by Kody Boye
Not wanting to allow my consciousness to burden me any longer, I slung my pack over my shoulder and started toward the front doors.
14
Waiting for my degree planner to call my name and summon me into her office was unlike anything I could’ve possibly imagined. A knife, drawn slowly across my back; a gun, pointed at the small of my spine; a Sanguine, threatening to devour me whole—while seated there, attempting to refrain from making eye contact and trying my hardest not to appear confrontational, I studied the floor at my feet and tried, with little success, to not panic, but found myself doing so regardless.
“Jason,” I heard the degree planner say. “Jason DePella?”
I raised my eyes to face the woman and found her face alight with shock as our gazes met. “Come… in,” she said, obviously wary after having seen my unusual eyes.
I wasn’t sure if she’d remember me, or if I was just a statistic in her handbook—a name that, though present, was not at the forefront of her mind. As I rose, and as I attempted to gather about myself the strength I knew I had regardless of the anxieties attempting to overwhelm me, I struggled to fight back butterflies of unease and found myself unable to do so even as I passed into the office.
The door was closed. The adviser seated herself behind her desk. She looked at me—cautiously, as she had before—and forced a smile I knew she wasn’t exactly willing to part with. “Jason,” she said. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
“It has,” I agreed, unsure if this was a formality or if her memories had only been slightly altered to remember events that had never occurred.
“So, let’s get straight to the point. Your grade-point-average is excellent. You’re a 4.0 student, your credit hours have been completed, and your dissertation on Shakesphere’s sonnets and their historical significance to his sexuality were extremely well-researched.”
“You read it, I take it?”
“It was absolutely brilliant. I didn’t know half of the stuff that was in your dissertation, and trust me when I say that I read a lot of English literature majors’ work.” She folded her hands in front of me and smiled as she leaned forward. This time, it appeared genuine—completely contradictory to what had occurred moments before. “I’m happy to say that you’ll be graduating with flying colors, Mr. DePella. Congratulations. Your time at the University of Texas is over.”
“I… I passed?” I asked.
“You sound surprised. You’ve always been an excellent student and your work is nothing short of exceptional. You met all your deadlines—”
How I couldn’t be sure.
“—and your papers were formatted and received properly, have been processed, reviewed and determined eligible for graduation. Everyone who’s read your dissertation says you’re brilliant. You’ll make an excellent teacher someday soon, Jason. I can see it already.”
I could’ve burst from the feeling. “Thank you,” I said, almost unable to believe my ears. “Really… thank you.”
“Remember: graduation is next week. I assume you have your robes ready?”
“Not yet,” I grimaced.
“There’s still time to order them,” the adviser replied. “Once again—congratulations, from all of us at UT Austin.”
15
“You passed?” Guy asked as I walked through the door that afternoon.
“Fuckin’ A!” Aerick cried, wrapping me in a hug. “Congratulations, J! That’s fucking awesome.”
“Thanks you guys,” I said, accepting their hugs gladly and with more confidence than I could have possibly imagined. “I don’t know how they did it, but they did—somehow, someway.”
“The Agency employs good Wipers,” Guy agreed, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. “They make sure no stone is left unturned.”
“Apparently. I wasn’t even sure if the woman recognized me.”
“She probably didn’t with those pretty blue eyes of yours,” Aerick said.
I looked into his green eyes—rimmed with that startling gold band that appeared to have been hewn from the earth itself—and realized that he was probably right. The human eye could change perception, could alter appearance, could influence everything about the way a person looked at you. Blue-eyed wonder that I was, she had likely been stunned into submission—and, I imagined, had simply chosen to refrain from commenting on my appearance.
There were three things that could have happened in that room. One was that she thought my eyes had always been this unusual color, the second being that I was wearing contacts. The third—and most sinister of the trio—was the more unfortunate, and the one I hoped hadn’t been the case.
With so little knowledge about the Supernatural community present, could she have realized that I was different—and maybe, possibly, even Kaldr?
“Something wrong?” Aerick asked, running a hand down one arm.
“I… was wondering something,” I said, blinking, then turning and making my way to the counter, where I seated myself in one of the barstools and waited for the men to follow before speaking again. “I was wondering if the woman recognized that I was a Supernatural entity.”
“Possibly,” Guy said. “I went out and purchased the three of us new smartphones and looked some stuff up online. There’s already speculation going around that the Supernatural community—or at least parts of it—have color-signifying traits to their eyes.”
“Which we do,” I said.
“Which Sanguine, Kaldr and Howler do,” Guy corrected. “Some Supernaturals can appear completely normal, others look as freakish as you can possibly imagine.”
“Frogman,” Aerick offered. “Or those little devils.”
“Or the angel,” I mumbled. I paused and looked up at Guy. “That was an angel, right?”
“In the traditional sense, yes. I don’t think they work for God Almighty, but I don’t know much about them. Most of their lore is shrouded in secrecy and kept hidden by the Archivists.”
“I see,” I offered. I looked at both men, smiled, then said, “I need to order my robes.”
“We can arrange that,” Guy said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “You got the information ready?”
I reached into my backpack and began to withdraw the informational pamphlet.
16
The big day came sooner than I could have ever expected. Seated amongst my peers, waiting for my name to be called, watching, listening, smiling as the names went down the alphabet from As to Bs and finally Cs. When the Ds started to be called, I held my breath—and looked out, into the distant crowd, in an effort to find Guy and Aerick, but to no avail.
They were there. I knew they were. But seeing them would have at least offered me some measure of inspiration for when I finally stood and accepted my diploma from the university.
“DePella, Jason,” the man at the podium said.
I rose, then, and began to make my way onto the stage, where before the eyes of hundreds I walked across the hardwood floors and accepted my diploma with a smile and a handshake. The man’s gaze strayed a moment I felt was too long as he looked into my eyes, and though unable to refute his gaze, I nodded before turning my head to the dean and extending my hand.
He didn’t reciprocate.
Frowning, I cleared my throat and was about to say something before the man said, “Move along.”
I did—quickly, and with haste I felt was unwarranted given the situation.
As I made my way down the stairs leading off of the stage, I wondered: had I just been discriminated against based solely on the fact that I was a Kaldr?
Shaking my head, I turned and began to make my way up the grass-lined passage that led out to where the family and friends crowd were currently stationed—cheering, smiling, and greeting graduates with hugs and kisses. Guy and Aerick came forward almost immediately to wrap me into hugs, which instantly dispelled the unease that coursed through my system.
“Congratulations,” Aerick said. “I can only imagine
how hard you must have worked for this.”
“Yeah,” I said, casting a glance back at the stage.
“Something wrong?” Guy asked.
I turned to look at him. “No,” I said. “Nothing’s wrong. Why?”
“You have a faraway look in your eyes.”
“Oh. That.” I laughed. “It’s nothing. Seriously.”
“Are you sure?” Aerick frowned. “Because if you’d ask me, it looks like something’s bothering you.”
“I’ll tell you more on the way home,” I replied, then turned and began to lead them toward the parking garage.
17
“You think you were discriminated against?” Guy asked as we drove back through downtown Austin.
“I honestly think I was,” I said, lifting my eyes from my greatest accomplishment besides my dissertation and nodding at Guy as he looked at me through the rearview mirror. “I mean… he didn’t say anything, but he wouldn’t shake my hand.”
“It’s like when they were convinced AIDs was the gay plague,” Aerick offered. “Or when blacks were considered subhuman.”
“Some people still think that way,” Guy offered, “and honestly, Jason, it doesn’t surprise me that a man of the dean’s caliber might be wary about someone who might possess gifts he doesn’t understand.”
“But I didn’t even do anything to him,” I said. “I was completely nonthreatening.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean people are going to stop being scared.”
True. It was inevitable that our conditions—as well as our strange appearances—would lead to some suspicion, especially in weak-minded, ignorant or fearful peoples. While I’d only met the dean a handful of times, and had spoken at him with length only briefly, he’d seemed to be an open-minded man. Now, after experiencing this, I could say for a fact that he definitely had a thorn in his side over the Supernatural community.
I lifted my head to view the road before me and saw that we were nearing home. “So,” I said, after a moment’s hesitation and a much longer spell of silence. “Should we do something?”
“Like what?” Guy asked.
“I dunno. Go out. Get food. Go clubbing. Something.”
“You really want to go clubbing after what just happened?” Guy asked.
“It’d take his mind off things,” Aerick offered as we pulled alongside our home. “Besides—I could get my groove thang on.”
“Ever been to Thunder?” I asked.
“No,” Aerick replied. “Why?”
“It’s Teasing Tuesday,” Guy replied. “Jason wants to see the strippers.”
“Oooooh,” Aerick laughed. “Someone getting a boner for fresh meat?”
I leaned into the front seat, slapped his arm, and laughed as I caught his gaze in mine.
Aerick—he seemed happy.
Maybe, after all the hell we’d gone through, all we needed was a good night out.
18
The club pulsed with human life and smelled of desperation from those gay men wishing to get laid on a Tuesday night. Swamped with heat and comforting in that it raised my body temperature to a tolerable level, I approached the bar along with Guy and Aerick and only stopped when I caught sight of the Asian bartender who had served me the night I had first met Guy.
“Something up?” Aerick asked, pressing his hands to my hips and leaning against my body.
“I was just looking at the bar,” I replied.
“This is where Jason and I met in person for the first time,” Guy offered.
“And where you decided you wanted to fuck each other’s brains out?” Aerick asked.
“Something like that,” Guy said. “Bartender. Three whiskies!”
“Coming right up,” the man said.
While waiting for our drinks, Aerick began to shift his body to the tune of the music, rolling his hips and flexing his shoulders to the beat. He turned his eyes on the male contestants who were currently in the process of entering the strip-off contest and laughed as one guy nearly fell off the stage. “Looks like some of these guys can’t work a pole,” he said.
“And you can?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows at him.
“I’d have you know, Mr. College Graduate, that I can work a pole perfectly fine.”
“Fuck yeah he can,” Guy replied, returning with our drinks. “I can vouch for that.”
“Give me my shot, hotstuff.”
Guy did, and Aerick, wild with abandon, downed it instantaneously, only to lean forward, take hold of Guy’s v-neck, and pulled him down for a steamy kiss.
“What was that for?” Guy asked.
“Luck,” Aerick replied. “I’m going to strip.”
“What?” I laughed.
Aerick smiled, turned his attention toward the DJ managing the contest, and raised his hand.
“Looks like we’ve got another contestant!” the man cried. “What’s your name?”
“Aerick!” he called back.
“Aerick,” the man said. “You ready to strip?”
“I sure as hell am!” the young Howler laughed.
“Then let’s see what you got!”
The crowd cheered as a megamix of the recent most popular Top 30 songs began to play.
With a smile and a wink, Aerick began to disrobe.
His body was mesmerizing in a crowd of flesh, in a state of being where every movement was calculated to appeal to the audience around him. Sexy as hell in his tight-fitting jeans and tank, he rolled his shoulders about their sockets and began to move his hips in a way that reminded me a woman whose hips did not lie. Where he’d learned to dance I couldn’t be sure, but as he reached down and began to pull his tank off—teasing the audience with a flash of his hairless abdomen—I licked my lips, nodding as he pulled his shirt up for one brief moment before shucking it entirely.
“He your boyfriend?” a guy at my side asked.
“One of them,” I replied.
“Damn,” the man breathed, taking a sip of his drink. “He’s hot.”
And he was. Five-foot-four, all cock and pure smartass, Aerick reached down to free his belt from his buckle and began to unzip his pants a short moment later.
The pants came off.
The jockstrap was appeared.
His hairless ass came into view and shook to the beat of the drums.
The crowd cheered as he hopped on the stage to join the other contestants and as he leaned down to kiss not only me, but Guy, whose lust lingered in the form of a sloppy tongue and a ten-dollar bill.
“That about wraps this contest up,” the DJ said. “Now—before we start voting, let’s give a round of applause to our guys.”
The crowd cheered.
Horny men whooped their approval for the nearly-naked individuals atop the dancing platform.
“Now then,” the DJ continued, then began to go through the contestants’ names. “Who wants Dylan to win?”
The crowd cheered.
“Ashton to win?”
The crowd cheered some more.
“Who wants our last contestant Aerick to win?”
The crowd went wild.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a winner, folks!” the DJ cried. “The winner of the two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar prize is none other than Aerick!”
“Two-hundred-and-fifty dollars?” Guy asked.
“Looks like someone’s buying dinner,” I laughed.
19
We ate at a small twenty-four-hour restaurant on the outskirts of east Austin. Loaded with burgers, fries, and enough cola to last for days, we laughed at Aerick’s expense as he continued to shimmy in his seat and as he pretended to make it rain on the two of us with the one-dollar bills that’d been shoved into his jockstrap by handsy men.
“I don’t want your ballsack money,” I laughed, throwing the one-dollar bills back at him.
“Don’t deny it,” Aerick replied. “You know I was hot shit up on that stage.”
“You were pretty hot up there,” I agreed, loo
king from Aerick, to Guy, who sat right next to the Howler. “What about you? What’d you think?”
“I’m the one who gave him the ten,” Guy said. “Remember?”
“Thanks babe,” Aerick said, leaning over to kiss Guy on the cheek. “Man. I’m fucking starving. I must’ve burned more calories shaking my ass than I thought I did.”
“You must’ve,” I agreed, laughing as he leaned forward to steal a taste of my spicy ketchup. “Hey! Get your own.”
“I’m not getting up,” Aerick replied. “I’m sore from dancing.”
“Poor baby,” I laughed. “What ever will we do with him, Guy?”
“I could think of a few things,” Guy said, leaning down to nip Aerick’s ear.
The Howler laughed and pushed Guy away before digging into his meal.
I smiled.
They smiled.
Our second night back in Austin was turning out to be quite excellent.
20
“You’re sure you have the keys?” Aerick asked as we hauled ourselves up the row of stairs that led to our sprawling two-story home.
“For the tenth time: yes, I have the keys,” Guy said.
“Just making sure, bro. You get pretty handsy when you’re drunk and I’m not sure I can trust you with the keys.”
“Reach into my pocket if you don’t believe me.”
“Which one?”
“My front.”
“Oooh, crotch shot,” Aerick said, and dutifully obliged.
As we reached the landing at the top of the stairway, Aerick withdrew the keys from Guy’s pants and started forward.
Halfway there, he stopped.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, then paled when I caught sight of his face.
Aerick could only point at the door.
Spray-painted in crude and misshapen fashion across the front wall were the words Fags, Freaks, Kaldr and Howlers.
“They know,” I said after a moment’s hesitation, reaching up to cup my face in my hands as I tried—without success—to not stare at the wall or the message painted upon it. “They fucking know.”