Black Star Cross - 40. Silence

Black Star Cross

Chapter 40: Silence

“I just don’t know what to do with him anymore, Mother.”

She’s talking to Grandma? And why am I related to this conversation?

“I know. But you don’t understand, Mother. You’ve never had me or Alice run away from home before. You’ve never had to worry about why we would do such a thing, or where you went wrong in your parenting. I mean, God, why else do you think I decided to start drinking? I thought that I was a horrible parent.”

Grandma said something to her. Speaking of Aunt Alice, I haven’t seen her since Grandpa Gerald’s funeral. And that was almost ten years ago.

“Us being brats and running away from home are two completely separate things, Mother!” Mom said more sharply into the phone. “How would you feel if I just randomly decided to excommunicate you from my life altogether starting now? You wouldn’t hear a word from me for the rest of your life. According to me, you wouldn’t exist. You wouldn’t get anything from me for the holidays and you wouldn’t see me when you’re on your death bed. Wouldn’t that make you feel completely crushed? Wouldn’t that make you feel like you failed your job as a parent?”

Grandma spoke to her again. I, of course, couldn’t hear what she was saying. I wouldn’t be able to listen in on another phone line, mainly because we don’t have one. Why would we? It’s only the three of us here, and I’ve already got a cell phone (that I never use; big waste of money there).

“I think he’s getting better now. Just the other day in fact, after dinner, he sat down and watched TV with Kim and me. I think that’s the first time that’s happened in the past several months.”

Damn it. I knew that that would look too suspicious to them.

“But I don’t know if it’s progress or not. He’s always been distant ever since Dan passed away...”

My blood ran cold. I stopped listening to what she was saying. She said that name. That name. The one name I didn’t want to hear ever again until I’m supposed to name my son after him. Dad. I slumped down, trying to fight back the tears. I know that Anthony said that I was getting better at this, but this time it was coming from my mom, and she was specifically talking about the day that he died. I vaguely heard her voice.

“I don’t know what it was about losing him that did this much damage to Shawn. Maybe it was the trauma. He was only twelve at the time. But I don’t understand why it would affect him like this and not Kimberly, especially since she’s younger than him.

No matter how it happened or why, he started distancing himself from Kimberly and myself ever since then. He started treating us both so coldly, even on his good days. I tried to be a good mother to him, Mother, but it didn’t seem like enough. Then, when he finally yelled at me and ran out of the house, I didn’t know what to do. I thought that I had lost him forever.”

I could barely hear her softly weep into the phone. No doubt she was in the same mood that I was in.

“That, combined with the last six years of the cold shoulder from him and all of my best efforts seemingly going to waste, I didn’t give a second thought to drowning my sorrows with alcohol. Who knows how I might’ve ended up if he hadn’t survived? I almost lost not only Shawn, but Kimberly as well.”

She continued to cry into the phone. I’m willing to bet that Grandma was consoling her through the other line. I, myself, couldn’t take much more of this, and silently headed upstairs.

I had always had the idea in my head that if I named my son after Dad, then he would forgive me. I would be forgiven for killing him. It was MY fault that he was dead, anyways. My telling him of me being gay led to him driving out in the storm, which led to him getting into the car accident, which led to him dying as an unrecognizable mesh of flesh and tubes. If I named my child after him, then his name would live on through my son. His legacy would be preserved. And I would be forgiven.

But then Anthony and I had that talk. Where we disclosed to each other our tragic past in terms of our dads. Anthony tried his best to convince me that it wasn’t my fault that Dad wasn’t here now, something I am still having a hard time coming to grips with. I wonder how he handled what I had to say to him? Did he accept it? Deny it? Or is he still trying to work it out in his head?

Now I don’t know. I don’t know what to do about this whole “naming my son after my father” thing. If what Anthony said was correct, and it wasn’t my fault, then I shouldn’t feel obligated to name my son for such a selfish reason. But I’ve held onto that idea for so long. Damn you, Anthony. Even when you’re not here, you manage to challenge me and give me a headache. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do...

Laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I found something to do for the next hour or two. I cried.

I woke up to the sound of dinner being made downstairs in the kitchen. I hadn’t even realized that I had fallen asleep. My pillow still felt wet. I felt dirty for some reason. Like I was in desperate need of a shower. I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. Shit, my face was still red. I knew that I should’ve been dabbing away the tears, rather than wiping them, since that would reduce redness, but I just didn’t care at the time. And now I’ve got the evidence of a mental breakdown all over my face. I splashed some cold water on my face (is that supposed to actually DO anything?). I dried my face with a towel and headed back to my room.

I figured that I could actually study for this test tomorrow while I wait for dinner to be cooked. I’m pretty confident in the material I’m being tested on, but it doesn’t hurt to go over some things to keep those facts in my brain until after the test tomorrow. Then I can just perform a memory dump so that there’s enough room in it for the next test’s content. Twenty minutes later, Kimberly called me down for dinner.

Dinner was its usual. Although, I did see the same redness that was on my face on Mom’s. It looked like her conversation with Grandma took its toll on her as well. I can only hope that my redness went down well enough that she didn’t see it. I doubt that Kimberly did. After dinner, I excused myself and went back upstairs, using the upcoming test as a valid excuse to get away from her. For the rest of the night, I stayed in my room, studying, only to emerge when I decided to shower.

Okay, I didn’t really study ALL night, but it’s close enough.

Anthony dropped by my locker the next day. Actually, so did Keith, but a quick death glare from Anthony sent him packing rather quickly. At least Keith has some smarts in him. So as soon as Keith was gone, Anthony turned back to me.

“I’m going to have a talk with him later on today.”

“Now do you mean a talk, or a ‘talk?’” I said, putting air quotation marks around the second “talk.”

“Honestly? I don’t know yet. It might start out as a talk, and then slowly move into a ‘talk,’” he said, not putting up the quotation marks, but emphasizing the second “talk.” “If he suddenly stops coming to school tomorrow, then you’ll know that it was a ‘talk.’ Actually, if I stop coming to school, along with him, then you’ll know that it was a ‘talk,’ and that I’m hiding from the law.”

I laughed, which caused Anthony to laugh as well. Ah, violence is funny, especially when it happens to somebody else. We started walking towards class.

“So I couldn’t get much sleep last night,” he informed me.

“Oh? Doesn’t the t-shirt do the trick anymore?” I asked.

“Well, yeah, but...” he stammered. “Well, that’s the problem. When I sniffed the shirt, I kept thinking about...” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “...yesterday. It was really hot, dude. I kept getting a boner every time I thought about it. I was too busy trying not to fuck the bed and outright fucking the bed to get any sleep.”

“Did it ever occur to you to just put the shirt down?” I queried.

“Well fuck, dude. I did that almost immediately. But the scene was already in my head. Shirt or no shirt, I was experiencing some major hard-on problems the entire night.”

I laughed a little. “Well I’m glad that I made your day yesterday.”

He laughed too. “Yeah, it was something.”

We went in the classroom and sat down. We talked some more before the teacher came in and proceeded in passing out the test. Surprisingly, it was much tougher than I had thought it would be. Was sex clouding my mind? Damn you, Anthony. This was your plan all along. Sex me up and then watch as my IQ drops down to yours so that I don’t always have the upper hand. You bastard.

‘Look at you.’ I thought to myself. ‘Just sitting there, trying not to smile at the devious act that you just enacted. You know that I’m becoming dumber by the hour. What’s next in your grand scheme of things? Fuck me until I’m medically diagnosed as mentally retarded? Literally fuck my brains out? I’m onto you.’

I was giving this idea WAY too much thought, especially during a test. I tried to buckle down and finish the test, but I couldn’t get rid of the nagging thought in my head that was saying that my theory was correct, and furthermore, that my thinking it’s all a joke is also part of his dastardly plan.

We had to stay in class for the entire period, even if we finished the test early. So I couldn’t just leave once I was done. We also couldn’t talk (for those still taking the test), so I couldn’t chat with Anthony either. Couldn’t talk to him even when HE was done with his test. This sucks. Another (I look at the clock on the wall) ten minutes to do nothing? And of course, I don’t have a cell phone that can do free texting like most people in this school’s phones can do. Which is exactly what Anthony started doing once he had turned in his test. I just gave him a look, which I’m not quite sure he saw or not, and laid my head down on the desk for a quick nap. Only a minute later did I feel tapping on my head. I raised my head and looked at Anthony. He handed me a folded piece of paper. I unfolded it to find his handwriting on it.

‘Tired?’

Passing notes in class. So juvenile, and yet it’s the only non-electronic form of communication in situations like these. I took out my pen and scribbled back a reply.

‘Bored.’

He looked at it and wrote something else. Our conversation kinda went like this.

‘Test hard?’

‘Harder than I thought it’d be.’

‘Did you actually study for this test?’

‘A little.’

‘I’m going to laugh my ass off when I get a higher grade than you.’

‘Don’t be too sure about that. Remember, you’re just a jock. Jock’s don’t know the meaning of the word “A.”’

‘Hey. What did I say about my intelligence?’

‘That it’s the only non-monosyllabic word you recognize and use.’

He read it and frowned. He crumpled up the paper and threw it perfectly into the nearby trash can. The teacher yelled at him for throwing things in the classroom. Anthony didn’t look at me for awhile, focusing solely on his texting. Feeling (somewhat) remorseful, I took out a piece of paper and wrote something on it and thrust it at Anthony. He looked at the paper, at me, and at the paper again. ‘It’s not going to bite you, Anthony.’ Finally, he reluctantly took the paper and read it.

‘Sorry.’

‘I don’t believe that load of bullshit for a minute.’

‘What do you want me to say? That you’re eligible for the next Noble Prize award?’

‘It’d be better than “Hey, the fungus growing in my basement shows more signs of intelligent life than you do.”’

‘Lol. I’m going to use that next time. And didn’t I already say I’m sorry for questioning (accurately) your smartness before? You gotta know when I’m just yanking your chains.’

‘It gets kinda hard to tell when you say it every day.’

‘Don’t go all melancholy on me. We both know that I don’t say those things every day. And I did refrain from saying such things the last time the opportunity came up. I think I’m getting better at it. I’m just slipping from time to time. That’s all.’

‘Uh-huh.’

At around that time, the bell rung, which meant that we were free from having to kill more trees just to discuss our near-marital problems. I swear, Emmy’s words are ringing truer and truer as the days go on. Maybe we should just have a sex-based relationship, just to prove her wrong.

Anthony rushed out of class, which was odd, considering that I didn’t really have anything to say to him that would require cornering him in order to get him to talk. I just shrugged the thought out of my mind and headed off for my next class. I swear, the halls were getting pinker the closer I got to my next class. Pretty soon, the boring brownish color of the wall was completely hidden by various, hot-pink Valentine’s Day promotions. I think the school itself just sold its masculinity over to gayness. I think I’m in an all-girls school. Am I the only guy left?! Wait...where’s Anthony?! Did they get him too?! Has he been feminized, domesticated, turned into a good listener who cares about “how women really feel,” penis/vagina switcharoo, and all that other horrible feminazi shenanigans that I always hear about?!

I made it into the sanctity of the classroom, which had been spared from Death By Pink, praying for Anthony’s safety and masculinity. Then four girls came into the classroom, all wearing various shades of pink. I trembled in fear. They were EVERYWHERE! The entire class period, I had at least one hand protecting my balls at all times.

It seemed like a long time before lunch came. I was desperate for male contact, especially from Anthony. I figured that he would be the last to be converted by the Pink Ones. But then again, him being gay and all might mean that he’d be the FIRST to be converted. I’m hoping that his internal homophobia shines through for once and blocks all attempts at brainwashing to the Pink Side of the Force. When I saw Anthony come in, I breathed a sigh of relief. Not an ounce of pink on him. Coming up behind him was Keith. He had a pink ribbon button pinned onto his shirt. My eyes widened. Oh no! They got to Keith! If Keith could succumb to their pressure, then Anthony doesn’t stand a chance! I must pump him to the brim with my sperm in order to give him a steady supply of masculinity when he fights the Pink Revolutionists!

“Hey dude. What’s going on?” asked Anthony.

“Not much,” I replied back.

Keith didn’t say much. “Well, I’ll let you two be. The guys are probably completely lost without me. Seeya.”

He went over to the jock table. Anthony sat down across from me.

“So...are you excited about Valentine’s Day?” he said, in what was probably meant to be a rhetorical question.

“There’s too much goddamn pink in this building!” I spat out, almost before he could even finish his sentence.

He looked surprised by my sudden outburst.

‘Whoa there, dude! Don’t explode on me. It ain’t that much pink.”

“Look around you, Anthony. There’s pink everywhere. Fuck, even the ceiling and floor have pink on them!”

He looked around.

“Well damn. You’re right for once.”

“For once? Did we not just get done talking about...”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Can it, dude.”

I sighed. “I think I’m going to get a headache from all this pink.”

“Well, it’ll only be another week,” he said, smiling. He patted my head like I was a child that did a good deed. I shot him the death glare, with was proven to be completely ineffective against him. We chatted and ate throughout the rest of the period.

After lunch, as I was making my way to my locker, Keith intercepted me. Actually, it was more like kidnapped me. All I know is that I was walking to my locker, and suddenly Keith had his grip on my arm and was dragging me off to somewhere. He took us to a secluded spot, which was basically a hallway that was out of the way for all of us. I was really confused as to what was going on here.

“Would you mind telling me what your nefarious plans are before you kill me?” I said, in an annoyed voice.

“Har har,” he replied, sarcastically. “Listen, I just didn’t want Anthony to overhear this or accidentally stumble upon us talking all secretively and stuff.”

Okay, so I was getting intrigued. I crossed my arms and put on a more serious face.

“Okay...you have my undivided, yet limited, attention. What is it?” I demanded.

He looked up at me (though he’s the same height, so I don’t know why he’s doing that) with what looked to be fear in his eyes.

“I’m gay...and I love you. I want you to fuck me.”