Memoirs
A memory:
Sitting three seats to the left of Alfred in his ninth grade history class was a boy named Richard Stormy. They called him Ricky Storm sometimes. In his head, Alfred called him Ricky Dicky. Why? Because he was an inappropriate fourteen year old who was struggling with a crush so big it threatened to quite literally crush him. They called it that for a reason, Alfred realised.
One morning, late autumn, the teacher stood in the front. She leaned against her desk, her long fingers curled into a fist on the corner. She began to talk about influential figures in history: religious figures, war leaders, presidents, kings, so on, and what affect they had on the world.
During this time, Alfred considered whether or not to write an anonymous love letter to Ricky. He could spill his guts and use twirly, decorative handwriting to disguise his identity. What would Ricky do? He would be flattered, maybe, but wouldn't he want to seek out the "girl" who wrote that to him? And, Alfred's mind buzzed with excitement, what if he framed some girl and Ricky found her and said, openly, that he wasn't interested in girls. Then Alfred could swoop in and claim his prize.
This woman, she's been wrongly accused.
How so, dear gentleman?
Why, she never did write a letter of such longing. I doubt she would be capable of it, even.
Then who did…?
Me, my darling Richard.
Ricky would gaze long, warmly into Alfred's eyes. He would reach forwards, brush a strand of straw-coloured hair away, and lean in for a kiss. Alfred would wrap his arms around Ricky's small waist, pull him closer. In front of so many pairs of eyes. Maybe some would swoon, or smile, or roll their eyes. Who cared? They would kiss, a burst of electricity ripping through space and time.
And then they could sleep under the stars, flesh that desires flesh. Desperate, young, foolish love.
Oh, yes.
"Alfred?"
Alfred looked away dreamily from his desk, where his finger had been tracing a heart. He locked eyes with the teacher and his face flushed.
"Yes?"
"Instead of falling into a doze, where I'm sure lovely dreams graced your mind, why don't you head on to your next class?" Despite her cold words, her tone was warm, welcoming.
Alfred stood up, now noticing that the class had emptied of everyone. Even Ricky. No, especially Ricky.
"Did you hear the assignment?" She asked.
Alfred looked at the board and jotted it down in a notebook. He had to choose an influential person and write a short essay on how their role in society affected today's world. Simple enough, Alfred thought. He could ask Matthew for help in any case.
"There was one other thing I meant to ask you."
"Yes?" Alfred hugged his books to his chest, adjusting his glasses with his free hand.
She smiled warmly, the thin lines at her cheeks creasing. Her hair was auburn in the sunlight, and loose in a forest of slick curls. Alfred liked her, more so than other teachers. "Are you interested in forming a club? Or do you take sports here?"
"No, I don't take sports anymore. I used to play baseball and track last year. I don't think I'll do anything this year." Alfred paused. "Wait, a club?"
"Yes."
"What kind?"
"Any kind you want, Alfred. I'd be happy to support and advise it. You need a teacher to make a club."
"Um, thanks."
Something in her eyes showed him that she knew. It made him both uncomfortable and completely at peace with the world. Not for some time would anyone else know about his sexuality. He had buried it deeply in his spirit, under memories and crushes, and whispered voices with their words forgotten but with tones etched in deeply.
And now his history teacher had uncapped it, letting a little of his personality shine through. He didn't have to hide. At least, not all the time.
"I'll write you a pass." She turned towards her desk. Alfred pressed his lips into a smile.
Another memory:
In the cubicle across from him was Stacey. Stacey was average by every definition. Alfred had a position higher than her, but she wasn't bad at what she did. She wasn't great at it, either. She had a round face with inoffensively cut brown hair and an average body weight and an average figure. But she was nice. A bit boring, but caring and genuine all the same.
And she also deeply enjoyed Alfred's company. Or seemed to. Alfred wasn't very good at picking up such signals.
During break time, Alfred left his seat to eat the salad he packed in the canteen area. He chose a seat near the door so he didn't have to waste time. He popped open the plastic container and began to eat, humming to himself.
An older coworker, Jennifer, plumped down across from him. She grinned.
"So, Alfred. How are you?"
Alfred looked at her curiously. Her phenix eyes glittered in amusement. "I'm fine. You?"
"Fine, fine." She said, nodding.
"What is it?" Alfred asked impatiently, watching her fidget.
She raised her eyebrows, as if there was absolutely nothing on her mind. Her visage didn't last long and she bent forwards, resting her chin on her palm.
"Do you have a girlfriend? A handsome man like you must have one?"
Well, wasn't this awkward, Alfred thought. He focused his energy into not crimsoning.
"No, not at the moment."
"So you're single?"
"Yes." At least he wasn't lying.
"Well, I don't think that would last long."
"Why?"
"Know Stacey?"
"Yeah."
"What do you think of her?"
"She's… nice."
"Is she pretty?"
"I guess."
"You guess? So you like her!"
Alfred shrugged. If he said he didn't like her, she would ask why, and then he would have to fabricate some excuse. Plot holes in his lies would bubble to the surface like boiling water. She would discover him. He could be denied a better position. Or she wouldn't speak to him ever again. The routes it would go stretched endlessly. And yet his mind never trailed to the gilded route of acceptance that Jennifer may have treaded on.
"She's really very sweet, and she thinks highly of you."
"That's nice."
"You're so cute!"
"Thank you."
"How about I bring her over so you can talk?"
Before Alfred could respond, Jennifer had hopped up and rushed away to bring Stacey over. Alfred slumped forwards, munching quietly on his salad. He didn't want to hurt her.
Stacey was brought over. She smiled at him. She had dyed her hair with blond highlights.
"I have to go." Alfred said, standing up.
Her face fell.
"My break is over." He said.
"Can't we talk for a minute? You just got here." She said politely.
"I guess I can."
He sat down. Jennifer winked at him from across the room. Alfred avoided her eyes. Stacey laced her fingers under her chin.
"Are you friends with Jennifer?" She asked.
"I guess."
Stacey turned her eyes down.
"I'm sorry. She wanted me to come talk to you."
"Don't worry, it's fine. It can get lonely sometimes."
"I can understand that."
Stacey watched as Alfred stabbed at his lettuce haphazardly. His mind trailed elsewhere, namely to a handsome young trainee walking past them.
"Um, Alfred?"
"Yes?" Alfred turned back, hoping she hadn't seen.
"Do you know if Jennifer is married?"
"She's engaged." Alfred said.
"Oh."
"He's a pretty nice guy. I wouldn't worry about her."
"I see. He's lucky, then."
Alfred raised his eyebrows. The pieces were falling into place.
"He's pretty good looking. I met him at the barbecue the company held."
"So this is one of those workplaces." She laughed.
"Kind of boring." Alfred joined her in laughter.
Stacey nodded, brushing hair behind her ear.
"What about Autumn?"
"Her?" Alfred tipped his chin towards a woman sitting with Jennifer.
"Yes."
"I don't know. I don't talk to her often."
"Is she prettier than Jennifer?"
"I… I wouldn't know." Alfred admitted quietly.
"I think Jennifer is pretty attractive." Stacey admitted just as quietly.
"She's nice."
Alfred then felt the gears click into place and begin whirring.
"You're?"
Stacey smiled. "Yes."
"And you know I'm…?"
"It's pretty obvious."
"Is it?"
Stacey nodded. She stood, adjusting her uniform jacket and brushing her hair over to one shoulder.
"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to put our budding friendship on pause so I can go tell Jennifer that we'll be married in March."
"Wait—No!" Alfred stood up and followed her.
A thought:
Alfred kept a journal. In an entry about two months before he met Ivan, he naively wrote:
You know, people aren't too bad. There are some real nice spirits in the world.
