by Ross Anthony
“Shut up,” gasped Peter.
“I won’t.”
“I’ve never even seen him on there.”
“Well,” I said, showing him the message on my phone.
He shook his head. “Just Nicolas Evans,” he whispered.
With his small, almost childlike hands, he snatched the phone from me as he gazed into the screen. His emerald eyes bulged with wonder. “Wait, what happened?”
We both stopped walking.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s gone, he just disappeared,” he said, sliding his finger frantically on the glass.
“Let me see,” I said, reaching for it. I looked, and his message and profile were, in fact, gone. “Well that’s weird.”
“Or not. I told you they were a bunch of closet cases. You know that his parents started a district wide petition against me when I wanted to go to prom with my boyfriend? Yeah, I didn’t even get to go, at all! Sick people. Totally fucked up my junior year.”
I admired his dramatics.
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I didn’t go either,” I offered.
“Because you’re an introverted sociopath.”
“Eh, maybe a little,” I shrugged.
“Just don’t get your hopes up with that one,” Peter warned. “There’s a whole sea of guys who’d be happy to have you.”
“Nah.”
“Serious, I see them looking at you all the time. You have a lot of untapped potential.”
The thought of people seeing me made me feel self-conscious, yet confident, in the way the HomoSphere did.
I accepted the compliment with a silent blush.
“Time to get tapped,” he said, allusively, as he patted my bottom. The way he squeaked the word “tapped” was enough to have us laugh our way off of campus.
Finally, it was Wednesday’s Art History.
I arrived early to set up my notes and boot the computer in front of me.
My excitement escaped out of my right foot, which tapped rapidly on the floor, increasing with each second that passed on the clock.
Nicolas would be coming soon, and I still hadn’t the faintest idea of how I’d approach him.
Class was about to start, and the seat next to me was still empty.
“Where is he?” I thought.
A minute before the lecture was scheduled to begin, he sauntered in and went to the front of the room. He stopped to talk to the woman who sat front and center.
I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she got up with her things and he sat down in her place. She then turned herself toward me and came and sat down beside me.
My heart fell to the pit of my stomach.
“I shouldn’t have waited to reply.”
She introduced herself as Saffril, but I was too frustrated with myself to engage. I could tell that she was offended, and I felt her discomfort for the duration of the class.
Distracted by her and Nicolas switching to seemingly avoid me, I missed the entirety of the lecture.
I was confused, but maybe so was Nicolas. I decided I was going to confront him after class, but when I hurried after him, Jordan stopped me midway out of the room.
“Mīlo, how are you liking the class?” he asked wistfully.
“Oh, loving it, sir,” I grinned, trying to rush the conversation, but Jordan seemed he was in no rush. “He’s going to confront me on my mental absence today,” I thought.
“Glad to hear it, and I must say, you really seem to know your stuff in here.”
“Yeah, I uh, just do a lot of studying, I suppose.” I was trying to maintain my composure, as I wanted to go after Nicolas.
“Well, I have something for you,” he said, gesturing me to follow behind him as he moseyed his way to the main desk.
“Oh?” I inquired.
He unclasped the flap of his satchel and began rifling through what sounded like an infinite number of crumpled papers and writing utensils. “Here it is.” He pulled out a white envelope. “It’s got your name on it. Now, I don’t know who left it here, but here ya go. I have to apologize, I meant to give it to you a couple weeks ago.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” I said, puzzled. “Who would leave me something? Who even knows I’m in this class?”
I stared at the envelope for a moment before finally turning it over to open it.
I slid my thumb under the small gap at the corner and tore it open.
“Don’t forget,” Jordan interrupted before I could unveil the envelope’s contents, “we’re going to Greece in a few weeks. Start getting things together!”
“Huh? No, I can’t-”
His bag began to jingle with a generic digital tune. “Excuse me, Mīlo,” he said as he started to search the satchel for the source of the jingling. As he tossed things around inside his bags, a stack of papers fell to the floor.
I began to pick them up, and I realized they were the interest forms he asked us to sign at the beginning of the semester. Sitting in the pile was one that had my name on it.
“I didn’t sign this.”
The jingling stopped as Jordan answered his phone. “Thank you, Mīlo,” Jordan smiled as he took the papers from my hands.
I returned the smile and stepped out quietly.
I stopped just outside the entryway to finish opening the envelope.
It was cash in the amount of $2,000.
“This has got to be a mistake.”
It was wrapped in a note that read “for your adventures in Greece.”
Upon asking my mom about all of this, she said, “I have no idea, but what a blessing.”
It was a blessing, but not one I could accept. It didn’t feel right, and I didn’t want anyone’s charity.
“Your passport should be here any day,” she urged. “It's been, what, about a month and a half now? Just go, for goodness sake! Step off your high horse!”
My mom’s mood swings and irritability were on another level.
I accepted her demand and deposited the money into my bank account.
The plane tickets were purchased and the hotel reservations were made.
I was ready for this.
However, the question still remained: “Where’d the money come from?”
Five
The car squealed as it drifted around and sped back toward me. It was night, and the headlights beamed bright with fury. The red racing stripe sparked like fire while the intensity of the car’s black exterior seemed to absorb the city’s lights, leading in the darkness behind it.
The engine revved and moaned with the intent to kill. I was being chased, and by a car that appeared to have no driver. It was as if it had a possessed mind of its own, a phantom, seeking its vengeance on me. I had escaped it once, but this time, it was relentless, and unwilling to give up the chase.
Light emitted from the car’s headlights, which illuminated a path that I followed; chasing my shadow tirelessly.
I was running down a sidewalk just outside New Westminster. There was no one in sight. I tried to scream for help, but every time I opened my mouth, no sound would come out.
I was entirely alone.
Finally, I had come to a dead end, trapped by three towering walls of concrete. With the car still zooming after me, I had nowhere else to run.
It would be my final moment. There was no escaping it now.
The car stopped too, and revved its engine, revelling in its victory.
Suddenly, its tires squealed as it set off toward me. Flames burst from the red stripes, spitting sparks off into the night.
I accepted my demise.
The light grew blinding as the car got closer and closer, yet I couldn’t look away. I was petrified, but I wasn’t going to go down cowardly.
I planted both my feet on the ground, establishing a firm stance.
As the car crashed into my body, it burst into flames, swallowing me completely. The heat should’ve blistered me, but rather as the flames dissipated, it left
me blanketed in ashes. A thick wall of smoke followed behind the flames. It turned to red then black, enveloping me in nothing but darkness, causing me to choke and wake up.
I shot up to a sitting position, gasping for breath while my heart tried to slow down. I was uncomfortably drenched in cold perspiration.
I was relieved to see the light from the morning sun, which leaked in through the blinds hung from my only window.
I fell onto my back and tried to give myself back to the dream world, but it was the morning I’d be taking flight to Greece. Forcibly, I rolled off my bed and threw myself into the shower.
So many people required coffee to get them going, but all I needed was hot water and soap.
I got out of the shower, dried myself off, and wiped the steam from the mirror. I looked into my reflected blue-green eyes, which were brought to life by a set of thick, dark lashes. The sides of my head were shaved, which faded from a top of wet hair. It was loose and curly looking, like I’d just left the beach, which was how it was all the time due to the saltiness of the air from the ocean. I was never fond of it; it was too unruly.
In addition to the challenge of having to tame my hair, it led me to think of my “donor,” who my mother would incessantly compare my looks to. I wondered often if, by some chance encounter, he’d recognize me as his own. Not that I cared what he’d think of me, as he wasn’t a model citizen, but to see his face… would it display shock or awe? I’d never know.
I threw on some clothes and, with the luggage bag in my hand rolling behind me, entered the dining room.
My mother sat peacefully at the dining table.
“Good morning,” she said, clutching a cup of coffee.
“Morning,” I replied.
“Are you excited?” she asked, almost seeming more excited than I. Her cheeks were rosy and glowing. I had nearly forgotten for a brief moment that she was ill.
“Yeah. A little nervous to fly,” I confessed.
“Don’t be,” she replied confidently.
She set her coffee down on the table. Then, with both hands, using the table as a prop, she pushed herself up from the chair, which creaked from the loose fitting legs. She moved around the table cautiously and embraced me.
“Have tons of fun.”
“I’ll try.”
“Hush,” she said. “You’ll do.” She squeezed a bit tighter and then let go. “Now get going,” she insisted. “You’ll miss your flight.”
My stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing Nicolas. I’d get to spend a whole week with him. That was, if he would even bother speaking to me. Maybe he had decided to not go at all.
Thankfully, he had decided to go.
Once at the campus shuttle, Nicolas finally broke his silence.
“Looks like you decided to come after all.” He came up from behind me, bumping me with his shoulder.
“Oh, you’re finally going to talk to me,” I said, drenched in sarcasm.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” he replied coyly.
“Because you kind of went ghost on me when you switched seats in class.”
“I had to. You distract me too much.”
The blood flow to my cheeks increased dramatically.
“You act like you didn’t know,” he said playfully.
“I didn’t. I’m pretty oblivious sometimes, and then well, you just disappeared. What happened?”
“Long story. Doesn’t matter,” he said, brushing me off.
His demeanor changed rather quickly, and he hurried onto the shuttle to grab a seat. I followed suit.
Once on the shuttle, I saw that he had settled in a seat toward the back. He looked at me with a grin and waved me in his direction.
“Sit,” he said.
“You sure? You don’t want to trade with someone?”
“Shut up and sit down,” he demanded.
I liked the commanding aggression.
Jordan then got on the bus and explained that we would be headed to the airport and what to expect upon arrival. After a few moments, we were off.
“What exactly is your major?” I asked Nicolas.
“Political science.”
“Oh, interesting, and you’re required to take this class?”
“Not really, I just enjoy the arts,” he said, grinning at me. “What about you?”
“I’m not really sure yet,” I replied. “Just doing some general courses this year until I get it figured out.”
“Interesting. You struck me as the type of man who knows what you want.”
“Nope, I suppose that’s just another subject where we differ.”
“I would suppose you’re right,” he stated, gently setting his hand just above my knee. I knew what he was trying to do, so I held my composure. We locked each other’s gaze. “I most certainly know what I want.” He slid his hand higher on my thigh. My heart raced erotically.
The shuttle bus came to a screeching stop, causing us to break focus.
“All right everyone, here we are: LAX!” Jordan announced.
I peeked out the window and saw people scurrying around with mounds of luggage on carts. Cars scattered everywhere, picking people up and dropping others off in a frantic mess. Officers stood around blowing whistles, conducting travelers, ensuring people were speedy. No one was allowed to take too long.
I grew tense, while Jordan seemed to revel in the chaos waiting outside the bus. “Grab your bags. Let’s get this show on the road!”
We grabbed our belongings and shuffled off the bus and into the airport. We advanced through TSA, which was thoroughly invasive. Despite not having a bomb in my bag, I was terrified they were going to find one.
From there, we excitedly made our way to the gate, where we waited for about an hour before boarding our plane.
I couldn’t wait to experience the land where I had spent most of my childhood imagination.
I sat down at my assigned seat, next to a frail older woman. There was a calmness about her that reminded me of my mother, which in turn reminded me that she’d be going into surgery in the next two weeks. I had hoped that my mother and I would be able to take this trip together. She was the one, after all, who sparked my early childhood excitement. In addition, she had not had a vacation for as long as I’d been alive, if ever.
The sound of pings and gasps suddenly filled the whispering cabin. I had silenced my phone before getting on the plane, so myself and the woman next to me remained silent as she rustled the flyer she had gotten from the seat’s pouch in front of her.
A man’s voice came over the intercom. “Attention ladies and gentlemen,” he started. We all turned our attention to the captain, who was standing at the front of the plane. “The president has just been shot. We’ve been ordered not to fly today, as this is a national emergency. Please remain calm and exit the plane in an orderly fashion. I repeat, the president has been shot, and we will not be flying today. Please exit the plane in a calm and orderly fashion.”
For a moment, silence fell over the cabin.
“A terrorist attack, perhaps,” I thought.
The old woman next to me began to tear up. She struggled to stand from her seat as she wiped seemingly patriotic tears from her eyes. I was too disconnected from American politics to feel anything.
People began grabbing their belongings from the overhead bins and started lining up in the aisle to exit the plane.
“It’s confirmed! President Cash is dead,” shouted one of the passengers.
“Good riddance,” shouted another.
“It’s because of those fucking liberal snowflakes,” someone screamed.
Two of the men shouting caught up with each other in the line of passengers trying to get off the plane and began throwing fists at one another. Another jumped in and tried to intervene, but he was beaten down by both of them. The rest of the people dispersed and allowed for security to take them both down with tasers.
After what felt like a lifetime, we all got off the plane and Nicolas ca
ught up with me.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied. “What’s going to happen now?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
The airport was full of people sobbing over the loss of their president. Others were shouting obscenities. Some were angry that their flight was cancelled, some throwing blame at “the terrorists,” as they crossed paths with a minority race.
Over all the confusion and blamed hatred, there was a fear that blanketed the congested terminal.
No one knew what would be coming next.
We were grounded in a country that was in upheaval.
Six
Julio Hernandez was immediately taken into custody for the assassination of President Reginald Cash. As the news media tells it, he was Mexican and a homosexual with a vendetta against Cash and his push for new immigration laws, under which Julio’s fiancé was deported. Julio tried to go with, but immigration officers wouldn’t let him leave America.
Due to the highly publicized deportation, once his fiancé made it back to his home in Mexico, he was gang raped and beaten to death for being the way he was. This was allegedly what drove Julio into a hostile state.
Further reports say he waited his turn at a local meet and greet in Amarillo, Texas. There, Julio pulled a small handgun out and shot Cash, just as he was offering his hand for a shake and a staged apology.
“The whole thing just doesn’t make sense,” said Peter. “They had this shoddy story set up, they had to have.”
“You know, I’m not one to go on about this kind of stuff, but you’re right. If Cash was trying to push immigrants out, why wouldn’t they just let Julio go back too, and how did none of the Secret Service agents stop Julio? Don’t they normally have protocols similar to TSA?”
“That’s what I’m saying! I don’t know, Mīlo, I’m scared shitless. Stetson is next in office, and people like us are on his list.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Don’t underestimate these people. History has shown time and time again that anything is possible. He’s basically a Bible-thumping white supremacist. You know he still believes in conversion therapy, and it’s only banned in 14 states...”