And He Was Gone - 6. Six

The summer rain danced through to my skin on my way to school on Monday morning. There was something exhilarating about the way the drops caught the half-hidden sunlight, the way they spun in glowing circles and explode in a splash of rainbow, then melt into the gravel beneath my feet. There was something bright about the dust that flapped in the corners of the stairs, like flags, like angel wings, like gilded gold.

There’s that feeling.

Then there’s the doubt, the fear that pull at your legs and drags them through your heart, through your ears and your eyes until you have to stand still, do a body check and force yourself into the classroom.

There’s that feeling.

Then there’s the feeling when your heart pumps faster than the beating of a woodpecker’s beak, when you realize that you’re ten minutes late for a field trip to the museum and the rest of the class is waiting in the bus, wheels pulling out into the road, and you have to sprint out of the school like a moth on fire and fling yourself into the back of the yellow-assed vehicle to notify the driver that you want to go.

When the bus slowed down to a stop and the doors pumped open to allow my entrance, I entered, suddenly reluctant. If the rest of the class didn’t want to talk, it was fine with me. But Devin? There was something about Devin. There’s that feeling when your tongue is glued into the roof of your mouth, when the muscles melt into the tendons in your knees, and you can’t even force out a single audible word.

I didn’t know why I felt it just now, but I did. It could have been yesterday, it could have been as soon as I opened my mouth to speak to him, it could have been the first time I set my eyes onto him. Teenage hormones kick in, I thought wildly.

But I knew it was alright as soon as half the class greeted me with hellos, high fives and smiles. The rest of them were immersed in conversation, but at least I wasn’t being treated like some rabid goose. I noticed Tom laughing coldly in the corner of the bus, with his buddy Trevor. They both sported black eyes and swollen lips.

Then.

“Nice of you to drop in bro.”

The world paused. I breathed in the fresh scent, and arched my head to the side to see him grinning broadly at me. Devin. The feeling snapped back, and I was completely immobilized, then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone. I returned his smile and sat down beside him, wriggling myself into a comfortable position.

“Did yah sleep well?” He asked, as the bus lurched forwards into the road, catching into the highway and roaring down the lanes.

I groaned. “Not at all.” And you have no idea. “Tom’s face kept me awake all night.”

“How so?”

Traces of innuendo licked his words. I glared and smacked him in the arm while he started on the chorus of Crazy In Love. It turned out he was unbelievably bad at singing, and we both cracked up into peals of violent laughter when our socials teacher told us to shut up.

We exchanged more pleasantries, commenting politely on Tom’s very disheveled appearance, then succumbing to another wave of laughter when Devin started comparing him to a raccoon high on marijuana. It was ridiculously childish, but, one couldn’t blame someone who never aged mentally.

“I’m about four.” I announced.

“I’m five.”

But further conversation was cut short when the bus hummed to a stop, and the teacher had to scream through our sudden explosion of leaping bodies to lead us out in an orderly fashion. She ushered the class into the large, auditorium like museum, a glass shaped dome capping the roof, and rafters high enough to catch the faded moon, visible even in this daylight.

The teacher introduced us to our tour guide and we dropped off our bags, listening attentively to the new speaker. At least for a few minutes. Before long, most of the class had started to wander aimlessly around the numerous chambers, shoes echoing against the tiles.

I personally disliked Greek and Roman antiquities, even complete with the hot male statues, but Devin seemed to take great interest in them, leaning into the faces of white marble, taking note here and there. We stopped at the replica of David, craning our necks.

Devin cocked his head. “He kinda looks like Tom.”

I nearly choked on my own spit.

“I’m kidding!” He assured me, laughing as I shook my head. “I said kinda. Yah know, the curly hair, the choppy nose… the…”

“Just, no.”

“What’s your deal with him anyways?”

“Long story.” I grinned. “Very long story.”

“I like long stories. You kinda do owe me.”

I shrugged. “Nothing much, really. I just smacked him around a bit. He doesn’t like people who are either different from him, or who aren’t afraid of him.”

He fingered a Spartan’s scratched helmet. “Yea?”

“Yea. There was this kid back in grade two that annoyed him, so Tom took this broken metal pipe and tried to shove it through his gut.”

Devin pulled a face, and I nodded.

“You knew him back in grade two?” He asked as we pulled back at the slumbering figures of Aphrodite and Adonis, faces locked into each other in a maelstrom of frozen passion.

“He started hating me back then. It’s been like this forever.” I said, shrugging again. Tom and I really did have a long history. We were once friends, but went our separate ways after an ugly conflict that resulted in more than broken bones. Devin seemed to notice I wasn’t too keen on the subject and nodded thoughtfully, then grinned at an artifact.

“That’s pretty hot.” He said, pointing.

I stared, dumbfounded. That looked like a mass of mutilated ladies having sex with horses.

“It’s a fucking statue orgy.” I smiled, shaking my head.

He laughed, and ignoring the do not touch sign, leapt in and caressed the chest of one of the horses.

“Care to join?” He proffered.

If it includes feeling you up, yes sir. “No, sir, I don’t get turned on by stone stallions.”

But jumped in anyways, was about to wrestle him into sticking his face into the stone crotch of the fleshy lady, but froze at approaching footsteps. We stared at each other wide eyed, and quickly withdrew from the artifact.

It was Tom, followed by his butt-faced friend, Trevor. Devin frowned.

I knew I’d come face to face him sooner or later, but it didn’t prepare me for the bubbles of disgust churning within my stomach, as well as shame, if not anger for myself. I had run away from a battle, even if it had been my first time. And the fact stung me.

Devin seemed to consider for a moment, biting his knuckles, then set his jaw straight and stepped in front as though to protect me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone did that. It usually included either people running behind me, or in the opposite direction.

I bit my lip, feeling taken aback at the absence of the radiant smile always dancing on Devin’s face, looked down, and dragged him away, ignoring his protestations.

“What’s up?” he said, when I released him and collapsed into a nearby bench, feeling slightly nauseous. “You okay?”

“Yah. Good. Never been better.”

“You sure?”

I nodded. “It’s the museum.”

“Not much into statue orgies?”

“Not really, no.”

Devin surveyed me with a curious expression, then pulled me to my feet. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

“Dude, there’s nowhere else to go. Except the mall across the street.”

“Sure, why not.”

I scowled. “I have Mall Phobia.”

“Well, time to face your fears. Once you’re there, you’ll feel better. Trust me.”

“I hate shopping.”

His face broke into a wild grin. “Who said we were going there to shop?”

**

I’m walking on thin ice, and I can feel it shuddering beneath my feet as I stroll along the railway.

The sunlight was hindering beneath the hills, weeds swaying in the wind, crickets singing, thrushes chirping, butterflies fluttering into sleep beneath the folds of the earth. This means sunset, twilight, a time of sleep, but ironically, the time where everything seems to wake.

I pause in my path to study a snail gliding on the rail from a vicious looking insect, as though to get away, but not making much progress.

Was it afraid? Or was it, too, just simply tired -- almost completely worn, but not willing to give up, yet didn’t know where to direct its persistency?

I had another fight with mom. It always starts with something small -- like calling my older brother something, a messy pile of clothes -- but she always seems to make it into something bigger, as though the sky was about to fall down any moment.

I hated that. I hated it even more that she always ends up bringing father back into the picture in our arguments when she feels that she can’t win, and rubs it into my face. To top it all off, she has to end up crying, as though a sadistic backswing on my part, in which both of my brothers shove their dirty looks at me, saying it’s you, you, always you.

These are the times I lose my face within myself, and I leave the house.

I never let loose on the tears beneath my eyes. I never tell anyone. Personally, I hated the drama queens and kings with all the messed up childhoods and all that, broadcasting all their own personal business to the world -- so I keep everything to myself. It’s okay most of the time, because I know there are tons of people in the world who have it worse than I do, but hell does it get lonely sometimes.

Today, it was about my grades. Sure, I never get into the top A’s or B’s, but I’m passing in every course, and at least I make an effort. Mom kept going on how I never have a future, or a plan, and when she came on about that I’ll never even get an adequate wife, I wanted to scream and tell her I’d never even consider one, but instead chose my words carefully and told her to take a glance in the mirror, and perhaps that is why father left us.

She went ballistic, as expected, and with my brother’s help, tore up my hiking gear --bought especially for tomorrow -- and threw me out.

The bloody bruises on my knees were paper cuts compared to the ones inside, I thought bitterly, cursed, then smiled when I remembered the African Grey parrot back at the pet shop in the mall. Devin and I had taught it how to say “Fuck me little mama!” after numerous, blatant attempts, and had the security tailing us on our way up the escalator.

I stood still for another few minutes, savoring the warm breeze upon my flesh, cocked my head, and set home, leaving the last embers of the sun.

When morning came, I would live again.