Sadie Stories

by Zachary Zilba

The campus of Lincoln High school was not your average one. The grass was neatly trimmed with the name of the school carved into the ground, and colored in with purple and white pansies. Tall oak trees provided shade from the blistering sun, and students, dressed in their designer clothes, took shelter there, using it as a designated place for socialization. Another crowd would find company around the grand water fountain in the center of the main walkway. Most of the students drove their fancy sport cars to school every morning, while other less fortunate students, barely lucky enough to live within the Lincoln district, arrived on bikes and roller blades.

  The football stadium behind the school was known for its record breaking games. The Lincoln Little Giants had a reputation of turning out some of the finest football players in the major leagues.

  Gabe and Rachel walked through the hallway of Lincoln High school, hand in hand, as they always did. Other kids smiled and stopped briefly just to see how they were. Everyone loved them; they were the mascot couple for the school. Everyone wanted to be around them, more for the popularity status than for the company. Gabe watched the familiar faces walk by him. These were all people he had grown up with- Shared nine months out of the year with, since kindergarten.

  He had a story about every one of them. Dan Busey for instance; Dan stood there at his locker looking all sophisticated with his hair combed back, and his neatly pressed clothes. His thick glasses slid down the bridge of his wide nose. His nostrils flared when he spoke, and it was odd, because most of the time, Dan breathed through his mouth, you wouldn’t think he’d need to with nasal passages that big. They resembled Black vortex holes. And, if you got to close to him, they’d suck you in. Dan was a brain. He made the honor roll every semester, and was teacher’s pet to most of the educators at Lincoln. It’s funny how people change. In First Grade, Dan was the class clown, always being put in isolation for disrupting Mrs. Castor’s class. Gabe remembered when Dan hit her on the ass and snagged his metal watch band on the pocket of her slacks. They literally had to cut him off of her.

  Then there was Angie Feldon. Angie was always the oddball. She had moved to Sadie back in the Third Grade. Her parents had pulled her out of parochial school because of the high degree of torment she suffered. Partly because she weighed about Two hundred and Fifty pounds, wore long tent-like skirts with blouses that clashed, and had three visible scars lining each side of her chubby face. The treatment of Angie didn’t improve much when she transferred to public school. Kids still made fat jokes, pulled her chair out from under her. One time Gabe had pulled her skirt down at recess and had to stand against the wall for punishment. Angie never fought back; she would cry and go sit alone on the Merry-go-round until the bell summoned them back to class. Gabe felt bad about that now, but they were just kids then, now he was almost an adult. Angie remained the same, she was still large in size, only now she wore black to school nearly every day and never uttered a word to anyone.

  Rachel and Gabe stopped in front of their classroom door. She turned to him, twisting her fingers in his palm. “I’ll really miss this, you know. Walking down these hallways together, holding hands, talking about our plans for the future, Next week it’s all over, we walk up on stage, collect our diplomas, and leave forever... kind of freaks me out,” Rachel confessed, tilting her head to the side.

  Gabe cupped her blushing face in his large hand. It seemed gargantuan against her smallness, “It’ll be great Rachel. Think of it as a step into the future, doors opening to new opportunities. It’s all part of growing up,” he consoled her, in a soft voice. He withdrew his hand from her, waiting for her to smile. She didn’t.

  “You know, you’re leaving for Harvard, I’m going to NYU. I don’t know if I can stand being away from you like that, Gabe. We’ve never been apart before. You’ll meet some pretty girl, fall in love and forget about me... I couldn’t handle something like that. It would kill me.”

  Gabe just gazed into her soft eyes. He was really taken by her sincerity, her candor. He moved his face directly to hers, touching noses, staring eye to eye, grinning, “You are a worry wart. I’m going off to school, I’m going to play my ass off, get myself established and you’re going to move out there, into our nice house and lounge around all day while I make you the proudest woman on earth.” He gave her a fast peck on the nose.

  Rachel smiled widely, like a little girl she turned a shade of crimson. “I already am,” she spouted contentedly, and then she walked into the classroom, leaving Gabe behind.

  Gabe stood solid; everything that once seemed so organized was now chaos. He loved Rachel, but he was only seventeen years old, he had his entire life ahead of him to see new places, experience new things, meet new people, and continue to grow. He could never stand to hurt this girl, she had been so loyal for so long. It would be sinister to betray all she had devoted to him, but on the same coin, he needed to find himself before integrating someone else’s entire life into his own. This was the girl his parents expected him to marry. This was the girl with whom he’d shared his first and only kiss with, way back in seventh grade. The first and only girl he’d ever been out on a date with. The only girl, other than his Mother, he’s told he loved. So many firsts, and it struck Gabe in such a massive way. It was like being hit by a semi, so many onlys. Perhaps too many. It was like reading the first page of the same book every day, seeing the same people, going the same places WITH those same people. Never a change, just constant security in repetition, and there was still so much left to read, but he hadn’t bothered turning the page. He knew where he had been in life, he was still there, he hadn’t moved. Others had simply passed him by while he remained behind. It was like being on a treadmill, walking and walking, with no real destination, therefore, no surprises, or issues to deal with. What had he done? Maybe Rachel felt this way too. Maybe she realized this is some never-ending cycle. The same thing over and over again. He could practically foretell the content of a conversation with any given person because he knew them all like the back of his hand. He almost knew what they would say before they said it, how they would react to his replies, their facial expressions, their hand gestures. He looked around the school at the kids rushing to their classes, bumping into each other like sheep being herded in different directions. Those faces, he knew everyone. He knew August Sanderson, the soft spoken, timid girl that had been raped by her uncle in seventh grade. She came to school until her last month of pregnancy, then disappeared for the rest of the year. She re-surfaced the next year, and no one said a word, though everyone knew her story. Gabe had known her since the beginning of elementary school. He knew she had a lisp, liked to sing, and hated to eat in front of strangers. He knew she was from a middle class home on the west side of Sadie. Next, Gabe looked at Michael Sivanni. Michael had worn leg braces up until two years ago. His big brother, Tony, would always protect him when others would taunt and tease. The braces were to correct his severely bowed legs. Now he plays for the Basketball team, is dating Martha Walters, and enjoys dirt bikes. Natalie Finn, snobby bitch. Steve Bowersox, most likely to contract a venereal disease, if he hadn’t already. He was known for manipulating girls into carnal situations. Thomas Bradford, a dentist’s son. Never had a girlfriend. Has a dark side to him. Antisocial. Spends all his time drawing in a rugged, old sketchbook, known to be the local pot-head, most likely to be in Jail before graduation. Max Dennis. In and out of foster homes for years. Had a nervous breakdown when he was thirteen. Jenny Crabtree. Sweet girl. Prone to allergies. Collects porcelain dolls, brought them to show and tell in first grade. Gabe felt nauseous. He had grown up in a box. Maybe those stars were really air holes, so they could breathe. He rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip as he stared at the floor. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe that’s what life was, some jagged pieces of a jigsaw puzzle meant to have a meticulous order. It was undoubtedly this way for everyone in Sadie, yet they never questioned it, or pondered the matter. People here get a career, get married, buy a house, have tw
o kids, maybe a dog, and simply wait to die? But wasn’t there an entire world out there filled with sights unseen, places unexplored, unfamiliar faces? Sadie wasn’t the end, it couldn’t be. There was so much more than this sheltered life he led, here in the comfort of privilege and obscurity. Everyone knew him here, they knew where he came from, what his life plans were, where he would go to college, who his family was. But, there were other places. Places where no one knew him. Where he was fresh, and new.

  The school bell, mounted high on the brick wall above him chimed. He shook himself out of his trance and stepped into the classroom. Rachel smiled at him from the back row. He was greeted with several “Hey Gabe’s,” and “Hello’s” as he walked down the row of students, he named each one in his head. Gale Wise, math whiz, excelled in everything. Andrew Kavarack, ordinary jock. Head to big for his shoulders. Maggie Cox, always dresses like she’s in the seventies, still trick-or-treats on Halloween.

  And then... He suddenly stopped. Corey Evans, weeps alone at night. Even more captivating up close. Perfectly shaped eye-brows, long, dark eyelashes lining eyes that almost looked black, like fine cut onyx. He wore a blue and white flannel shirt, cuffs unbuttoned. A pendant hung around his neck, a small silver crescent moon resting in the hallow gape. Not a hint of an Adam’s Apple, or facial hair. He looked to feline to be a man, to delicate. Androgynous, that’s a fitting description. A universal beauty. He looked as if he were wearing eye-liner, and just a touch of blush under his high cheekbones. Gabe couldn’t take his eyes off of him, he tried to look away, but his eyes kept finding their way back to Corey.

  What was happening? He analyzed his preoccupation, and came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going crazy, he was just shocked by this boy’s unorthodox appearance. Boy’s at Lincoln High didn’t look like this. They didn’t look this way anywhere Gabe had been. Guys are strong, out spoken, sometimes even crass. They were supposed to be! Guy’s are defined with heavy jaw lines, and wide, broad shoulders. Large hands and feet, quick movement and prominent features. This boy, this... person, he was not any of these. Where were his rough edges?

  Mrs. Wayland walked into the classroom. A simultaneous hush fell across the class. She peered at them from above her cat-like eyeglasses. He could understand why some of her student foes referred to her an The Dragon Lady. Her hair, mixed of the shades Blonde, brown and grey, was always swept high up on her head. She resembled Elizabeth Taylor in her later years. She was attractive, but boy could she scream. She was in her early fifties, but took care of herself. It was obvious she tanned, and far too much, her skin was not unlike that of a crocodiles.

  Mrs. Wayland walked around to the front of her desk, and leaned against it, folding her arms across her mammoth bosoms. “You’ve all noticed our new student, I take it,” she growled. She never spoke with any emotion, she always sounded as if she were lecturing. Corey sunk into his seat embarrassed. People stared at him from every angle. A spiteful snicker found it’s way into the air. Mrs. Wayland continued, “Corey Evans, from San Francisco, California, correct?” She interrogated.

  Corey politely nodded his head.

  Mrs. Wayland looked around the room, “Who will be generous enough to volunteer to show our new addition the ropes?” She stated. Mrs. Wayland never asked, she always stated. She never asked for anything. She told you. Corey looked around the room. Not a single hand went up. He grinned modestly and glanced back up to the teacher at the front of the room. Mrs. Wayland’s face was carved from stone, her lips seemed almost puckered. Corey hated this; he hated being the center of attention. He could feel eyes all over him, invading him. He just wanted to drop his head down on the desk and fade away.

  Then he heard a tiny voice from the back of the room. “I will.” Rachel proffered happily as she looked around at the silent crowd. She also hated being center stage.

  “Good then, Rachel. I know you’ll teach him well,” Mrs. Wayland said as she turned back toward her desk, grabbing her book. Corey and Rachel shared a discreet grin. She looked over to her boyfriend sitting beside her. His eyes seemed ready to fall from their sockets. She just smiled one of those girlish smiles, and class began.

  When noon finally rolled around, Corey and Rachel walked through the doors into the large cafeteria. Corey glanced around; this was nothing like the Cafeteria of his previous high school. Everyone here sat at long wooden tables. The floor was carpeted. Music played quietly from the speakers hung high on the back wall. Corey listened to the tune, he knew that song... “Duke of Earl,” a Golden Oldie. This entire setting struck him as curious. Preppy kids... carpeted cafeteria, music. Where were the punks standing on chairs, throwing empty milk cartons? Where were the howls of laughter? Back home, their cafeteria was always overly crowded, always segregated. The trouble makers at one table, the rich kids at another. The Special Education kids always sat in the back, and they never had music. It wouldn’t have been quiet enough to hear it. The Twilight Zone theme raced through his brain. He had the insatiable notion to hum it aloud, but refrained. He knew this scenario... It was like the Stepford Children. Scary.

  Corey followed Rachel to the line of students waiting for their lunch. They stood in a meticulous line. Rachel turned to Corey and whispered. “How do you like it so far?” She bubbled quietly. Corey was taken by surprise. He had stuck by her side all day, and she had barely spoken three words to him, “I.. uh, It’s very nice,” he replied in a cautious manner, not wanting to speak to loudly, but feeling foolish for whispering.

  “So, why did you come here so close to graduation. I mean, don’t you miss your friends, all the people you grew up with?” Rachel asked, taking a tray from the table in front of the buffet. “Yeah, I do... I wanted to graduate back in San Francisco, but our house sold quicker than we thought it would, so we had to leave. I begged and pleaded for my Dad to rent a hotel or something, but in San Francisco we don’t graduate for another two weeks. He just though it best to settle in here as soon as possible. He said school would give me a opportunity to make friends fast. So... here I am.” Corey took his own tray, and Rachel began loading it. A plate of spaghetti drenched in thick, red tomato sauce with visible chunks of meat. A slice of hot fudge cake. A tiny bowl of sliced peaches. A miniature carton of milk, and a covered container of orange juice. Corey stared at his tray in shock. He used to eagerly anticipate pizza days at his school.

  After collecting all of their food, Rachel turned to the crowd of students. She stood on her toes, trying to see over the heads of the people in front of her. Corey stood behind her. “What are you doing?” He asked grinning.

  Rachel bobbed her head around, “I’m looking for my table, usually Lori, Megan and Sabrina are here already. They must be late again.” She sighed before explaining, “They have Mr. Zura for science, he always keeps them late.”

  They cut their way through the crowd, sliding between tables, and maneuvering their trays, as not to knock some feasting kid in the back of the head. They sat down opposite each other. As Corey surveyed the room, he noticed a few people staring at him, whispering to their neighbor, calling their attention to him as if he were a sideshow, or had some hideous deformity. Sure, he knew he was different, he knew he didn’t look like any of them. He stuck out like a sore thumb in this place, just like he thought he would. Or, he could have a huge friend hanging out of his nose, just to be sure, he discreetly ran his finger under his nostrils.

  Rachel turned, glancing in the direction Corey was, then she nonchalantly turned back to him. “It’s rare when a new student comes here. Once they know you, they won’t stare.” She informed as she wound her spaghetti onto her fork.

  “Oh,” was all he could say. He glanced down at the feast before him. He couldn’t eat all of this. “So what did you do in California... What were your hobbies? Did you play tennis, basketball?” Rachel probed.

  Corey cleared his throat, “I was president of the Gay and Lesbian student alliance,” he said, lifting his knife
from the neatly folded napkin. It was so clean.

  He hadn’t noticed that Rachel stopped breathing. As her fork came to her pink lips, it jolted. She looked him directly in the eye. Her mind went blank. She froze. “Oh,” was all she could say. She put her fork back down and wiped her mouth, though she hadn’t taken a bite yet. The fog began lifting from her head, “So you... support that issue? Or....” she was like a like a child who had wandered to the deep end of the swimming pool. He couldn’t be telling her that he was gay! There were no gay people in Sadie. She wouldn’t insult him by presuming.

  She watched the corners of Corey’s mouth turn upward. “It’s not really an issue, it was a club we organized events to benefit charities in the bay area. I mean, issues are political things right? Starvation, natural disasters, the National deficit, illiteracy, those are issues. I don’t consider homosexuality an issue unless it’s used to discriminate, like if someone is fired from a job, or refused medical treatment specifically for that reason, then it becomes an issue.” Corey knew what he was talking about.

  Rachel glanced around to make sure no one could hear what she was about to say, she leaned forward and whispered to him, “There are a lot of gay people in San Francisco, aren’t there? I mean, those people are just like a way of life there, people have gotten used to them being... you know... around,” she spoke cautiously, still unsure of the direction of their conversation.

  Corey stared at her uneasily. Rachel remained half hung over the table. “Well, it’s illegal to shoot them. They still haven’t come up with an exterminator big enough to smoke them out,” he smirked sarcastically. Then, he leaned forward, meeting her halfway. They are eye to eye now. “You know Rachel... I have it,” he informed seriously.

  Rachel’s forehead wrinkled, “You do?” She asked, her eyes growing with dread. She stared at him intensely, numb. “W-What do you have?” She stammered.

  “Faggotitis. I’m one of them,” He teased with a grim face.

  Rachel’s expression was increasingly pained. She didn’t move, she didn’t blink. Her bottom lip hung a little. She didn’t get it.

  “I’m gay, and I’m not a pest people have to just contend with. It’s not a way of life, like an occupation. It’s a life, just like yours. I’m just like you, I’m a human being. Not an issue,” he informed kindly, holding back laughter out of respect to her simplistic upbringing.

  Rachel was still disbelieving, “No, seriously...”

  Corey tossed his head back with amusement, “I am serious. Don’t you know any gay people?” Rachel slowly sat back, her face flushing awkwardly. “I’m so sorry.”

  Corey wasn’t sure if she was apologizing for her uninformed candor, or the fact he was gay. He didn’t ask.

  Suddenly three girls appeared at the table. Lori, Megan and Sabrina were all pretty as a picture. They were just like you’d imagine the result of human cloning to be, from the designer clothes and manicured fingernails, to their collective giggles and the fact that they were unaware of anyone else in the room. Sabrina sat next to Corey. She was mid conversation with the other two girls. Corey listened as they gossiped about Billy London’s cute rear end, and how his girlfriend, Clair, didn’t wear a bra to school today. They looked at Rachel and greeted her warmly. Lori kissed her on the cheek. You know the kiss, that’s not really a kiss; you just hold your cheeks together and smack your lips. It must’ve been an exclusive thing.

  “Mr. Zura wouldn’t let us go until we finished our quiz. I was like, ready to puke, all I had for breakfast were two little toaster tarts. I’m famished!” Lori exclaimed as she straightened her skirt around her legs.

  Megan slid her fudge cake toward Lori, “Get this thing away from me, I’ll blow up like a balloon in the labor day parade,” she blurted.

  “You don’t need to diet Meg, I’d give anything for your figure,” Sabrina complimented.

  This audible hell went on for a while. Corey was sure he was listening, but all he heard was “Blah blah blah, blah blah.” Along with occasional eruptions of squealing laughter. They didn’t acknowledge that he was just inches away.

  “I started the rag yesterday, I can get out of phys ed if I tell Mr. Buchi that I have premenstrual cramps, he never knows what to say,” Lori offered all to willingly.

  Corey looked down at the sauce covered pasta and lost his appetite.

  Sabrina reached behind her head, itching her neck furiously. “This is driving me crazy; this tag keeps tickling the back of my neck!” She complained. The other girls looked at her with compassionate stares.

  “The last time I got a new sweater, I had to tape down the label, my neck was raw for three days,” Megan shared generously.

  “Turn around, let me push it in, it’s when they stick up that they poke you. If you iron it, it should stay down,” Lori said as she stood up.

  Sabrina turned and the others watched closely as she stuck her hand under Sabrina’s hair.

  Corey looked at them confused, “Why don’t you just cut it off?” He asked plainly.

  Everyone stopped, their faces turning toward him as if he had just challenged their intelligence, infiltrated their barriers. “Who are you?” Megan snapped blankly.

  Rachel interjected nervously, “That’s Corey Evans, He’s new. He just moved here from California.” She answered skittishly.

  Sabrina glanced at him appalled, “This is a Richard Tyler jacket. You don’t JUST cut up a Richard Tyler jacket,” She corrected.

  “Why would you wear something that irritates you? I mean, designer clothes are great, but they’re so overrated. Wouldn’t you rather be comfortable?” Corey inquired, regretting he ever opened his mouth. It was obvious the remark was out of bounds. For a moment no one spoke. Then Sabrina swung around, facing him directly, “Don’t they wear designer clothes in California?” Lori and Megan chuckled under their breath.

  “Yeah, the models and the actors do. But the real people, the ones that count dress casual, but sophisticated. Who wants to dress up like a doll, in painful high heels, clothes that are impossible to move in, and waste money that could be spent on a weekend out rather than something you’ll wear only once or twice, because by the next season it will be completely out of style, and you’ll look silly,” he retorted in a gentle, pleasant voice. No one knew what to say.

  The girls sat there like startled guppies. “W-what do you like to wear?” Megan invited carefully. Everyone waited for him to answer.

  “Well, I wear a lot of white. I love jeans. Not the baggy kind, just comfortable. I’m thin, like you guys, so I like to wear clothes that are a little more form fitting. Black is also a good color, it’s always stylish, and screams class, plus it goes with anything. I have jackets and vests that go with about everything in my wardrobe. I mix and match and look decent no matter what. Some people over do it, they wear baggy clothes and layer them, one on top of the other, and end up looking more like a vagrant, and less like someone who is fashion oriented.” With that Corey began to stand up. He looked at Rachel and grinned, “I’ll wait for you in the hall,” he added. They watched him walk away.

  Corey started toward the garbage can. This was so asinine. He didn’t belong here. These kids were all in their own private, isolated world. Here he was, a smart, well informed individual imposing on their domain like an unwelcome visitor. These people were happy with the way things were, they had a certain solace in their ignorance. They liked being unaware. They would panic if they knew what was really out there in the world. There are so many things that would burst their little bubbles of security. Like Mormons? What would they think of a Mormon, or a colored person? Corey hadn’t seen one person of any ethnicity since he had been in Sadie. That Lori girl would have hyperventilated, had he told her that the Gucci blouse she wore was designed by a gay man. He should have asked them what they thought about the attempts organizations were making to legalize marijuana, or told them about how their favorite perfumes had
come from the secretion of whale blubber. He was cruel. Who was he to bring down their walls. If they were happy he would respect it and try not to upset their maladjusted ideals. Without warning, a student slammed into him, knocking him forcefully to the ground. His tray flew into the air, crashing down in front of him. He heard the sound of cackles as he pushed himself up onto his elbow. He wanted to die. Why did these things have to happen to him? A handsome young man knelt down in front of him. “Are you all right?” Thomas Bradford asked sympathetically. Corey looked up into his deep grey eyes. He had a chiseled face, an earring in his left ear, and short brown hair.

  “I’m fine, I’m such a klutz!” Corey declared, picking up his silverware from the floor.

  Thomas began to help him, “It was my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was walking. Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he inquired in a meaningful voice.

  “I’m okay,” Corey reassured as he stood up. He took the plates from Thomas’ strong hand, “Thank you,” he added, still blushing. Of course, if someone were to knock him down in front of everyone on his first day of school, it would have to be a hunk.

  “I’m Thomas,” He said shyly.

  “Corey Evans. It’s my first day. I’m off to a great start, huh?” Corey joked, trying to make light of the circumstance. It didn’t work, he was a dork, and he was sure everyone knew by now.

  “You moved into the old Caudwell house. I live on Harrington too.” Thomas stammered.

  Corey glanced at the drawing book in Thomas’s hand. He noticed that he had trouble making eye contact with him, as if he were almost afraid. “You’re an artist,” Corey noted, trying to ease his discomfort.

  Thomas nodded indirectly, “Not a good one,” he admitted. There was a silence, and then Thomas cleared his throat, “Sorry I knocked you over.” He turned and walked back to his table, where he resumed his drawing.

  Corey forced an exasperated smile, “Nice meeting you,” he said, though Thomas was gone. He sighed heavily, looking toward the exit, and spun to leave. He was distracted by a sudden loud explosion of laughter. Looking to see what motivated the ruckus he eyed a girl sitting alone in the darkest corner of the room. Her face appeared pale and drawn. He watched as a group of boys at the table behind her threw wadded up pieces of spit drenched napkin at her, and then cheered as though they had accomplished something notable.

  Corey walked through the crowd stopping directly opposite her, pulled out the chair and sat down. “Mind if I join you?” He requested in a soft, comforting tone. The girl raised her head and looked at him, then lowered in back down to her lap. “I’m Corey. I’m new here, so I don’t know that many people yet. One thing I hate about moving is having to make new friends, that’s one of the hardest things.” He waited for her to reply, to give him any sign that he wasn’t making an utter fool of himself. He shifted uncomfortable, glared at the group of boys behind her preparing another spitwad.

  “What’s your name?”

  The girl didn’t raise her head this time. When she spoke, her voice was nearly inaudible, “Angie Feldon,” she replied brokenly.

  Corey studied the girl. She wore a large black sweater, her hair was a bit greasy, and she appeared heavier than she really was, swaddled under several layers of clothes, as though she were hiding herself beneath them. She was attractive, her emerald eyes shining brightly from beneath her black bangs. It was like she just lost herself, lost her purpose.

  Corey extended his hand across the table as another spit wad flew their direction. Angie hesitated for a few seconds, dropped her fork on her plate, exhaled swiftly, practically agitated with him, and shook his hand once sharply.

  He was proud of himself. “So... is black your favorite color?” He questioned eagerly.

  She shot him a curious look from below her brow, her upper lip curling just slightly. In an instant it occurred to her that this blatant display of kindness had to be a practical joke, one she was entirely too familiar with. The only difference here was her assailant didn’t typically act like some hybrid of a Hallmark Card and Martha Stewart prior to the punch line. Or, was he really just this satire of himself? This skinny, flimsy boy who looked like he hadn’t saw the sun since birth. She didn’t answer, and she wasn’t surprised when he didn’t seem to care.

  “Mine too. I only wear black when I’m depressed though,” he said. “Which is actually quite often, I’m naturally depressed, I’m a writer, I’m supposed to be that way. They say creative people are very moody, and I hold to that theory,” he babbled, and in the silent moments in between, defied the awkwardness of it. “Ever play with water balloons?”

  Angie relented; she cracked a grin and peered out the window from the corner of her eye. Fine, she was amused, she would allow that much. She listened as he continued.

  “I was the water balloon launching champion of my ninth grade class. I could hit a bull’s-eye from forty feet away.” He placed his elbows on the table and moved in toward her, his voice lowering to a quiet growl. “Are you going to eat that?” He gestured to her bowl of mashed potatoes.

  She shook her head in relative disbelief, “Go for it,” and she edged it toward him slightly.

  “I’m really not into sports,” He offered as he reached for her napkin and began to crumple it between his hands into a perfect ball. “In fact, I find them barbaric.” He blew air through his mouth innocently, “So, had to compensate in other ways. That’s what life is about, right? Trying to find what you can do, instead of trying to do what others believe you should. Hold out your spoon.”

  The direction caught her by surprise; she narrowed her eyes curiously, and then complied, for no other reason than to humor him.

  He took her hand into his own, positioning it accordingly so it remained horizontal.

  Angie shifted uncomfortable. “What are you doing?” Her mouth dropped as he dipped the napkin into the bowl of mash potatoes, moving it from side to side until it was saturated. “Oh my god, what are you doing?” She asked again, noticeably alarmed.

  “I’m out of practice,” he said quite casually as he placed the white blob onto her spoon.

  “What are you going to do with that? I know what you’re going to do with that. You’re going to blast it into my face aren’t you.” Somehow, despite her suspicions, she couldn’t bring herself to put down the spoon, although she knew it would be for the better. Her eyes shot around the room.

  “Nope.” He chirped. “Hold it now.” he winked at her, as he assessed the spoon, carefully maneuvered himself, and then quickly depressed the tip and released.

  The golf ball of sludge soared into the air as Angie immediately dropped the spoon onto the table, whipping around to see it collide with the face of her spit ball offender who then leapt from his seat in sheer disgust. A smile grew on her face; she let out a shocked guffaw, and turned to see Corey rising.

  “Friends?” He asked.

  Speechless, she nodded.

 

  Gabe walked through front doors of the school’s main entrance. Students, anxious to get home, raced past him. He looked through the crowds for Rachel, but she was nowhere to be seen. He stepped down the walkway and came to a hard stop. There he was.

  Corey sat on the edge of the spouting water fountain; his leg was propped up on the short marble wall. The thin wall of mist that had risen behind him caught the sun and cast a soft rainbow backdrop, with colors so vivid it appeared more like a watercolor painting than anything the eye could manifest alone. Gabe thought more guys should be like that; A little more docile, possibly more delicate. Move with grace and elegance. Exude that rare exotic appeal that Gabe had never seen before. Corey stood up, collected his books in his arms and walked away.

  Suddenly Rachel jumped into his face. “Oh my God, Gabe you will not believe the day I had!” She bellowed excitedly.

  Gabe kissed her on top of the head, “I can’t believe you volunteered to show that new kid around,” he stated.


  They began walking toward the shade of the giant oak. “That’s just it, He’s so sweet, and he’s smart and, this is the wildest part, Gabe. He’s gay- A real gay person,” she blurted, grabbing his hands.

  “What?”

  Rachel was smiling. She was thrilled, “He told me he was gay. He joked about it at first, but he is. I never met a gay person before, and he seemed completely normal. It didn’t even hit me. I should’ve guessed though, I mean the long hair, and as pretty as he is, he obviously cares about his appearance. I think he wears a little make-up, and his nails are long, but I think that’s just to accent his eyes. The girls met him, and he gave us great fashion tips. He’s not at all like the people you see on Jerry Springer. He’s really interesting, you’d love him.”

  Gabe stopped her, “He told you he was gay, and now you want to be his best friend. I could’ve told you he was gay. He’s really very feminine Rachel. It’s obvious. Common sense.”

  “So, I don’t care. He’s really down to Earth. You shouldn’t be so narrow minded and meet him,” she challenged.

  “That’s great, I’m glad you like him.” They stopped in the shadows. “Tell me something, does he have like a really deep, scratchy voice?” Gabe inquired, not appearing too obvious.

  Rachel pushed out her bottom lip thoughtfully, “No, he has a soft voice. Why?” She questioned. “I just wondered.” He replied, offering nothing else.

  Rachel too his hand and held it against her stomach. “We better get to practice. I was thinking about telling the girls about him, but I don’t know if I should, what do you think?”

  “Why don’t you let him tell people. It might not be something he wants everyone in school to know,” Gabe said sharply.

  “I thought about that, but I don’t think he’s still in the coffin.”

  “You mean in the closet, Rachel.”

  “Whatever.”

  Corey moved quietly, the warmth of the summer air pressing against his back made him feel like he was floating. He held his schoolbooks against his chest. It was hot that afternoon, but he didn’t mind. He pushed up his wire framed sunglasses, the only thing shielding his eye’s from the booming midday sun and glanced around the quiet suburb where he now lived. From where he stood, he could hear the chimes of the church bells announcing the Four o’clock hour. Children played in their yards. A young couple passed him, walking arm in arm, and they smiled as they passed extending a friendly hello. Sadie was so beautiful. A place that seemed preserved in time. Protected from the wild elements of the new age.

  He turned off of Fremont Street onto Harrington and into the cool shade of the lush pine trees that lined both sides. This was like another world. One he never dreamed he’d be part of. He missed San Francisco. He missed his friends. He missed going out on the weekends to the popular hang-outs. But most of all, Corey missed his identity. Everyone back at his old school knew who he was. They knew what he was, and they admired him. There, he wasn’t considered odd, he was just like everyone else. He was accepted by his peers, and respected by his elders. It seemed he had it all back home. There was nothing he longed for there. Well, that wasn’t true. After he thought about it for a moment, he did have a strong longing, one that dwelt deep within his heart. He wanted to be loved. Of course his Father loved him, and Corey would give his life for his beloved Dad. But, there was another love, one foreign to him, one he never felt before. He thought he had it once, but it wasn’t the real thing.

  It was December in the Bay Area and Mr. Evans law firm had just added a new chairman. During a Christmas party on one of the vacant floors in a glass building down on Market Street, Corey’s Father introduced him to the new partner, Mr. Darren Conrad, and his son, Jason. Still, when that name drifted to the surface of his mind, his heart fluttered. Jason Conrad. Smart, sexy, and troubled. Corey was fifteen, Jason had just turned sixteen. They talked all night, mostly because they were the only kids there. But as Corey listened to Jason, heard him talk about all the fights he had been in, and going to juvenile hall over thanksgiving, Corey found himself drawn to him. They were complete opposites. Corey was often shy and reserved, yet impressed everyone with his maturity. Jason said “Fuck” a lot, smoked cigarettes, had a criminal record, and remained very outspoken. Nevertheless, when he spoke, it was in a raspy, unintentionally seductive voice, and he was extremely intelligent. He knew he had a lot of “Shit,” to deal with, as he would say. He had problems. Often he felt it was him against the rest of the world, and if he was going to go out, he would go out fighting.

  “Fighting what?” Corey once asked him.

  Jason took a heavy drag from his cigarette and then flicked the remains into the air. He always wore a T-shirt covered by a worn out, often torn, unbuttoned flannel shirt. His jeans were dirty from working on the 69’ mustang his Dad had bought him to rebuild. “I’m fighting hypocrisy. Controlling governments that sits back and watches the country suffer while they lie, cheat, stab each other in the backs and fuck with our heads. All so they can stay ahead in the political rat race. They don’t give a shit about us. Why would they? They’re sitting up on Capitol Hill in pressed suits, working for their own issues. That’s a business where your best friend will throw you off a cliff and laugh while you die, because he’s next in line for your seat in congress. It’s disgusting. I’m fighting a lot of things, Corey. Things that might not matter to the next guy, but it matters to me. The day you give up what you believe in, is the day you suffer a moral death. That’s what matters, holding onto that one belief that means something.”

  Corey remembered that conversation word for word. After that night, they spent more time together, getting to know each other, sharing stories and secrets about their lives. It was well known that Jason was not gay. He had girlfriends in the past, but he wasn’t seeing anyone just then. Months would pass; they would see each other every day. They went to Golden Gate Park where Jason tried to teach Corey to skateboard. Corey took him to the theater to see a “Showboat,” And soon, Corey had fallen in love with him, so much so, that a moment without his voice, a day without the precious sight of his face made him desperate, and he believed Jason had felt the same way. Their burgeoning emotions were undeniable; culminating that day on the beach, when they wrestled in the sand, then came a fraction of an inch from kissing. They both froze and stared at one another, but it went no further. After that they talked on the telephone every night. Corey gave him a necklace for his birthday, a golden Lion’s head with a shimmering diamond in the mouth. Jason wore it all the time. Later, as Corey got used to the idea that he and Jason would be nothing more than friends, believing that was all Jason wanted, he started dating. Early one evening Jason came over. He must’ve been watching them through the living room window. Corey and his then boyfriend were sitting close to each other watching a scary movie. There was a knock on the door, and when Corey opened it, there was no one there, but the necklace hung around the doorknob and Jason never spoke to him again.

  That was the closest to love he had ever been, and he lost it. He often went back to that time, during quiet moments alone, or in his dreams, and he kissed Jason that day on the beach. Maybe that would have solidified things. Maybe then things could’ve been different. It took him a long time to get over Jason, and since then, he has not had any type of worthwhile relationship. He was still a virgin, and would be until he found the right one. The one who would respect who he was, and what he had to offer. Only then would he consider becoming sexually active.

  Sex. What a crazy thing. The very notion of it terrified him. Letting someone see you naked, then touch you places that were normally secret. He would be mortified, because he was extremely modest by nature. He was sure that if he ever did have the guts to actually engage in the act, he would probably have to keep running to the bathroom, puking from nerves. Maybe he would just be a virgin forever. They say celibacy was the safest sex. He wouldn’t have to worry about his body, or impressing someo
ne. What guy would want him anyway? Here he was, one hundred and ten pounds, long hair, and an unformed face. Gay men want young body builders, with necks thicker than their arms. Corey would never be that. He was a little feminine, and he couldn’t cut his hair short because he felt it made him look like a butch dyke. He didn’t want to be a woman, and he hated that he wasn’t more masculine, more defined, more handsome than pretty. Bottom line, what gay man wants a boyfriend who is “pretty?” But this was who he was, he was an individual, and a good person, and if that wasn’t enough, then that was simply too bad. Corey walked up his sidewalk to his front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his next door neighbor watching him from beyond her kitchen curtains. She was trying to be cautious, so Corey wouldn’t notice, but with the entire side of her face pressed against the glass from around the beige panel it was hard not to. He turned around, glanced across the street toward the house sitting diagonal from his own. A small, middle aged woman sat on her front porch swing, holding a cordless telephone to her ear. She watched him as if she believed he was going to commit a crime. He turned the opposite direction, several houses down was a woman was eyeing him through her upstairs window. When Corey looked at her, she let her blinds fall closed. Finally, he disregarded the scrutinizing eyes, and walked into his house. He stopped in the lavish foyer, placing his books on the desk beside the old grandfather clock, and stepped across the hardwood floor into the living room. His father sat reading the Sadie Bugle in his overstuffed, maroon recliner. Corey came up behind him and gave him a quick peck on the top of the head, then wrapped his arm around his dad’s shoulders, planting himself on the arm of his chair.

  His father looked up at him smiling, “How was your first day of school?” He inquired excitedly, wanting every detail. Corey and his Father didn’t have the relationship most Father’s had with their son’s. They were closer. Timothy Evans knew his son was gay, and he accepted it. He was often overprotective of him, especially when it came to dating, or anything to do with boys who might want to either hurt his son, or take advantage of him. Mr. Evans was often strict, but never suffocating. He knew his son had a good head on his shoulders, and he was proud of him. Timothy himself was a handsome Forty year old man. He had a nicely trimmed mustache, and his eyes were dark brown, like Corey’s. His hair was black, with barely a trace of grey, just enough to appear even more distinguished. He had a look of nobility to him. Always the professional. Even on this day, he was still in his white shirt and tie.

  “School was okay. It’s strange though, the difference in cultures. They play music at lunchtime. I mean, I expected a drastic change, but this is ridiculous,” Corey stated dramatically as he got off of the arm of the chair and walked over to the huge bay window.

  His Father put his newspaper aside and kicked in the foot rest, “I never said this would be easy, Corey. We’re two thousand miles away from California. Thing change. People here are more conservative.”

  “They were all staring at me. The neighbors, I mean. They must think I’m some sort of freak,” Corey concluded.

  “They stare at me too. Just give it some time, It’ll get better, they’re just curious, that’s all. I’m sure they mean no harm.”

  Corey stepped away from the window, he looked at his dad, tears welling in his eyes, they shined. “I wish Mom was here.”

  His Father took a deep breath and stood up from his recliner. He walked over, stopping in front of his Son. He took his face into his powerful hands and forced his eyes upward. “I wish she was too, but we can’t bring her back. She’d want us to live a good life.” Mr. Evan’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

  A tear ran down Corey’s cheek, pooling under his chin as he turned back toward the window. Harrington street sprawled open before him like an unfamiliar planet, and he was afraid, like a child far away from home, he wondered what waited for him out there.

  three

  The Calling