noble lord he admired. It might have been someone who he owed his life to."
"And if you're Tristan, it's one of his many fuck buddies. All the best writers are bisexual you know," Corey said with an eye roll.
"Yeah… I get that," David mumbled.
It had been a quiet confession, but Tristan had heard. His eyes widened and he burst in to that wide grin again. "Yes! Thank you! Davey agrees!"
"Well, with all due respect," Maria began.
"Oh, that's not good. She only says that when the next thing is bitchy," Greg muttered.
"With all due respect, you barely seem intelligent enough to read a Shakespeare play. I highly doubt that you have the ability to comprehend historical and social context—"
"I'm dyslexic, you judgmental bitch," he snapped.
The room fell silent, and Dave suddenly felt ridiculously self-conscious. All eyes were on him, and they all seemed to pity the poor giant who couldn't read and write like normal, intelligent people.
When no one spoke, he continued. "You know what, no. I don't understand everything about Shakespeare. I know that being gay back then… it was big sin that no one really gave a shit about. I get it. No one would have given a fuck if he has screwing around with a guy. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't want it kept a secret or anything. This guy could have been married, or just straight." He paused. "I get that he's God here, alright? But seriously; he's human. He might never have come out the closet. Why would he want to? Do you think he'd be such a legend today if he had? People would judge him on that, not the… great stuff he did. I haven't read the plays closely, but the ones I like are great. Funny, good characters… smart. He was smart to stay in the closet."
"I didn't mean—" Maria began.
"No, listen; He's like that Dorian Wilde guy. He wrote some great shit, but all anyone really cares about is the fact that he went to jail for being gay. And that was stupid anyway, because… it's prison! If Shakespeare had turned around and said it was for John Smith or whatever, then it wouldn't still be talked about today."
Again, no one spoke. Finally, after agonizing moments had passed, Tristan spoke softly. "I told you he was passionate. He's got a hell of a voice too. He'd be an amazing villain… what do you say?"
They all nodded, and burst in to another round of applause.
What… the fuck?
Greg tugged on Dave's sleeve and smiled sheepishly up at him. "We want you to join us. We can always use new talent. And you can put this on your application for college; they go nuts for this sort of society."
"I don't think so… I'm already an outcast. I don't want to be a reject too."
"Do you want to stay in Lima forever?" Maria asked.
"No. But I don't want… You don't care about my life story."
He stood up to leave. Corey stopped him by grabbing his collar roughly. "No. You're staying. You were having fun until Maria opened her giant mouth again. You've been here twenty minutes you know. Just stay until the end."
Dave paused, and considered his options. He could spend the rest of his days running home from school and holing up in is bedroom until he went to sleep. It seemed like a manageable lifestyle.
Or, here, he could…
"… Sure. Yeah, okay. Until the end. That's it."
So... Mixed response to Tristan. Rich guys. What are you going to do?
Sorry about the MASSIVE delay. I lost the chapter, and then... I got locked out my own account. But I'm back!
Review please~
