Santa Claus is Dead, and assorted Teen Angst
You're not a kid, you're a vampire
"Class, I would like you to each choose a partner," Mrs. Butler addressed her English class, "and work this weekend on a creative project about the novel we have been reading, Frankenstein."
Mark inwardly groaned, he hated group work, and partnering up was always so awkward and humiliating.
"We might as well be in fucking gym class," a low voice intoned over Marks left shoulder a few minutes later.
Mark's body stiffened and he turned around to see Ronny's heavily lined eyes looking up at him. Ronny flashed a small smile, which would seem to resemble a grimace, except for the genuine camaraderie in his eyes.
Mark's face warmed up, and he gave an appreciative smirk.
Ronny shoved a crumpled piece of notebook paper into Mark's palm. Mark noticed that Ronny's hand was cold and his nails were covered with chipped black nail polish. "My address, come over Saturday afternoon."
***
Ronny lived in a run down house right outside of town. The paint on the fence was peeling and someone had stuck brightly colored fake flowers into the dirt at the foot of the building. Most of the plastic petals and leaves were covered in dirt and cobwebs. A smiling woman wearing a gingham apron opened the door for Mark, and ushered him in into the dark interior of the house muttering something brightly in Spanish.
Ronny immediately appeared in front of them. He was wearing a black shirt with an "A" with a circle around it painted in white paint across the front and a dog collar. The woman clucked disapprovingly, and sashayed back into the other room. Ronny stared intently at Mark for a moment before turning around and walking into a room at the end of the hall. Mark stood for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. He swallowed quietly, and then followed Ronny to his room.
The walls were painted black, and all that was remarkable in the room was a large bookshelf, a bass guitar, and a record player. The bed was perfectly made and his desk looked as if it was never used. Ronny sat stiffly at the edge of the bed as Mark looked around.
"Wow," Mark breathed, "this is great. My parents would never let me paint my room like this."
"My mom doesn't really give a shit about what I do."
Ronny's reply was matter-of-fact and his black-lined eyes were unfocused and gave no indication of pain or elation.
Mark stood awkwardly in front of him, "So, umm, I really liked what you said in class the other day. I read the book a couple of times, and the first time it made me feel..sick. I couldn't read it without feeling disgust. But I read it again, and I could almost take comfort in that. I could understand why the Creature did what he did," Mark paused, and walked across the room. With his back to Ronny, he continued, "I still felt repulsed by it though, by my life. But at the same time." Mark faltered and turned around. Ronny looked at him carefully before saying simply,
"I know."
Mark let the words sink in, and then nodded solemnly.
***
They decided to make a script for a movie which would be an allegory to the plight of Frankenstein's monster. The film would be about the death of a suburban family at the hands of their misunderstood son. At the hands of their own creation.
By dinnertime they still hadn't finished. Mark phoned home and got permission to stay over as long as he didn't stay up to late. Jill added that she was very happy that he had a new friend. Mark rolled his eyes, muttered "yeah, okay, bye..." and hung up the phone.
Ronny's mother was no where to be found, so the boys warmed up some pizza and brought it back into his room. Ronny walked over to the portable record player on his floor, and put on a record. "This is Joy Division, Unknown Pleasures."
As Ian Curtis sang mournfully in the background, they began to talk. Mark told Ronny how his parents didn't know he existed, how his brothers were so cruel to him. He told him that they only thing he ever wanted to do was to learn how to fly, and how Jill refused him. How he never felt like he would belong. How he wasn't sure if he wanted to anymore. Ronny told Mark how he didn't have a father, and how his mother didn't understand him, about how they didn't have money for anything. He told him about getting beat up in school and called a fag and a sissy. How he wouldn't let himself be hurt by it anymore. How he wasn't sure if there was anything left to hurt.
The sparse guitar and drums died out and the record shut off automatically. Pizza crusts and paper plates were scattered around the floor. It was silent.
"Ronny, stand up, I want to teach you some stuff." Mark spent the next two hours teaching basic self defense and karate. Ronny picked up quickly. Mark held Ronny's wrists behind his back to give him the chance to try out one of the new moves. Ronny's wrists were so solid and cold, but Mark could feel the veins, he could hear Ronny's heart pounding from the activity. Feel the warmth of Ronny's body against his arms. He was so still, yet so alive. His heart, his blood, was a secret that only Mark knew. Then Ronny's arms swung up quickly, catching Mark off guard, and successfully breaking Mark's grasp.
Mark's voice shook "perfect."
"Thanks," Ronny said, "let me know if there is ever anything I could help you with."
***
They finished the script at 1 am. Ronny handed Mark a black sleeping bag, which Mark unrolled at the foot of the bed. As Mark lay staring up at the glowing stars on Ronny's black ceiling, he whispered "Ronny?"
"Yeah."
"There is something you can help me with."
"."
"Show me how to be like you."
You're not a kid, you're a vampire
"Class, I would like you to each choose a partner," Mrs. Butler addressed her English class, "and work this weekend on a creative project about the novel we have been reading, Frankenstein."
Mark inwardly groaned, he hated group work, and partnering up was always so awkward and humiliating.
"We might as well be in fucking gym class," a low voice intoned over Marks left shoulder a few minutes later.
Mark's body stiffened and he turned around to see Ronny's heavily lined eyes looking up at him. Ronny flashed a small smile, which would seem to resemble a grimace, except for the genuine camaraderie in his eyes.
Mark's face warmed up, and he gave an appreciative smirk.
Ronny shoved a crumpled piece of notebook paper into Mark's palm. Mark noticed that Ronny's hand was cold and his nails were covered with chipped black nail polish. "My address, come over Saturday afternoon."
***
Ronny lived in a run down house right outside of town. The paint on the fence was peeling and someone had stuck brightly colored fake flowers into the dirt at the foot of the building. Most of the plastic petals and leaves were covered in dirt and cobwebs. A smiling woman wearing a gingham apron opened the door for Mark, and ushered him in into the dark interior of the house muttering something brightly in Spanish.
Ronny immediately appeared in front of them. He was wearing a black shirt with an "A" with a circle around it painted in white paint across the front and a dog collar. The woman clucked disapprovingly, and sashayed back into the other room. Ronny stared intently at Mark for a moment before turning around and walking into a room at the end of the hall. Mark stood for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. He swallowed quietly, and then followed Ronny to his room.
The walls were painted black, and all that was remarkable in the room was a large bookshelf, a bass guitar, and a record player. The bed was perfectly made and his desk looked as if it was never used. Ronny sat stiffly at the edge of the bed as Mark looked around.
"Wow," Mark breathed, "this is great. My parents would never let me paint my room like this."
"My mom doesn't really give a shit about what I do."
Ronny's reply was matter-of-fact and his black-lined eyes were unfocused and gave no indication of pain or elation.
Mark stood awkwardly in front of him, "So, umm, I really liked what you said in class the other day. I read the book a couple of times, and the first time it made me feel..sick. I couldn't read it without feeling disgust. But I read it again, and I could almost take comfort in that. I could understand why the Creature did what he did," Mark paused, and walked across the room. With his back to Ronny, he continued, "I still felt repulsed by it though, by my life. But at the same time." Mark faltered and turned around. Ronny looked at him carefully before saying simply,
"I know."
Mark let the words sink in, and then nodded solemnly.
***
They decided to make a script for a movie which would be an allegory to the plight of Frankenstein's monster. The film would be about the death of a suburban family at the hands of their misunderstood son. At the hands of their own creation.
By dinnertime they still hadn't finished. Mark phoned home and got permission to stay over as long as he didn't stay up to late. Jill added that she was very happy that he had a new friend. Mark rolled his eyes, muttered "yeah, okay, bye..." and hung up the phone.
Ronny's mother was no where to be found, so the boys warmed up some pizza and brought it back into his room. Ronny walked over to the portable record player on his floor, and put on a record. "This is Joy Division, Unknown Pleasures."
As Ian Curtis sang mournfully in the background, they began to talk. Mark told Ronny how his parents didn't know he existed, how his brothers were so cruel to him. He told him that they only thing he ever wanted to do was to learn how to fly, and how Jill refused him. How he never felt like he would belong. How he wasn't sure if he wanted to anymore. Ronny told Mark how he didn't have a father, and how his mother didn't understand him, about how they didn't have money for anything. He told him about getting beat up in school and called a fag and a sissy. How he wouldn't let himself be hurt by it anymore. How he wasn't sure if there was anything left to hurt.
The sparse guitar and drums died out and the record shut off automatically. Pizza crusts and paper plates were scattered around the floor. It was silent.
"Ronny, stand up, I want to teach you some stuff." Mark spent the next two hours teaching basic self defense and karate. Ronny picked up quickly. Mark held Ronny's wrists behind his back to give him the chance to try out one of the new moves. Ronny's wrists were so solid and cold, but Mark could feel the veins, he could hear Ronny's heart pounding from the activity. Feel the warmth of Ronny's body against his arms. He was so still, yet so alive. His heart, his blood, was a secret that only Mark knew. Then Ronny's arms swung up quickly, catching Mark off guard, and successfully breaking Mark's grasp.
Mark's voice shook "perfect."
"Thanks," Ronny said, "let me know if there is ever anything I could help you with."
***
They finished the script at 1 am. Ronny handed Mark a black sleeping bag, which Mark unrolled at the foot of the bed. As Mark lay staring up at the glowing stars on Ronny's black ceiling, he whispered "Ronny?"
"Yeah."
"There is something you can help me with."
"."
"Show me how to be like you."