by Young
“I would like to give back some of my time to groom and mentor a Freshman,” I responded earnestly.
“That is altruistic of you, son.” He paused before he resumed, “Being a Big-Brother is a demanding post. The chosen candidates will undergo three months of intensive training and examinations. Several of our staff members and current Big-Brothers are heading the inculcation programme,” the headmaster articulated.
“I understand, sir,” I explicated.
The headmaster resumed, “Before I can give my permission for you to proceed with your BB application, you’ll have to meet with the mentorship committee for approval. If the consent is granted, I will forward you the application forms to complete. Before you leave for the Bahriji (Oasis School), you’ll be notified of an appointed meeting.
He turned to Andy for a response to my inquiry.
“Sir, I would also like to stay on for another term as a Big-Brother/Valet,” my chaperone announced.
The principal did not appear pleased with my Valet’s pronouncement.
“Andy, for the past three years, you’ve been an excellent mentor to several Freshmen, especially to Young. In my opinion, it is time for you to pursue your career and to seek higher accomplishments?
“Don’t get me wrong, your unwavering support to Daltonbury Hall and the Enlightened Royal Oracle Society mentorship programme hasn’t gone unnoticed. We are grateful for your munificent contributions, but you must also consider what is best for you. The advancement of your university education is as important as your philanthropic benefactions,” the elder counseled.
He added, “Your parents approached me to inquire about your future plans. They would like to see you enroll in a renowned engineering university or college. Although the decision is entirely yours, I’m acting as a messenger to deliver their intentions. A word of advice before I let the both of you go; trust your instinct, and the correct decision will manifest.”
As soon as Andy closed the office door, he vociferated, “Why can’t my father leave me alone, instead of meddling in my life!”
I was surprised to hear those words from my respectful Valet.
“You shouldn’t be so defensive. Your parents are concerned about your future, and they want the best for you. After all, they are paying for your education, aren’t they?” I remarked.
“If they truly love me, they will accept you and my sexuality,” my Valet voiced irritatingly.
To soften my lover’s dejection, I commented, “Frauline Maria and your siblings are cordial to me.”
“Yes, but not like your mother, who accepts me with an open heart,” he discerned.
“You haven’t met my father. He is like your dad, he cannot come to terms with my homosexuality,” I declared. “Yet, you counsel me, not to be so hard on my old man. I’m now reversing your excellent mentorship to entreat that you be not so strident to your father like I did with mine. As you are well aware, the older generation views the world differently than we. There’ll always be a generation gap between parents and their children.”
“Me-Oh-My! Since when did you grow up and mature into this judicious stripling?” my Valet teased.
“You once said to me: ‘Mentoring is a brain to pick, an ear to listen, and a push in the right direction,’” I quoted my chaperone.
He corrected my statement. “That extract is not from me but by John C. Crosby, the late American politician from the state of Massachusetts.”
With that affirmation, my lover departed to Kipling Society while I returned to Tolkien Brotherhood to meet my new roommates for the very first time.
Early October 2014
David’s Reply to My Query, c/c to Andy
David’s message arrived a day after Andy’s response. He wrote:
Hi guys,
I feel for you, Andy. Depression is not to be scorned but to be resolved with solicitous cognizance. When I mentored William, a young charge at my boarding school, I encountered a similar situation with this adolescent. I coached him back to health from a nervous breakdown.
Before I lurched into a daunting anecdote, I will answer Young’s query about Anthony; the E.R.O.S./V.T.A. recruit who copulated with Shabana with Mustafa’s ‘enchanted’ sperm on his penis. ?? To cut to the chase, the lad disappeared from Riyadh as rapidly as he had appeared. The E.R.O.S./V.T.A. officials in Saudi Arabia made a deal with the local authorities to not bring charges on Antony. With the blink of the eyes, he was back at his boarding school; as if he had never set foot at the Grand Pavilion in Riyadh. Such were the E.R.O.S./V.T.A. authoritative influences in the Middle Eastern bureaucratic establishments.
The Enlightened Royal Oracle Society/Valkyrian Templers Abbey continued without a care in the world; as if this incident never occurred. I’m confident that the E.R.O.S./V.T.A. elders from across the board took precautions against future mishaps of this nature from ever happening again.
Since there was no trace of Antony to be found, the case rested solely on Amira, the sorceress. As an example, to those who dare to delve in Quranic black magick, she was executed.
Back to my charge, William. He was one of the sweetest fellas I ever knew when we met. He had a beaming smile and a glowing personality any boy his age would envy. Atop that, he took to his harem challenges like a fish to water. No one suspected that this radiant gem was manic depressive. Will was a shining example by day, but when night fell, he locked himself in his room and wallowed in negativity. Any movements outside would trigger his terror. Trepidations engulfed his person and left him paralyzed.
But when the dawn appears, he would regain his ebullience. He kept his Jekyll and Hyde personality in check until I became his BB. In the beginning, he refused to room with me until the school authorities made it mandatory that Big-Brothers had to keep vigilance on their charges twenty-four seven. It was then that I noticed his chameleonic transformation.
At first, I did nothing because I did not wish to jeopardize his prospect for the E.R.O.S./V.T.A. selection but when the nights became too intense, I knew I had to help the lad. I informed the school authorities of his maniacal symptoms. I was glad of what I did even when the lad was temporarily confined to a mental asylum. Eventually, William functioned generally through medical supervisions and treatments. Unfortunately, he did not make it into the Enlightened Royal Oracle Society/Valkyrian Templers Abbey; even though the lad had no idea, he was being considered. Yet, I felt guilty to eradicate his chance to a practical educational experience.
I had to consult my school’s psychotherapist shortly after Will’s admission into the mental institution. I wanted to be sure that I made the right decision to inform the school authorities of William’s condition.
This was Dr. Rufus, my psychotherapist explanation:
“You just failed a big test and are bummed about it. Or, you’re going through a bad breakup and feeling down. We’ve all been there. In our day-to-day life, everyone experiences ups and downs, but as time moves forward, our mood becomes better, and we resume our usual self again. Unlike the average population, individuals living with mental disarray cycle through extreme mood swings that cause disruption to their daily life.
“Bipolar Disorder, Manic Depression, and Bipolar Affective Disorder are synonymous with one another. The classic symptoms of bipolar disorder are the periodic changes in mood, alternating between periods of elevated disposition (mania or hypomania) to bouts of depression. A person living with bipolar disorder may feel energetic, abnormally happy, and make reckless decisions during his/her maniacal states. But, during depressive spells, he/she may feel an overwhelming urge to cry, experience feelings of hopelessness and have a negative outlook on life. Hypomania is a less severe form of mania; where a person generally feels pretty good, with a better sense of well-being and productivity.
“Not only does the bipolar disorder patient feel ‘down in the dumps,’ his/her depressive state may lead to suicidal thoughts that could transform to feelings of euphoria and a never-ending vivaciousness. The
se extreme mood swings are frequent. The good news is that there are treatments that can keep a patient’s moods in check, thereby allowing the sufferer to live a productive life.”
Dr. Rufus also stated the manic symptoms which I listed below:
Extensive periods of feeling “high” with overt elation, gaiety, and immensely friendly disposition.
Extreme irritable feelings.
Easily distracted.
Having racing thoughts.
Talking rapidly.
Have focusing problems; like jumping from one thought to another when conversing.
Undertaking numerous new projects without the ability to complete the assignments.
Restlessness.
Signs of boundless energy.
Sleep negligence and not feeling tired.
The sufferer’s unrealistic belief that he/she can achieve the impossible.
Engagements in impulsive, pleasurable, and high-risk behaviors; such as poor financial investments, indiscriminate sexual indiscretions, excessive shopping sprees.
Inflated self-esteem.
Grandiose feelings.
Acute agitation.
Drastic goal-directed activity.
A high sex drive.
Making grand and unattainable plans.
And last but not least, a detachment from reality – psychosis that includes delusions or hallucinations.
Below is a list of depressive symptoms:
Feelings of sadness, tearfulness, hopelessness, and a sense of emptiness for the most part of the day and on a daily basis.
The sufferer takes no pleasure or interest in his/her day to day activities.
He/she also suffers weight fluctuations that include significant weight loss or weight gain.
Sleep disturbances of either sleeping too much or insomnia.
Restlessness or slowed behaviors.
Suicidal thoughts or attempts.
Guilt feelings and worthlessness.
Inability to concentrate.
Indecisiveness.
Enervations and fatigue.
A loss of interest in activities the sufferer once enjoyed.
Anxiety and uncontrollable crying.
Before the doctor sent me on my way, he stated amusingly, “You, David, you do not suffer from any of the symptoms I’d listed. My prognosis is that you are suffering from a case of guilt which you will overcome in due course. If your guilty conscience persists after six months, then come back to see me. Otherwise, you are cured.”
That my friends were my close encounter with Manic Depression Disorder. ??
Yours truly,
David
A Dead Ringer Scuffle (Chapter Thirty-Eight)
“I’m not saying they are weak, but they brawl like a couple of bitches on a balloon flight.”
Curt Simon Eberhardt
Second Week of November 1968
Above the Atlas Mountains, Morocco
As the air balloons that carried our entourage lifted off from solid ground, I could see clearly from high above. I shared the carriage with the balloon operator, Tanjo, my Valet, Andy, and Mario, the fashion photographer. We glided across Asni (Kasbah Tamadot’s nearby town) towards the peaks of the Atlas Mountains. The distant view of Marrakesh resembled Lego bricks crafted into toy-size city blocks. The unbearable lightness of being washed over my person as I busied myself assisting the photographer. Lighter than air and freer than the soaring birds, we sailed on top of the world towards the snowy peaks. It was a sentiment I could never experience on the solid ground.
I plucked up the courage to ask the Count.
“Are you enjoying Kalf’s company?” I asked.
He gave me a sheepish grin as if he would rather not discuss his boyfriend. I did not pursue the topic.
After a while, the Italian confided, “Kalf is not the easiest person to be with.”
“Why?” I queried.
He fiddled with the various dials on his camera and did not answer. When he did, he said, “It is difficult to predict his mood swings. One minute he could be affectionate, but with a blink of the eyes, he would give me the cold shoulder. I don’t know what he’s playing at? I find this type of behavior abhorrent.”
“Have you spoken to Tad about this?” I questioned.
He shook his head in anguish.
“Tad is worse. He avoided me like the plague when I approached him. I have no idea what’s with the man? Maybe, he’s disgruntled that the Moroccan chose me over him.”
I tested the waters to get the photographer’s response. “That might be one reason why my Master hasn’t been happy since his return.”
“What did he say to you?” the Italian inquired curiously.
“I’m not supposed to divulge my Master’s private conversations to anyone,” I replied.
My statement stirred the Count to probe further.
“You can tell me, boy. It’ll be our little secret,” he pledged.
“Can we trade?” I quipped.
“What kind of trade?” the photographer responded with interest.
“If I tell you what my Master revealed; will you impart to me what you did with Kalf?” I sallied.
“What do mean by what I did with Kalf? I don’t understand your implication?” the Italian expressed puzzlingly.
I added, “A little bird told me that you took the Moroccan against his will.”
“What!” he exclaimed. “I would never do such a thing to anyone without their consent; let alone Kalf. He is old enough to make his own decisions with who and whom he chooses to sleep with.”
He drew me to him and vociferated, “Who’s been spreading such damaging rumors about me? It better not be you, lad!”
He released his grip when I shook my head.
“It’s not me, sir. My Master told me….” Before I could finish my sentence, Mario glared at me sharply.
He voiced angrily, “It’s Tad, isn’t it? He is the one spreading this vicious rumor about me because Kalf desired me more than that scoundrel.”
I vindicated, “He meant no harm, sir. He was concerned about Kalf’s wellbeing….”
Again, I was silenced before I could complete the statement.
“That bastard who calls me his best friend; is nothing but a jealous rumor mongering liar. When I see him, I’m going to thwack that rogue good and hard!” the Count announced ferociously.
My Valet who was then assisting the balloon operator, turned our direction to witness a fuming photographer spilling obscenities about his best friend. Andy scowled at me as if it was I, who had initiated this raunchy pandemonium. I shrugged my shoulders when he came to cool the commotion.
Suddenly, Tanjo gave a loud shriek and pointed his finger at the adjoining air balloon that toted the two female models, who were the subjects of our morning shoot. From a distance, we saw the couture-clad women tearing at one another’s throats. Their balloon attendant tried desperately to keep their air-carriage afloat while he tempted to separate Mariam and Anastasie from throwing one another off the edge. The operator was petrified that the wobbling dirigible would collapse under the furor.
Mario, not one to miss a chance to capture some dramatic shots, whisked out his camera and began to click away at the female combatants. Andy and I stared agape at the unfolding scene.
The prince and the sheik shouted through their megaphones in their floating baskets from the opposite direction. They tried to unfazed the hostile females but to no avail.
The winds of change had steered the balloons into the clouds. Enveloped by the cumulonimbus, we could not see the various carriages, let alone witness the catfight that happened a few moments ago.
Tanjo counseled, “We should return to base immediately. A thunderstorm is brewing in the rippling clouds.”
Our swashbuckling photographer demanded that we sojourn forward. Andy stepped in to reason with the Count. After much persuasion, he agreed to return to the station.
We were wet from the torrential downpour by the tim
e we touched solid ground. The rest of our entourage were already in the building when we entered. Prince P and Sheik Fahrib had sundered the feisty women to different chambers.
Like Raquel Welch in her wet pre-historic garb in One Million Years B.C.; the women’s ethereal ensembles hugged like seductive Amazonian armors to their lissome physiques. They were ready for battle if the conflict arose again.
When Andy and I entered, Prince P was in the midst of consoling his American girlfriend as she teetered for equilibrium to the feisty brawl, the perilous thunderstorm, and her close encounter with death.
Their air balloons had drifted straight into the eye of the cyclone. Thanks to P, Fahrib, Tad, Curt, Victor, and the operators; the two females and their operator had managed to escape unharmed from the calamity. The three airboats had trussed itself together and pulled one another to safety. It was a narrow escape, and the trauma had drained their insouciant selves to assess the unpredictability of their mortality. This harrowed experience proved to be a turning point in our lives.
As we regained our composure, a series of precipitous noises were heard in the corridor. The men rushed out, only to witness a round of fisticuffs between my Master and the photographer. They hurled and punched at one another like boxers in a boxing ring.
Curt and the sheik rushed to hold back the Sportsman, while Andy and Triqueros tore Mario away from Tad. In confusion, the Count’s cuff hit Kalf and sent the Moroccan to the ground. The lad scrunched up in agony and cursed the Italian for his offensive action. He shouted a string of allegations of rape, incarceration, and used as a boy-toy against his will by the Italian.
All eyes turned towards a shocked Mario. Silence fell over us. No one knew what to make of the accusations; let alone the scuffle between the once inseparable bosom pals. If another round of assault would resume, we hurriedly curtailed the explosive situation and ushered the pugnacious trio in different directions.