The Tribuo - 52. Part V, chapter 6

- VI -

LEX

I was never a very social type. I would hang out with people, talk to them, even crack an occasional joke once in a while, but I was always much more comfortable by myself. The whole sexuality thing never bothered me. First of all, I didn’t see any point in being bothered by it. Really, if I bother much, it would just change? And second of all, I was never the type to share stuff like that with others. Come on, why would I go around announcing to everyone who I want to sleep with? What’s the point? Plus, it’s nobody’s business anyway.

And then, when I was sixteen (almost seventeen, actually), I fell in love so hard that even I couldn’t believe myself. It was an obsession at its worst. My mother kept asking me if I was dumb enough to get hooked on drugs or some other crap like that. She didn’t believe me when I said no, so she took me to various drug tests, most of them completely random. Finally, after the fiftieth time of the results being totally clean, she had given up on the whole drug idea to my greatest relief. She kept asking me why the hell I was acting like a crazed junkie, and to be honest, I have no clue why I never told her.

The guy I fell for was Jordan Clayton. We used to hang out quite often when we were kids, but when we got into high school, we sort of drifted apart. I never thought twice about him until the day his mouth got him into trouble again. Jordan was one of those guys who never knew when to shut up. His mouth was constantly running as if it was on an autopilot. Sometimes I wondered if there was any brain interference at all involved in that process. It seemed he couldn't care less who he was talking to. He would say all kinds of mean, sarcastic remarks, and as a result, he got his ass kicked a lot.

That particular day he said something to Pete Dweller -- one of the most thick-skulled jocks and bullies in the school -- something about dick and brain shrinkage, and also about the fact that Dweller needed to wash his ears once in a while, so he didn't ask, “What?” every time he heard a simple question. Dweller’s face turned this interesting color -- something between plum and maroon -- and of course, inevitably, he asked, “What?!” Well, Jordan was not the guy to say, “Oh, nothing.” He repeated the whole thing louder and slower, and after he was done, he asked if he needed to write it down for Dweller to understand. Then he said something about drawing pictures instead, since Dweller was apparently one of those who could only understand cave paintings. Things got bad really quickly after that.

I suppose, I wouldn’t get involved in a somewhat righteous beating if it was only delivered by Dweller, but Pete decided that Jordan wouldn’t really learn his lesson if he was only beaten up by one guy. So that day, after school, Dweller and three of his equally thick-skulled buddies trapped Jordan behind the building, and they were determined to put him if not into an early grave, then in the ICU for sure.

Jordan could hold his own pretty well, but not against four bear-sized jocks. Well, I witnessed the execution and it pissed me off. I wish I could tell you this amazing story about Jordan and me kicking all of the four asses that were assaulting him, but that’s not what happened. Both of us -- Jordan and me -- ended up with cracked ribs, black eyes, bloody lips, and a hell of a lot of bruises. I guess we would be in an even worse condition, if our principal didn’t happen to come outside, so he could enjoy his secret cigarette in the exactly the same spot where those four dickheads were trampling on our bones.

All four of them got detention (nothing too bad though, considering that they were our local football stars), and Jordan and I spent several hours in the nurse’s office, where she made sure that neither of us suffered any brain damage. Of course, according to her, we were born with brain damage, especially Jordan, since he was the one who started the whole thing. And apparently, someone normal would never say something like that to apes like Dweller. She had a point. I actually agreed with her.

Well, after that incident, Jordan and I became close friends. Actually, I became his friend. He became my obsession. I was never the type to make a first move. Also, I was positive that he was straight. So I never said anything. Then, a couple of months later, we were hanging out in the park that wasn’t too far away from our school. He didn’t want to go home because he lived with his stepdad who was a very heavy drinker. The guy would be pretty drunk by eleven in the morning, and by the time Jordan came home from school, he’d be beyond wasted. He was one of those violent drunks, so Jordan would spot a fresh bruise or a busted lip almost every day.

Our town was pretty small, so nobody really cared much about the whole child-abuse thing. Plus, Gary (Jordan's stepdad) was a decent electrician even in his drunken state, and almost everyone in our town used his services quite often. Also, people felt somewhat sorry for him, because when Jordan was eleven, he and his mother were coming home from visiting someone, and something happened on that freeway, and Jordan’s mother lost control of the car. Jordan survived, but his mother died instantly.

I guess that was when Gary started drinking. Jordan told me once that he blamed him for the whole accident. “I am sure you were doing some shit in the car, so she was looking at you, instead of watching the road,” he would say. Jordan just shrugged when he told me about it. “To be honest,” he said back then. “I don’t even know what happened. I was asleep. And when I woke up, I was in the hospital.” But his stepfather had his own ideas, and he would always blame Jordan for what happened.

Anyway, that particular day we were just hanging out at that park, Jordan’s mouth was running as usual, and I only half-listened to what he was saying. It was a usual rant about usual things. The day was one of those rare gifts of late fall -- not too cold, not too hot, but just right. I enjoyed the feeling of sun and light breeze on my face, so I just shoved my hands into my pockets, lifted my face towards the sun, and closed my eyes. Then several minutes later, something wasn’t right. I thought about it for a second, and realized that Jordan stopped talking. That was weird to say the least. I was so used to hearing his voice every minute, that sudden silence felt uncomfortable. I opened my eyes and looked at him quizzically. He was standing there, staring at me.

“What?” I asked, thinking that he probably asked me a question that I failed to hear. “Sorry, didn’t hear what you said. What…”

And then he took a very quick step forward, put both hands on my shoulders, and before I could even figure out what the hell he was doing, he kissed me. Yup, just like that, out of the blue. I froze on the spot. I wanted to kiss him back, have my hands all over him, but I couldn’t even move, so I just stood there like an idiot. Finally, he stopped and pulled away. I still just stood there like I was mute or something. I don’t think I even blinked. He looked at me miserably, bit his lip, and turned away. He was walking away when I finally came back to life.

I ran after him, grabbed his arm, and shoved him into the tree that was right next to us. Later he said he was sure I was about to knock his teeth out. I kissed him like I was trying to drink him. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I wasn’t complaining, believe me! I simply couldn’t believe this was happening. Then, after we finally pulled apart for air, I looked at him and said:

“You kiss the same way you talk. Your tongue just keeps moving nonstop.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he muttered.

“No,” I whispered and kissed him again.

The next month was the happiest month of my entire life. My mother was getting suspicious about the whole drugs ordeal once again, since I changed so drastically, but I couldn't care less. Well, she stopped worrying about drugs after she walked in on us one night. She was supposed to be out of the house for the entire weekend, but apparently, she left something important at home, so she came back two hours after she left. Well, Jordan and I did not see that coming, so we were half-naked on the couch, making out. Thank God, our pants were still on. I mean, the humiliation meter would drop so low that it would probably kill me if we were completely naked.

I almost yelled out something stupid like, “It’s not what it looks like!!” but at the last moment, I managed to keep my mouth shut. I remember how hot my face got. It was almost literally burning. Jordan, for once, was speechless. His color was also a very bright shade of red. My mother just stood there for a minute or so without saying anything. She did move her lips a lot though, and she was blinking quite rapidly. Then finally, she said, “Thank God, it’s not drugs…” and that was it.

Before she left again that night, the only thing she said was, “Stay out of my room!”

Well, my mother is one of those rare individuals that accept other people (including their own children) the way they are. She never made a big deal out of the whole thing; she never burst into tears about the fact that her only son was a freak or whatever; and she never asked stupid questions like, “Well, have you tried changing it?” She simply acknowledged the fact, and that was it.

Unfortunately for us, my mother was pretty much the only person in our shithole of a town who saw it that way. We weren’t dumb (well, not too dumb) to demonstrate anything in public -- in the place we lived, it would be equal to suicide -- but we weren’t extremely bright either. One of those days, we were in the same old park, and we firmly believed that we were alone. Well, we weren’t. I don’t even know who saw us, but the next day everyone in town knew about us. And then it became hell.

I am not going to talk about all the shit we had to deal with or all the beatings and threats we received from almost everybody. Dweller and his buddies were having the time of their lives. I remember Dweller showing up at my house one night, throwing eggs and some other crap into the windows, yelling some insults. Finally, my mother came outside, walked up really close to him, grabbed his collar, and pulled him close to her face. He had to bend down, since my mother was pretty short. I still don’t know what she said to him, but ever since that night, he and his friends left us alone. I could understand that. In spite of being really short and skinny, my mother could be quite frightening. She never told me what she said to him though.

Then, right before summer break, Jordan’s stepfather finally found out. That’s when everything came crashing down. I was waiting for Jordan one night when he was supposed to come over, but he never showed up. I kept calling him, but I would only get his voicemail every time. Finally, I drove to his house, and when I got there, my first thought was that Gary had finally drunk himself into coma. There were police cruisers and ambulances everywhere. I didn’t even know that our little town had that many ambulances.

I got out of the car, and when I walked closer, I realized that the body on the stretcher wasn’t Gary’s. It was Jordan’s. I said 'body,' because no one could be alive with the hole of that size in their skull. To make a long story short, Gary was in one of his drunken violent phases, when Jordan was on his way out of the house. I guess Gary asked him where the hell he was going, and knowing Jordan, I could imagine his answer. I don’t know if they fought or just yelled at each other, but eventually Gary lost it completely, especially after finding out about us. So, before Jordan could leave, Gary emptied his .45 right into Jordan’s head.

I don’t remember exactly what happened later. In fact, I don’t remember much until next September. I think my mother told me once that Gary ended up in prison, or maybe he didn’t. But after the whole thing, I shut down like a very tired computer. I think my mother was worried about me killing myself (can’t blame her, really) because she would constantly watch over me. She would even drag me to work with her. I couldn't care less. I went where she told me to go; I slept when she told me to; I ate when she almost force-fed me.

Apparently, she put our house on the market sometimes in June, found us a different place to live in a different state and town, which was thankfully almost twenty-five times bigger than the one we lived in, and by the end of August, we left that place for good. A year later, I graduated from high school, got into college, and moved out.

I could go on and on about how I had to figure out the way to deal with my pain, people, life in general, but I am not going to. I don’t want to talk about all that. It happened, life goes on, end of story. My mother calls me every week, probably to make sure that I am still alive. Again, I can’t blame her.

I kept to myself, and was somewhat content about it until I met Jess. She became my only friend. I mean, close friend. I am not a hermit or anything -- I have friends, I go out once in a while, but I didn’t have a really close friend ever since we left that town. I figured that it would probably stay this way, and I was fine with it. I mean, if you don’t let anyone to get too close to you, then you don’t get into that 'shut down' mode, which is a very good thing. But then I met Jess, and before I knew it, she became my best friend.