Ashes Of Another Life - 1. Motions

Senior year. Justin and I had been looking forward to it since we first set foot in the high school. We were going to turn the school on its head. We couldn’t ‘rule’ the school as was our goal to start with, but we could turn it upside down. The progress that we heard so much about on television didn’t extend to our high school, no matter how liberal its students supposedly were. It could have been worse. I imagined there had been a time and probably still were places where guys had to deal with a hell of a lot more than a few muttered comments, and flying writing instruments.

After awhile, the word ‘fag’ doesn’t even sting anymore. You learn to wear it with pride, make it your own or some bullshit like that. Didn’t matter if the person that said it was trying to be offensive or not. We did our best to own it, fuck what you think, thank you very much. Call me a cocksucker? ‘Oh, most definitely, but I wouldn’t suck your cock with your girlfriend’s mouth’.

Most people didn’t expect us to say a word back. When we did, most of them backed off. They walked away fuming, fists clenched and jaws tight. A few stayed and fought back, gave as well as they got. Even fewer thought to throw a punch, but I was alright.

Fag? Not exactly. But if that’s how they wanted to see it, I showed them a fag with one hell of a right hook. It may be true, you can’t fight everyone, but I could give it my best shot.

Senior year was the last year we were going to have to deal with any of it, though. We were going to do well in school, I was going to kick ass in track and come graduation, we could finally say ‘farewell and fuck you’ to all of South Jefferson High. Better off than the rest of them.

We were going to show everyone that we didn’t give a fuck what they thought. We weren’t going to let them take anything away from us. We weren’t going to let them make us hide, cower in corners, or run away.

Mom used to get down on me when I first came out about how often I rubbed it in everyone’s face. I’d taken to announcing the fact that I was queer so they couldn’t use it against me. Justin was quieter, didn’t like to make a scene, but he never let me stand by myself.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have such a hard time if you weren’t so crass. You don’t need to shout about it. There’s more to you than the fact that you’re gay,” Mom said, the second time I’d been sent home for fighting. “You don’t need to brag about it.”

I rolled my eyes, pulling my running shoes out of my duffle bag. “Yeah?” I asked. “Would you rather I cried about it.”

Mom let out a sigh and moved to sit next to me on the couch in our small, cluttered living room. She ran a hand over my head and I had to bit my tongue to keep from rolling my eyes again. She hated that I cut my hair off. Was always reminding me.

“Does it have to be either or?” she asked, smiling at me. “Can’t you find some sort of middle ground?”

I shrugged. “I’m not a fag. I’m not gonna let anyone make me one.”

“Harsh,” my mom said, shaking her head at me, but she was still smiling. “I’m sure there’s a better way to handle it. You don’t have to go around asking for trouble.”

“Whatever,” I said, and this time I did roll my eyes. My mom did her best and she loved me, but I didn’t know how to explain it. It didn’t help that Justin normally backed her up, but I had to deal with it my way. I didn’t know how else to handle it. “If they can brag about bitches, and whatever else, I can…just whatever. Let it go, Mom. It’s not like I hit him first. I wasn’t asking for anything.”

Mom had let out one more sigh and left me to go on my run. And I’d run straight to Justin’s house to wait for him to get out of school. He’d been pissed when he’d seen the fat lip I was sporting. Wanted to run straight over to Tommy Wells and give the kid another black eye, but I held him back. I’d taken care of it.

Senior year was going to be the first year that we were out together. He’d always had my back, but it was going to be different.

We were going to kick ass. Together.

But now it was just me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I spent the first weeks after Justin’s accident avoiding everyone with a pulse. I couldn’t be around people. I couldn’t focus on their words when they spoke to me. I wasn’t even listening. I may have left Justin’s bedside physically, but my mind stayed there one hundred percent of the time, end of story.

Besides, I was never sure when I was going to break down. I wasn’t the type to break down into tears when shit happened, not even while I was alone. It was more likely that I’d get angry and look for something or someone to blame so I could burn off some steam swinging my fists. But I cried for Justin.

It wasn’t something I could stop. It had always been easy for me to hold back and shrug it off, but not with Justin. Not with this. It hurt all the fucking time, but there were…moments. It was always bad, but during those moments it was infinitely worse. Pressure would build up in my chest, and my breathing would come quicker, sharper, harder, and I’d just break.

It didn’t just happen when someone brought him up, or when I saw something that reminded me of him or anything like that. I couldn’t be reminded. I thought about him all the time anyway. It would just hit me every so often, hard in the chest. It was always sudden. It didn’t come in waves, slow building before they crashed on shore. It was more like a quick flash of lightening, there in a second and I never saw it coming.

I couldn’t be like that in front of people and I couldn’t stop it so I avoided everyone. It seemed like the best solution at the time.

Months later, and I was still finding reasons to avoid everyone besides Justin.

“Excited about your first day?” Mom asked, pushing a plate of toast into the center of the dining room table.

It was a tradition with my mom, to make a big breakfast the first day of school each year; eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes, toast, and OJ, straight from the orange. Every other day of the year I had to fend for myself, but first day of school mom always went all out and had everything waiting by the time I dragged my ass into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I lied, not all that convincingly. I didn’t care. It was a stupid question anyway.

Mom frowned at me, but didn’t comment on it. She heaped a pile of eggs onto my plate, lifting her eyebrows at me when I ignored them altogether and grabbed a glass for some juice instead.

“Conner…” she started, but we’d had this argument before.

“Not hungry, Mom,” I said before she could start in on me. “I promise I’ll grab something as soon as I get to school.”

I was lying, of course. She knew I was lying, but she also knew it was pointless to call me on it.

“Are you taking the car?” she asked, cutting the eggs on Kylie’s plate into smaller pieces. Kylie beamed up at her.

“I wanna take the car,” she declared, grinning her toothless little grin. I spared her a smile. Kylie was my favorite girl on the planet.

“Sure thing,” I told her, ruffling the mass of tangled brown curls on the top of her head. “I’m gonna run it anyway.”

She pressed her head up into my hand, eyes widening. “I wanna run, too,” she replied, and I laughed.

I drained the rest of my orange juice as I stood up, leaning down to kiss the top of Kylie’s head, before moving on to my mother. She smiled at me, the way she always did, but it was a sad smile more often than not these days. Nothing like the fond, amused smile she used to give me. I hated looking at it.

“Need me to pick anything up on my way home today?” I asked, pulling my book bag over one shoulder, and then the other. It may have been ‘cooler’ or whatever to only use the one strap, but it wasn’t exactly conducive to running a mile and a half. Besides, I didn’t care what was cool anymore.

Mom shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “I’ll have the car if I need something.”

I nodded and without looking at her again, I turned and walked out of the room. I had my hand on the doorknob to the front door of our apartment, almost free when I heard her call after me.

“Conner!”

I turned to see her rushing toward me, silver package glinting in her hand. Poptarts.

“Try?” She said, giving me the eyes. “For me? You need to eat.”

I sighed, pocketing the food, and kissed her cheek one more time before bolting out of the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I quit track after Justin had been in a coma for about a month and a half. It was around the time the doctors stopped saying ‘coma’ and started saying ‘PVS’. Persistent Vegetative State. I was learning a lot of acronyms. My least favorite was ‘CMO’. Comfort Measures Only. I ran four miles the day I figured out what that one meant. I beat my personal record that day, and immediately called coach to tell him I wouldn’t be on the team anymore.

I still ran, though. Everyday. It was one of the only things that helped me remember I was still alive. I was still breathing.

I’d taken to running to school because, no matter how fast I was, it pretty much guaranteed that I wouldn’t be able to socialize when I got to school. Not because I didn’t make it on time, but because a mile and a half run definitely called for a shower. I took one every morning when I got to school, rushing into the locker rooms, trying not to be seen until I got under a showerhead.

That was another thing I stopped doing since Justin’s accident. I stopped talking to pretty much all of my friends. Six months later, and they’d finally stopped trying to make me.

The locker rooms were open but empty when I got to school that day, save coach.

I nodded at him where he sat in his office, feet propped up on the desk. He waved me in.

“Rivell,” he said with a grin. “Come to tell me your life isn’t the same without your running shoes?”

“Nah,” I said, shaking my head, trying to smile. “I still have my running shoes. I just need a shower.”

“You know where they are,” he said, still smiling. “Make it quick, you don’t wanna be late your first day back.”

That was what I liked about Coach Sullivan. He always let me know he wanted me back on the team whenever he saw me, but he never looked disappointed in me when I said no. Never shook his head and looked down on me, pity in his eyes.

I made it to first period minutes after the bell rang, hair still damp, face most likely still flushed from the heat of the shower.

“Rivell,” Mr. Barcomb said, as I walked into class. “Conner Rivell?”

I nodded, taking the first seat I could find closest to the back. It wasn’t something I would have done before. I liked to make myself known. Or, I used to.

“Try not to be late again,” Mr. Barcomb said, jotting something down on his clipboard of papers. He continued to call out names, hands going up around the room as he did, but I wasn’t paying attention. I tuned out, barely hearing him at all as I pulled out a notebook, but this one wasn’t for school work. This one was already over half full and would never get turned in to any teacher.

I failed a couple of classes my junior year, for this exact reason. I didn’t care. Not about anything they were trying to sell anyway.

I’d taken to writing everything down. Random thoughts and incidents. It was for Justin. I didn’t…I couldn’t let him miss everything. I was changing. I knew I wasn’t the same person I had been six months ago, and I didn’t want him to not know me. I didn’t want him to be left behind.

It was pretty much all I paid attention to anymore. I couldn’t care about school, or my credits, or really anything anymore. I was supposed to do these things with Justin. I didn’t know how to care about anything if he wasn’t there. That, coupled with the fact that I all but stopped going to school after the accident meant that I’d failed about half my classes junior year.

I had to be one of the only seniors there without a free period because I needed the credits if I wanted to graduate on time. My counselor had been very clear that if I didn’t fill my schedule and pass all my classes, I wouldn’t graduate until after summer school. He was very…understanding or at least, I’m sure he thought so.

“I know you’re going through a lot right now,” he’d said, hands pressed together in front of him, fingers forming a steeple, exaggerated sympathetic frown on his face. “But it’s important that you try to focus. You’ll regret not graduating with your class even if it doesn’t seem like a big deal now.”

Whatever. He was full of shit. I couldn’t care less. I was…cold. Empty. Mom kept telling me it would get better, nights she caught me coming in late, eyes shot red, but it wasn’t. I was never warm, and I don’t mean metaphorically. It was a deep, bone cold that wouldn’t leave me be. I couldn’t shake it. I was hollow inside, frozen out.

I could see my mom trying so hard, had heard her crying to my aunt about it and I couldn’t care. I just wanted to be away from her. And everyone else around me. I couldn’t stand being at school—couldn’t stand being around one person, much less hundreds. People expect you to act a certain way. They expect you to get over things, and I wasn’t. Not even close. I was not okay, I wasn’t getting better, and I was sick of everyone trying to make me.

I almost hated them for not understanding why I couldn’t be… I just couldn’t be. Anything.

Aside from Justin, the only person I could stand to be around for any amount of time was Kylie. Kylie didn’t expect me to be anything… just liked it when I was there.

I was supposed to get my shit together for senior year. Get back on track. I wasn’t off to the best start. My day went by in a blur. I barely knew what classes I was taking.

I avoided seeing my old friends, searching for their faces in the halls only so I’d see them coming before they saw me. I hadn’t spoken to any of them all summer. Not since they got tired of me being such a dick. It was around the same time they’d all stopped visiting Justin.

I skipped lunch. I felt a moment’s guilt when I thought of my mother but it passed before I could give it too much thought. Avoiding the cafeteria was top priority. I could handle being in the halls between periods—everyone was generally too busy getting from one class to the next to pay much attention to me—but even then, I couldn’t avoid everyone.

I hid out in the library. Seemed safest. Most people don’t actually go to the library unless they absolutely have to, and on the first day of school there really wasn’t a reason for anyone to be in there.

There were a couple of kids sitting at the computers, but I wasn’t too worried. I would have bet every last cent I had most of them were too scared to talk to me.

“Fag,” a kid coughed as I sat down at one of the round tables near the shelves. I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t respond. I pulled out my iPod, put in my ear buds and I didn’t react when I felt something hit me in the back of my head. Tiny, balled up wads of paper pegged me in the back of the neck the entire lunch hour and I just…let it happen.

I managed to get all the way through most of the day without saying a word to anyone, besides Coach. Until seventh period.

My last class of the day, and if I didn’t have my schedule I never would have known it was an Economics class. It was all, ‘catch the ball, and tell me something about yourself’. I did my best to look threatening every time someone with the ball glanced my way.

These stupid activities were always lame. I’d never really had any problem doing them, though. They were a pain in the ass, but it was a tolerable pain.

I’d never before been so terrified someone was going to pass me the damn ball.

I went close to last. Reticence pays, but only so much.

They were all looking at me, waiting for me to say something about myself, like I hadn’t gone to school with most of them for the last three years.

It hit me as I was standing up that I’d normally have something to say. It was never difficult for me to come up with something entertaining to say, something to make them all laugh, but now? Tell them something interesting about myself?

My boyfriend’s a fucking vegetable? Yeah, right.

“I’m Conner,” I said, my voice flat, quieter than I’m used to being. “And I run.”

Yeah. That was pretty much it. All I had to say about me if I couldn’t talk about Justin.

Before anyone could make a comment, I tossed the ball. And when it hit another kid who was trying to avoid being seen in the arm, I didn’t laugh along with the rest of the class.

I breathed a sigh of relief when class finally ended, pulling out my running shoes minutes before the end of the class, tying my laces moments before the bell rang. I’d sat across the room at the back of the class, the furthest I could get from the door.