Significant Beauty

Warning, this story contains many situations that may include violence, homosexuality and/or sex. Through this section is faily clean, the story is not recommended for readers under the age of eighteen.

This is about half of chapter 1. Each chapter is long but split into sections and there are only nine in the whole thing.

Significant Beauty
By L. Dykeman


PART 1

Come to Me, Swim in the Sea



CHAPTER 1: The City of Lights


They’ve been calling me crazy for years, saying the story of my life is only that of an obsessive man who would not live in reality, and it cannot contain any viable truths. Am I a nihilist? A Buddhist? A man, a devil? Existential and or a fool? I want you to take it all for what you will. God is Dr. Frankenstein, and I, am his monster? Pathetic, evil, or unjustly undone? Or nothing at all? Is there really an answer? Do you need one? We all exist in the infinite. And though the reality that I live in is the same yours…it is mine.

I was sitting on a public bus, it was freezing outside, the rows of old buildings tinged with winter blue. And the graffiti, sprawled black on cracked concrete, said, “I do not know, therefore I am.”

********

I almost killed my mother when I was born, not because of even the slightest semblance of physical weakness on her part but because I was not what she needed me to be. And as I grew, to her horror, my hair stayed that dark, brown black. And my eyes are a light brown, with long eyelashes that made women pinch my cheeks, but the eyes got crueler and more narrow as I got older. I didn’t look like her at all, her hair blonde, green eyes light and clear and round. I looked exactly like my father, including my height as I got older, as she was very short, and I grew to about six feet five by nineteen. I started at birth as a disappointment for her, a reminder of what she describes as her greatest moment of weakness. And then, my certain softness in temperament just made it all worse. Fight, fight, that’s all she ever really wanted me to do, it seemed. But I think that all I ever wanted to do was sleep…

My mother says that it was my birthright to create the chaos for them to control, my name is a gift, a privilege; the place in this world for me, is the one they had already created. To create the disarray in a government made much like a gelatin mold, built upon sweet moral promises and never taking into account all the hectic little fingers that would poke and prod at the carefully suspended chunks of fruit within.
"In this reality," she would often say in her tobacco hoarsened voice. “You cannot afford this ongoing softness of yours. You must rise above that. Above all of it.” I’ve often wondered what exactly I was supposed to rise above. Our world, the path to power, the rise, was only ever full of many different nothings and corruption. That can’t possibly be the answer. She would only say to me, "When faced with the inevitable miseries of life, my son will be ready for it."

**********

The first day of our significance, however, began in a cramped auditorium when I was seventeen. I was sitting with my arms spread out lazily to each side, and the collar of my uniform’s brown jacket was flipped up but not making me any warmer. The bags under my eyes felt like they were burning, deepening, and the sullen, sagging of my fairly unfit body felt exaggerated, as if it were pulling itself farther into the ground, heavy. I pulled my jaw length black hair back with a rubber band and closed my eyes, laying my head back and listening to the hushed clamor of young male voices.

When you do not express all aspects of the soul, the variety of human existence, what do you become? Is it human at all? Is it a just a conglomeration of inanimate forces? Is that a good or bad thing, eh? What’s so great about being human anyway? I ran my fingers over a cut on the bridge of my long, large, and sharp nose before I ran them over the scar on my cheek.
What was I thinking, coming here? I should have just skipped. Why am I going to school when I could stay home and sleep? It was the second week I’d been in that place and I knew already it wasn’t going to last to the end of the term. Everything was white and sterile. Above were bright florescent lights, each screwed tightly inside its own silver concave, all in perfectly ordered rows of tens, their light grey and too even. It really made all five hundred boys in there look like the walking dead, trapped together in our own rather cheap imitation of the purified after life. And every room in the Established buildings was just like that.
My mean eyes darted around the room. To let go of all outward prejudice, I’ve found, is almost impossible, but it’s been said that if you can, then it becomes possible to see with the inner eye, to see the soul. I tried to do it, but… it didn’t work of course. My mind is far too full of labels and theories, so much so that I have at least three different words for every monotone or perverted thing I say, and four different damn examples to cite of all their theories’ proof and estranged disproof. I’ve spent more time reading all the illegal books I could get then writing anything substantial of my own because I’ve always thought I’d just end up disproving myself with another work. Over educated and lazy, to the core. Or the mind of a stubborn old man, my mother used to tell me, before with a shaking hand and a squinted, hateful eye, she would return the two burners to between her pale, grimacing lips.

********

The day before had been a distressful one for me. I was in my murky kitchen, the tiles were yellowing, the stove electric with rusting burners, and an old refrigerator giving off a constant, low buzz. Above, a single, naked, little light bulb that weeks earlier I had drawn a smiley face on with a black marker. I smiled at my little kitchen friend, then pulled his string. The dirty curtains above the sink blew in a gentle wind and the smell of rain, inviting my eye to stare out of the barred opening, observing only crumbled bricks. I closed my eyes and imagined a field of long grass and little orange and blue wildflowers. And then the smell of baking bread… I opened my eyes, rolled up my sleeves and finished washing the dishes from earlier, the smell of boiling noodles assailing my senses, sudden shock of reality.
"Inane," I whispered aloud and dropped the greasy pan into the soap and water. “Insane or inane, which of you has sunken your claws into my brain. Inane and Insane, brain, brain, brain oh mine. ” Smile.

I drained the noodles before adding the powdered cheese; I hate macaroni and cheese; why am I always making it?

You are what you eat; I am noodles and cheese. Hoorah for me, ninety-nine cents of preservatives.
Why make enough for more than one person? My mother wouldn't eat the food I'd make; she'd eat her microwave dinners or have someone bring her something. Brians, she’d call her little pet and he’d bring her a fucking feast. We used to have maids or various other people, but for about the last five years we have had to live a little more under cover from the government… and hence this little shitty house we live in… I heard her turn on the television once more, “Only 509 come on down to the pluckety…” I blocked it’s roaring from my mind and tried to concentrate on the food. She flicked it to the news, even more irritating. An empty place across from me, distracting. I speared some noodles, holding them ready to eat while my thoughts wandered elsewhere.

I imagined a boy sitting across from me, smiling sweetly; yeah, his smile would be sweet. Maybe they’ll be a girl? That’d be nice too. That soul, that soul I could … reach out and touch. I am the Soul Seeker; I am the romantic; I am the dreamer; I am Only the Lonely; I am still macaroni and cheese. Perhaps someday… That kind of thing doesn't happen, Quinn; it’s all just a strange manifestation of an overtly hyperactive imagination. My muscles tensed as I listened to the rambling whispers of my own inward voice. Always, this aggravating noise which is my own consciousness was slashing away at the inside of my skull like a tiny miner with a pickaxe and glitter fever. I swear, if that bastard didn't shut the hell up... I was going to stab him with the fork in my hand.

********

What are we living for? “Does anybody know?”
I was really starting to get bored. This assembly was mandatory for all first year students, and it was about school life, morality, ideals, and god knows what else. Then, we’d have to sit through a concert at the end.

“I can’t believe it still hasn’t fucking started,” the man next to me groaned. George Sanchez. I looked over at him and smiled a little. With a kind face, strangely round but with a strong jaw line, and a build very much like a large teddy bear, he was very nice to look at. Very dark brown hair and stern eyes that gave off only selective warmth and most of the time were intimidating. “Finally, here come the damn musicians.” He yawned and scratched his unshaven face with his calloused, painfully masculine hands. Jordy, my best friend since we were ten. To pass the test to get in to the EI you have to know the Conditioned language, and I taught it to him so we could go to this school. He could get a lot of equipment and some technological skills here that he could use in his plant engineering. But what am I supposed to be getting out of this?

“You’re impatient.”

“Look who’s talking,” he laughed slightly and rolled his eyes at me.

“Do you have anything to eat? I’m hungry.” I was watching the boys in Conditioned uniforms filing down the aisle about five seats from us, the dark blue pants, white shirts, ties match the pants, burgundy blazer. They mostly had their hair cut very short, three blonde, five brown, another blonde, brown… short, tall, tall, medium, short, short, woodwind, woodwind, and now they’ve got strings… And then so suddenly everything that I knew was shaken, and I am so fluttery I think that I can fly…

The first physical thing I noticed about him was his hair, bright but dark red curls in a loose cut around his head, dangling and bouncing while he walked. The curls look like a wound, very dark as they came closer together on his head, like blood that had pooled, and as it loosened it became bright and then even brighter in the highlights. It really looks unnatural, but the fact that it’s not makes it all the more breathtaking. His skin, very white, not so sterile as the room, but a sweet, smooth, fleshy cream. He was oddly pretty… but more strangely and specifically cute.

I couldn’t hear anything, and all I could see were those curls, falling, rolling, as a nervous white hand shuffled them through its fingers, the head turning them, looking around, going away from me… Then there was a sigh and I noticed the whole of him, that not only did these beautiful curls exist but they were growing out of a living, breathing, real human being. This boy was beautiful, and those mean eyes of mine followed him as he took his place among the other Conditioned musicians a few rows ahead of us. I could still stare at the back of his head, seeming so longingly far away with those rows of empty spaces between us… Ah…Of course he’s a Conditioned. Why except anything less forbidden? Still, the eyes studied the shape of his head, the way he looks down at his lap, the way his head is slightly tilted to the left…That drab red of the blazer on his shoulders makes his hair look even more striking… I looked at his hair again and couldn’t help but wonder, for a flicker, if his hair were the same color everywhere… I was distracted with trying to get rid of that sort of thought for awhile, at least five or ten minutes…

Damn, why did I have to break those glasses... He stood and was letting others pass him. I blew one of my stray locks of dirty hair out of my eyes and tried to look at him better, tracing the shape of his shoulders, the curve into his back and then the curve of his…

“Like a cherry,” someone whispered in my ear and I blinked out of my little reverie.

“What?” I asked and looked at him.

“You better stop staring at that boy, you pervert. Christ Quinn..." Jordy shook his head in annoyance. "I don’t have time for your fucking mother and the bitching at us… Blah, blah you I shouldn’t have gone in the first place, these petty scandals… So could you not think what I think you’re thinking?"

"I didn't notice I was doing it," I lied with a shrug and began rummaging in my pockets for a snack. He told me that was bullshit and I need to keep my perversion a little more under control. “Awe, but then what would I do with the extra brain time…” I laughed and he did too, but shook his head at me as well. We were silent for awhile then, and I kept at my pockets. I found a very old hard candy and some white pills and put them back.

"Find anything?"

"No." My eyes flashed to the red haired boy for a moment. "Not really." They were back on the ceiling in the same thought.

"God,” Jordy groaned suddenly. "They treat us like kids here. This place reminds me of a fucking boarding school. If I have to sit through one of these one more time..."

"Ah, what else would we be doing?" I could say that today; I was amused.

We were really beginning to think this Conditioned school adventure was not as fun as I had made it out to be. And though we did get to use their equipment, library, and have the sarcastic satisfaction of me being in one of their schools, it was just not cutting it. But then right now it doesn’t seem to all be bad…. My eyes wandered to the Conditioneds yet again.
The red haired boy stood lethargically, picking up his violin with both hands as he apologetically made his way to the aisle. I wasn’t really sure, but I thought maybe I saw him glance at me as he walked past. I stood up quickly and watched him disappear through the doors.

“I’ll be right back,” I said and tried to go passed Jordy, but he put up his leg.
“I think you need to stay right here,” he laughed. I glared at him and kicked him hard in the shin. He winced and laughed, and I almost tripped as I stumbled over his legs and into the aisle. Now, where did that boy go? There were a few older people hanging around outside the doors and I saw them giving me a scornful look as I looked around. Ah… there he is. He was down the hall quite a ways, walking languidly toward the bathroom. I followed him, pretending to be just coincidentally going to the same place. He went in the bathroom for only a few seconds and came out with a paper towel and went to the water fountain.

He was a little small; well, a lot shorter than me which means he was a little below average; I was a few inches taller than six feet then. And he was thin, I could almost say emaciated, and had pale, freckleless, flawless skin.
I watched each of his gentle, carefully chosen movements, this skeletal body seeming to sigh with these movements, testing the temperature of the water, drinking some, running the rag under it, wringing it out, sticking it to his forehead, turning around... His eyes were black, no, more of a dark grayish or charcoal, and opened wide, a little startled, when he found me standing behind him. I loved the depth they were set in his head, giving them a natural shadow on the lids that matched the exhaustion below them. And they were very large and spaced far but evenly on his heart shaped face. His mouth seemed a bit too large and long, his lips pale and a little thin, thicker and pinker on the bottom, and well suited to his face. His nose was small, the tip round but at the same time pointed and delicate. I don't know why, but he reminded me of a lost kitten or a cartoon; perhaps it was the massive, nervous eyes. My god, I am such a pervert… They changed color as they stared at me, suddenly becoming a very pretty blue. And dark, like softened sapphire stones.

I smiled slightly and glanced at the very small tattoos on his right wrist, barely visible beside the collar of his shirt. He brushed his hair behind his ear nervously, taking the rag off his head as he walked around me, and I glimpsed them clearly. The first mark noted his vice of questioning, an upside down question mark inside of a triangle. The second a vice of wandering thoughts, an eye with a very dilated pupil. And the third was the vice of being feminine when he was a boy, a circle with an x in the middle. He must have done something to make them think he was homosexual. I suddenly felt a little bit lucky. Maybe I’ll play the lottery… But I don’t need money.

A blush dusted over the boy's cheeks as he hurried away from me; my arrogance had allowed my head to turn as he left. And I'll be damned if that cracked bastard didn't glance at me from over his shoulder, not even a glance really but an out right look. And he smiled just a little bit…

********

"Would you just...." I clenched my teeth. Was it my own voice that bothered me? No, not this time. "Shut the...." I tightened my grip on a paperback book. “hell ...up." I was at work. I had gone right after my hours at the E.I., stopping at my house only to change my clothes to black jeans, a black t-shirt, and knee length black trench coat that my mother used to ask if it were growing to my back. Why get a new one, if they’re all the same…

That place was a sickening mess of public use and neglect. All metal objects were rusted, all dust swept into corner piles, and all holes the home of large, brown cockroaches or fat, little mice. There were two other men with me, but they were in the back playing cards and filling the burner packs with information. I also sold special burners for Jordy, which I kept in a little lunch box under the counter. My boss there was really my employee. Basically, it was the current center of our family crime, aside from the office building down town that I only rarely went to and my office on the eastern side of the city. It was good for the moment, especially with my enrolling in a Conditioned college, and it was very small and innocent in appearance, but to anyone that knows what it is, it was a little well, more… My name and functions are more than known in our city, of note in the rest of the country, and in the universe of the soul it means nothing at all...

Our city was the originator of the rebellion against the Established, but was no longer the strongest in our efforts, that was more or less the capitol. We had a lot of power in that city, although it was basically just from an older power and a lot of money. Lately, it’s been feeling more or less like a gang or a mob than a resistance… I’ve been asked many times in my life if I am member of a mob, or a mob boss, and I don’t really know the answer to that.

My feet were up on the counter as I sat back in a rollable chair, trying to focus on the book I was reading. It was a paperback romance about... who really cares? I more skimmed than read. What is all this plot madness? I want to read the good parts? Who is that? Oh, my god you at least could have tried a little harder; this is so corny... man, that’s a little…gross. Why am I reading this trash again? Oh my god, that’s hilarious. I glanced to the laughing children and then back to my book. They weren't going to buy anything; they never did. I only let them come in there at all because they were local and just kids… I even had my own silent count down till I would kick them out. Surprisingly, however, one of the little bastards did lay a magazine next to my foot. So, with my usual lazy movements, I smiled at them and got to my feet.

"You want this?" I smirked. Their faces were dirty, younger than I'd supposed them to be by their clothes. Little pieces of lint and dust stuck to smears of candy on their cheeks, and little greasy locks of hair were sticking out from under torn and broken hats. The taller boy grinned, missing his two front teeth. "How old are you?" I had to struggle to contain the laughter, but I found it depressing, so much more now that time has passed and the snow has buried the ground.

"Six plus te ten, my U-coned-comrade," the boy lied. I speak in slang often enough, but this kid was ridiculous. I looked at the erotic warning labeled on the plain, white cover.
"I’m not giving you this." I really did laugh at them a little.

"Ya I'm man. Give up the bought we ga te exchange," the boy continued.

"I don’t think you want this one, maybe you do, but I have doubts..."

"Hey you ain't go da righ to do thae! Fucking squawker!" the other boy creeched. “Code 54623!”

"Really? Do you even know what this is little boy?" What a coincidence they should have chosen one like that, on this day. Code 54623, who the hell told them about that; they certainly didn’t read about it…

"The indeed," both replied.
I took off the cover and began flipping through it and when I looked up, they had gone.
I shook my head. "Filthy fucking brats."
I sat back and slowly flipped through what they had given me, taking out the disc and putting it in the little screen below my counter. Before long, I crossed my arms, bored, and leaned back in my chair. I watched one man being touched by another, their tongues tangling for more than two solid minutes of monotonous foreplay before I finally yawned and just looked away. It really didn’t interest me as much as it usually did, but I don’t think I knew why back then. I thought of the red haired boy. Did I want to pin him beneath me like that? Feel his arms and shoulders, hear his soft little sighs and surprised little moans and strains. Kiss his throat. God, yes. But mostly, I just wanted to run my fingers through his curly hair…

A buzzer sounded, a customer. I switched off the screen and took out the disc, putting it back.
"What can I do for you?" I asked, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable. I looked up, ah I know this guy. I heard the door behind me creak open and then close again after they saw who it was.

"Two boys please," the older gentleman said, taking some exchange from a wallet. I blinked at him a few times. "Hello, anybody home? I’m in a hurry." He pointed to the burners behind me.
"Sorry," I said with a smile. I took two packets of Bois brand burners and laid them on the counter. What messages are in those brands again?
Ah, the south sector. It’s been awhile since he’s been in here. I wanted to ask if something had happened, but he was in a hurry. He gave the exact Exchange and left. Then my brain went back to other things… first sex, then the broken hats of those boys, and then the boy from the EI, and then I pushed it all out of my mind by thinking about sex again. I am the bored. I am the pervert. I am evil. I am glorious. I am doing nothing. And I am amusing and yet another failing of our generations.

********

I decided that I needed to be drunk. Or high. It really didn’t matter. And fast. “Another,” I said, pointing to the small glass in front of me. It was filled with spiced rum and I drank it down quickly. I remember that I had taken in about four of them and my hair was still wet from the rain, my jacket just half dry on the stool beside me. I finished rolling a special burner and then put it with the two others that were next to my other drink. This was a nice bar, calming and filled with smoke, and a band that I own was on stage. I drank my next shot, felt sick for a moment, blinked, and then looked over my shoulder at the stage.

He was a very beautiful man, skin the color of chocolate over saturated with cream, his hair, this time, stripped to an unnatural, stark white. His legs were smooth, the muscles in the calves very visible with his turns; he was wearing very short, white leather shorts, an ivory necklace, a covering layer of white and pink glitter, and nothing else. The voice coming from his mouth was slow, soft and purposeful, filled with the strange mix of vanity, sensuality, and intelligence that gleamed in his dark eyes. He looked at me, knowing that I was looking at him, smiled, and sort of waved his hand in that feminine, yet slutty way that he does everything.
It made me lose interest and I decided to smoke a special burner instead. I laid my head on the bar, curling my cold seltzer up next to my face so I could watch the little bubbles make their pretty, scientific escape. My mind, after that, was somewhat dysfunctional, but I remember most of the night, just it seemed exaggerated at the moment. Either way, I wrote some of it down.

“Like it?”

I turned around, no one, turned to the other side, the beautiful, umber Apollo sitting on a stool next to me.

“It was boring. You need better songs.”

He laughed really loud and put a hand on my back, patting it and chattering a little but I don’t remember what he said. Then, he put his head on the counter and looked back at me with a big, nice smile.

“You’re drunk aren’t you? Or high?”

“Maybe both.”

“So, did you come to see us play, or is this a coincidence, my sweet young friend?”

“A little of both. I had nothing better to do. Might as well see how my investments are doing.”

I sat up and looked around and so did he.
He was very close to me; I made the mistake of looking at him, and he put a finger under my chin.

“I don’t know what it is about you, that just makes me want to put my tongue in your mouth.”

“Better not.”

“Will you bite it off then, you violent boy?”

“There’s a fair risk.”

“But, don’t you want me to?” He got closer, like he was going to, and then laughed. He always liked to do that to me when I was drunk. “Not even for old time’s sake? …Maybe I’m used to being bought… Or maybe it’s your name, so much power… and yet none at all? Poor baby. What has you in such a down and out ditch, my friend?” He was more my friend than an employee, but officially he worked for me, much to my mother’s disapproval.

“Have you ever…” I paused because I just didn’t know what I meant. “Wondered if you are wasting your life? Maybe we’re already in hell… or dead… or… have no soul at all to care…”

“Um, sure thing.”

“I mean, really just thought about the fact, fact that you’re going to die someday?”

“Christ, why dwell on it?”

“Why not?”

“Because that ruins your life.” I was bringing down his spirits and I think he wanted to
leave. “You’re such a whiner when you’re drunk.”

“But, wouldn’t it be better to understand that you’re going to die. Cause then…” My brain was spinning. “Then you remember not to waste it.”
He didn’t say anything. I drank another shot, and don’t remember much of anything else.

When I opened my eyes the sun was in slits, burning, bright stripes covering my body and stinging my eyes. I turned my head to the side and blinked, a shadowy pile of dishes and moldy food. Like a city, teetering on the brink of existence. Those dark greenish shadows… blink slowly… that’s where I am right now. Those reflections on the slime, lights…Come closer to it. Can I see me? I am the Great Divine Nothing, lying motionless and dazed while the world grows on without me. Watching with apathy the stretch and strain of the city of lights…. I closed my eyes and left them in the dark, then opened them again slowly. I woke suddenly and realized I was on his couch. Treats me like a child a little, doesn’t he? But that’s not really a terrible thing when you’re only seventeen is it? Pride tells me that it is, but I don’t really know. I checked myself to be sure I hadn’t lost anything, or done anything too stupid, before I scribbled, “Demetrius, thank you,” on a crusty pizza box and left.

********

Passing by him on my way to class, walking so close I could almost just reach out and touch… and his eyes only glancing at me a little bit at a time. A dust of pink across his cheeks, the outline of his hair against his white face, the tips of some of the curls touching his cheek. I tried to ignore him the first few times, but it wasn’t working so I just decided that I could all out stare at him. Jordy noticed me doing it only once, and just hit me a little and said I shouldn’t look at boys that young. But, I noticed by the classes he went into, that he was a year ahead of me. And he carries a violin case, and too many books to hold, always half dropping them. I noticed that he was sometimes not in that hall, on Wednesday he didn’t pass by the art rooms, or maybe he’s just late. I waited for awhile, leaning on a marble column, and then there was the sound of hurrying foots steps, a few papers slapping to the ground, scraping them up again and hurrying. Maybe I should just let him pass, if that’s him at all. He doesn’t need me to be bothering him… And also, I had a very severe apprehension about actually talking to him. What is it? My biggest fear, that he would be afraid of me, think of me as… what? What are you so afraid of him seeing?

He did come around the corner, looking very stressed, his hair sticking in all directions and his face flushed and irritated. He didn’t expect to see me standing there, half hidden, staring at him.

“Oh,” he said with a very soft voice, dropping half of his things.

“Do you need some help?” I asked, already helping him pile the papers.

"Thank you," he said, blushing. It was amazing, that he answered me at all, but I had expected him to, seemed like he wanted to… Ah, and his voice was very soft, a strange trait for his kind as they were all taught to be straight and clear, no mumbling or whispers. I thought his voice was beautiful though. Exactly as I had imagined he would sound... That one I'd known for so long. But this boy was not that soul; I was ridiculous to think so. That's not what I wanted from this boy. I could feel the savagery fill my eyes as it flooded my mind. If I don’t want him to fear me, then why do I let those sort of thoughts envelope me? I am in control of my being and the soul radiates your will, as they are one in the same…

Everything was back in order, sort of, and he stood. Then, he put everything back down on the floor and looked at me.

"May I ask you something?” He was nervous and wrapped his arms around himself as if he were cold. Because I am cold? Does it pour out of me? Is it that strong a part of me? “Why are you always looking at me?”

Why do I stare at him? What makes him so interesting? I couldn’t tell you. The truth was, I hadn't considered the real reason I'd take such risks. His soul is beautiful. His hair is pretty. I wanted to catch his attention, and so I did. It’s a little sad too, to think that he assumed anyone that pays attention to him has hurtful intentions…

"You are interesting."

"How can you say that?" he replied after a few moments of silence; his voice sounded grievous. "You do not know anything about me.”

"Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. It’s possible to know someone you’ve never met. Don’t you think? Maybe I knew you in a past life or something…” Some of my papers fell from the one book I keep them all in.

He bent down and retrieved the fallen before with two shaking hands he took my book, looked at the mess, and put the paper back inside.

“You are worse than I am…”

“But lazier…”

It frustrated me that he would not look up, look at me in the slightest, and I was beginning to wonder what he was doing, just standing there looking at his pile of stuff. We both stood still for several minutes before I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket and rocked a little on my heels.

Finally, he looked up at me. His eyes seemed to be a different color than normal, much prettier, like the pliant sapphires from the first day. I didn't understand at the moment, though his thoughts are obvious to me now. Smiling and shaking his head, he picked up his things and started to walk away. What a wonderful moment; to see him walking away from me, creating a gap between himself and the danger that threatened. I was letting him go, and gladly.

"My name is Gaelen… Connor." he said plainly before turning around to look at me. He really had the nicest voice; it could have killed me just listening to him talk. He made his voice clearer and a little louder, "Gaelen Connor."
It was my turn then to smile in amazement and shake my head. Talking to me was something, but... telling me your name, your full name, pulling me into your perfect little world, was much more frowned upon. And he wasn’t really afraid when he did it either.

"I’m Quinn," I said as if it were a normal conversation. "Bunyosky."

"Quinn Bunyosky," Gaelen repeated with a curious smile. He stared at me a moment, that slight smile on his blushing face, before turning and finally leaving.

It was very different after that, the way he looked at me. He was much less nervous and seemed happier every time I saw him. Odd, that I didn't predict my fate, the old wise man, so aware of souls and yet apparently unconscious of his own.

********

From the outside it looked more or less like an abandoned general store, the windows built up with particleboard, the makeshift door of some metal siding. Inside, I kicked some of the sawdust on the red brown carpet. Why was there always sawdust everywhere? I didn’t even want to know; the possibilities were endless. I shook my head with a slight laugh and rapped on the wooden door with Dr. Jack Henry M.D. painted in faded black. I heard some shuffling, the rusted doorknob squeaked, and the door opened, just a little bit of smoke coming with it… God, does he ever stop…

Jack Henry was a middle-aged man, his hair dark gray with two lighter stripes already forming by his ear. He says they’re from my mother… He had a hand on his hip and his eyes looking straight into mine, the same light brown and almost the same shape. Some people said we looked alike, but I always tried to ignore it because it upset my mother so much. I wonder why… He was also exactly my height, though his build was less broad but healthier because he was a runner, his skin an orangish tan and mine as sallow as it comes. The best part about him though, was his eyebrows, sticking up wildly in all directions and bobbing up and down when he talked. Like caterpillars having seizures, at least, when I was a child that’s what they always reminded me of. When he used to come over for dinner, or take me out with him, I could never stop staring at those huge black things on his head and I would try to catch them sometimes. They had turned gray by the time I was around fourteen. Mine were a thick but not bushy like his.

"Are you busy, Jack?" I asked with a large smile. Of course he wasn't busy; who went to an Unconditioned, unlicensed, private doctor?

"Not so much," he laughed, almost losing the short burner in his mouth. “How have you been kid? Haven’t scene you in awhile.” He seemed a little worried about me. I looked at the mark on the top of his hand, the mark of a former Conditioned. I looked at his wrist. A questioner, like the red haired boy, but he had another for adultery, an A in a circle. But, the mark that said he was a former Conditioned looked more like an italicized F. A two inch tattoo, more or less stamped onto his hand. Failure. That’s what it stood for, so I’ve been told. But, when I was younger, he told me that it stood for Free.
“I’ve got something new for you to try.” His smile widened and he wiggled his eyes, both of them narrowing in on the stuff I was taking out of my pocket.

I sat on the examination bed and he sat bedside me, taking out a pipe from the counter, and then taking the bag from me and packing the pipe.
“Want to start the green?” I said no and he did it. "Jesus Christ," he sighed, laying against the white wall. "Where did you get this stuff, Bunyosky? It’s almost instant."

“Jordy grew it." I never really got much joy out of the stuff, or at least, not as much as Jack.
"Ah, almost as good as a fuck." Had the most pleasant way of putting things, didn’t he? He took another hit, letting it out slowly in little rings. I always wanted to ask him how he did that or ask him to teach me, but it made me feel uncomfortable.

I only rose my eyebrows at his comment and put the roll back in my mouth. Neither of the two activities really appealed to me much in those days. I am the Apathetic.

“How’s the mother?”

“Fine.”

*********

I crumbled up the notebook paper and threw it at Jordy; he ignored me and kept reading.

“This place is too censored to read
anything in here. I’m bored,” I complained and he still ignored me. I looked around the library for a few moments, trying to figure out the numerical system they had the books in, got bored again, and leaned back in my chair, looking up at the ceiling and the clear stair case that wound down to our floor. There was a girls’ class walking down in skirts.

“Hey Jordy,” I said with a slight laugh and he still ignored me. Now there was a male class. “It’s too bad the boys don’t wear skirts,” I sighed and Jordy finally looked at me.

“What are you talking about?”

And then I saw him, walking in the line, eyes softly looking at the steps. They all gathered on our floor, then split into groups of four, and sat down at tables, discussing quietly.
It had been over a week since I last saw him, and I had only been there at all two of those days. I saw only a few glimpses of him and it just wasn’t enough to make me come for all of them. Sitting in the library, he looked miserable, just staring into space with his chin in his elbow. He looked uncomfortable sitting with the rest of them, keeping his distance as best he could by, in a way, curling into himself. He laid his head on top of his violin case, books off to the side and not participating in the discussion. His group seemed willing enough to give him his space, but he seemed like he wanted even more than they did. He finally glanced over and when he saw me staring at him he smiled a little bit but had to look back at nothing. He hugged himself a little tighter and bit his bottom lip, very much like he had a great anticipation weighing on him. I wonder what’s wrong? He looks tired.

Then he got up suddenly, and I followed casually. He walked very slow, letting me almost walk beside him, before turning down an aisle. I went down the next one, staying just one step behind him as he went. He stopped slowly, pulling out a book and pretending to be reading it. I took out the one on my side that was across from his, leaving an open space between us. He looked up at me nervously and put his book back before moving on. I didn’t follow him that time and when he came to the end of his aisle he turned down mine. He only looked at the books as he went, finally stopping on one and pulling it out to read. He smiled a little, looking me quickly up and down and then, with a sigh, pretending he needed to take a tissue out of his pocket. He coughed into it lightly and put it back, but remaining in his hand was a small, sealed envelope. He tried not to look at me as he continued to pretend to read, then placed the envelope in the book, reshelved it, and walked away quickly.

I waited a few minutes before retrieving the envelope and going back to Jordy. Then I sat, staring into oblivion with my arms up in the air as I cradled the back of my head in my hands. Horribly obvious, that little trick, but only half bad. I kept looking over at him, but he didn’t look at me again, which was a little upsetting. Is something wrong? It wrenched my emotions, but I swallowed them all and stared at the ordered lights above me.

"You're a little spacey today," Jordy noted, and
I just shrugged, closing my eyes as a signal that I was tired. I was always tired.

The library was cleared; Jordy was looking for another book. Careful with the seal, don’t want to rip what’s inside. What could it be? A note? I wonder what he’d have to say to me… A cream colored piece of paper, an old piece of paper. I pulled it out, irked by the way my hand shook, and so placed it on the table. Then I unfolded it slowly, sure it was bad news for some reason or another, and closed my eyes. I opened them one by one and read a small line of lettering in the very center. "Do you love me?" I blinked and read it again. What? Is he serious? Really, asking that question… Do I? Can I love someone I don’t know? I don’t think I can, but, I’d like to. Hmmmm? What does he mean by that though? Does he mean in the way I think he does? I thought he wouldn’t think that a man could love another man? Can they? I know so. What to do, what to do? How should I answer this? Do I have to? Does love exist at all?

"Do you love me?" I said it aloud. Four innocent words with the power of this one word colossus named Fear.



If you want more, drop me a line and I'll take it.