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Alyx Jae Shaw |
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October Rain Ratings: PG |
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It was raining. Somehow that seemed so stereotypical. Like starting a suspense novel beginning with “It was a dark and stormy night.” It just seemed like such an obvious way for the weather to be when one was sitting by a new grave in the cemetery. The Skinny Goth Kid sat on the wet grass, feeling it soak into his black jeans, saturating his long black coat. He shivered, and thought that was strange. People were supposed to be anesthetized during times like this, heedless to all else. But he was all too aware of the cold, and the wet; the way the rain slid into his face, smearing his black eyeliner and making his clove cigarette go out. He placed the filter between his black-painted lips and relit it with a Zippo lighter, then once more glanced up at the sky, slowly exhaling the fragrant smoke. “God’s a conformist,” he grumbled. A fat drop of water hit him in the eye. “And he hates kids,” he muttered to himself. He dried his eye and wished Ryan was there. He would be laughing. They had met only eighteen months ago: February fourteenth of all days. Ryan was on his way to school. He was seventeen going on eighteen, with blond hair and blue eyes, broad shoulders, wearing a Vancouver Canucks jacket. Not just any Canucks jacket, either – a limited edition leather jacket, soft golden tan in colour, with the team logo embossed on the back. He looked like a Nice Boy – the kind of Nice Boy that you see on TV, helping his little sister with her math homework and his dad with the car, but never Mom with the housework because that was Gay. Skinny Goth Kid was lurking by the dumpster, clove cigarette in one hand, driven there by other Nice Boys, who were Normal and Not Gay. Skinny Goth Kid watched Nice Boy walk by, his green eyes cold and slightly fearful. He waited for Nice Boy to move out of sight, finishing his cigarette. He dropped it in a puddle. Funny how it been raining that day too; like foreshadowing or something. God wrote dull and predictable novels. Goth Kid stepped from behind the dumpster and began heading for the school also, musing how life did not show sympathy for the screw-ups and losers. In fact it saved the worst garbage for people who already had more than their share. But in four more months Grade 12 would be over and he could move on. He could officially leave Childhood Hell far behind. He stepped forward, and crashed chest-first into Nice Boy, who had doubled back to drop something into the garbage. Goth Kid felt his knee twist painfully, and he cried out, collapsing, hands clutching the Canucks jacket, his fingerless black gloves leaving faint traces of dye on that beautiful golden leather. He expected to be dropped to the ground and walked over, but instead he was half-carried to an upside-down trashcan and gently seated on it. Nice Boy asked; “Are you all right?” Skinny Goth Kid stared, blinking in surprise. He tried to think if anyone had ever asked him that before. He didn’t think anyone had. “My knee pops out,” he said quietly. “I broke it when I was a kid.” Nice Boy felt the knee, his expression one of concern. He seemed to know what to look for; perhaps he played sports. Didn’t all Nice Boys play sports? “How did you break it?” he asked. Goth Kid took out a clove cigarette and lit it. “I don’t remember,” he lied, not wanting to admit his father had done it with a hammer. “I was pretty young.” Nice Boy examined the knee. “Well… feels like it popped back in. Wanna try standing on it?” “Nah, I’ll give it a minute.” Nice Boy nodded and straightened up, looking a little uncomfortable. The bell rang, and he glanced towards the school half a block away, but he didn’t depart. He just stood. There was a silence. “Are those good?” Nice Boy suddenly asked. “The… clove things.” Goth Kid smiled, very faintly. “Well I like them, but taste is subjective.” He offered it to Nice Boy… who just might actually be a nice boy. He took it and had a drag, then made a face. “Whoa. Gross.” He gave it back. “I’m Ryan by the way.” So Nice Boy had a name. Wow. Skinny Goth Kid took a drag off his cigarette. “I’m Anaslis.” “Anaslis?” “It’s Irish. My grandmother named me. Her side of the family is Irish and she wanted to… I dunno… keep with the tradition.” Ryan smiled. “That’s cool. I’m named after my mom’s great uncle. It’s not as cool as Anaslis, but at least she didn’t name me after my great aunt.” “I dunno, could be cool. What’s her name?” “Geraldine.” “They could call you Gerry.” “Thanks, I think I’ll stick with Ryan. Um… I’ve never said this to a guy before, but you’ve got lipstick on your teeth.” “Ah crap.” Anaslis rubbed his finger over his teeth. “Did I get it?” Ryan laughed. “Yeah you did.” Anaslis slowly stood up, trying his knee. It seemed okay, but then it went out once more with another agonizing shot of pain. Ryan caught him before he hit the ground, gently lifting him. “It’s cool,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.” ***---*** So that was it. They were friends. They were the most mismatched pair of friends in the school. Ryan was popular and handsome and athletic, with parents who could afford to give him and his sister anything they needed, and most of what they wanted. Anaslis was skinny and unpopular, and would rather be killed by rabid dogs than do anything that even looked like sports. Despite that, there was an underlying connection between them. Anaslis was not certain what it could be at first; he had no idea what he could possibly have in common with a kid like Ryan. Anaslis’ parents were dirt poor, and wouldn’t throw him a line if he fell off a ship. His mother was vicious in a malicious, conniving way, and his father was just abusive. Anaslis had boarded up his bedroom door from the inside, and chose to get in and out through the ground floor window to avoid them. “How do you eat?” Ryan asked as the unlikely pair walked to his place after school. “I found this little bar fridge and cleaned it up, brought it home, plugged it in. I keep stuff in there.” “How do you pay for food? For that matter where do you get money for clothes and make-up and cigarettes and all the other stuff?” Anaslis was silent. Finally he admitted; “I… know a few men who like skinny Goth kids.” Ryan was clearly horrified. He grabbed Anaslis by the forearms and spun him around, staring into his eyes. At first Anaslis thought Ryan was going to beat him into the ground for being a fag, but as Anaslis looked into those angry blue eyes, he realized that wasn’t this issue. “You’re not doing that anymore,” said Ryan. “You’re with me now.” “With you? What do you mean I’m with you?” “I mean you’re my friend. Not a whore.” He slowly released Anaslis, as if suddenly remembering they were on a sidewalk in full view of the neighbours. “You’re my friend. If you need money to eat, I’ll give it to you.” Anaslis nodded, a little shocked. “Yeah, sure. I’ll pay you back.” “No, you won’t. And I’ll dust you for prints if ever you do.” Anaslis smiled. “That costs extra.” Ryan stared blankly, as if at first he didn’t understand. Then Nice Boy blushed red to the ears. “Oh piss off, jerkwad,” he muttered. They kept walking. They reached Ryan’s house in only a few minutes. Nice house, nice yard, nice fence… it was all so damn nice. Anaslis wanted to puke. He hated nice. It was like a scab over an infected wound. Pick at the corner just a bit, and the pus began to ooze. Anaslis walked into the nice house with Ryan. Everything was so clean and neat and new and proper. He distrusted it almost instinctively. Anaslis paused, suddenly feeling wary; wondering if this wasn’t all just some sort of trap. He’d met this guy today and now he was in his house? Ryan was a jock for crying out loud – the natural enemy of the Goth. He’d seen him with the same Barbie and Ken dolls that daily chased him into the area near the dumpsters. Maybe he should just get the hell out of there. Anaslis jumped when Ryan touched his back. “You okay? You look a little freaked.” Anaslis stared at him, green eyes lined in heavy black. “Fine,” he finally said. Ryan seemed to guess what he was thinking. “I’m not like those jerks. I play the game but… I have to.” They kept up the stairs to Ryan’s room. It was a nice room. Nice bed, nice furniture, nice sports posters. Anaslis spied a picture of a blond girl in a cheerleading outfit on a nightstand. “Your girlfriend?” he asked. “Yeah.” Ryan stepped closer, reaching out to take hold of a silver pentagram on a long, delicate chain around Anaslis’ neck. “So… you’re a Wiccan?”
Anaslis was surprised and impressed. “Yeah. Most people think that means I’m a Satanist.” Ryan smiled. He released the pentagram and picked up a crystal. “And this is for protection, right?” “Yeah.” Ryan stepped a little closer, his fingers lightly brushing against Anaslis’ black t-shirt. He pretended it was accidental at first, but when Anaslis did not protest, he slipped his hand beneath the long black coat and began gently running his hand over his painfully thin ribs, counting each one. “I don’t want you hustling anymore.” He lightly rubbed a thumb over a nipple, noticing it was pierced. “I gotta eat,” said Anaslis. “I’ll give you money.” “Won’t your parents notice?” Ryan shook his head, his hand slowly exploring Anaslis’ chest and ribs. “Nah. I have a part-time job. I can spend it however I want.” “Won’t your girlfriend mind?” “She might. If I tell her.” Ryan looked into Anaslis’ eyes. “You’re kinda lucky that your parents don’t give a shit what you do. I have to be perfect all the time. I have to have the perfect hair, the perfect clothes, the perfect friends, and the perfect girl. I have to get perfect grades, choose the perfect career, and breed perfect grandchildren, after I marry the perfect girl. My entire life is planned out in advance, and I have no say about it. My life has to be an extension of my parents' fairy tale.” “It doesn’t have to be.” Ryan shook his head. “Some things aren’t worth fighting,” he whispered. “When your dad is a lawyer and your mom is a shrink, you learn young that it’s easier just to do it their way. Because they can do things to you. Put you on meds, lock you up…” Anaslis was horrified. “They put you on meds and locked you up? For what?” Ryan smiled, without humour. “Being a troubled youth. That’s code for wanting to make up my own mind and find out who I wanted to be. Now when I balk at what they have planned, they start sighing and discussing whether I’m relapsing, usually while I’m right there to hear it. That’s code for if I don’t do what they want, they can put me back there. I’m not going back.” The hand was under Anaslis’ t-shirt now, caressing the white skin. The hand found a nipple and toyed with it gently, experimentally, then tugged up the hem of the black t-shirt to expose the skinny, sinewy white body. He lowered his head and closed his lips over the nipple, sucking it. Anaslis closed his eyes. “And what if they caught you with me?” he asked. Ryan did not answer right away, simply continuing to lick and tease the nipple. Then he said; “Honestly? I think they’d kill me.” ***---*** Anaslis sat in the rain and stared at the head stone, thinking about that first day with Ryan. They had ended up on the bed, fumbling in a clumsy teenaged way, touching, stroking, kissing. Anaslis had experience with sex, but making love was new to him, and it was nice to be there willingly for a change. Ryan was a virgin, at least with other boys, but made up for it with boundless enthusiasm, lying on top of Anaslis, hot and sweaty, thrusting and rubbing with his pants on because Anaslis didn’t have a condom and refused to risk passing on any diseases his clients may have given him. It was nice – really nice instead of fake plastic nice. It had been good. It had been the first time Anaslis didn’t feel dirty afterwards. Anaslis recalled how they had been lying together in Ryan’s bed when there was a knock at the door. Ryan kissed him, and when he spoke, his tone was apologetic. “My girlfriend. I had invited her over last night. I didn’t know I would have found something better to do this afternoon.” “Better let her in,” said Anaslis. “I’ll creep out a window.” Ryan shook his head. “No someone will see and report you. Just come down stairs when you’re ready.” Ryan got out of bed and began quickly dressing. “Bathroom is right there if you need it to… you know… fix your make-up or something.” “Speaking of make-up, you have my lipstick all over your face.” Ryan glanced in the mirror. He rubbed at the smudges on his face with his fingertips, then darted out of the room. Anaslis got up and dressed, then freshened his make-up, reapplying the black, anise-flavored lipstick, the white base to make him look pale and unearthly, then the dark eyeliner. He pulled on his fingerless gloves and long black coat, then left the room, heading downstairs. Ryan was standing with the girl from the photo, as well as three Nice Boys, all of whom at one time or another taken swings at him. Anaslis tried to pretend he wasn’t afraid as the girl turned her head and spied him. She curled her lip, looking him up and down. “Eyew. Who’s the vampire?” she sneered. “Did he break in or something?” The trio of Nice Boys turned to look at him as well. Anaslis stared back at them, doing his best to look cool and disdainful. Ryan interceded before anyone had a chance to say anything further. “Anaslis is my friend, so lay off him.” The three boys backed off slightly. They never became friendly with Anaslis, but after Ryan said Anaslis was his friend, they at least stopped chasing him. The girl just rolled her eyes. “Fine. Goth Fag is your friend. Just get him out of here before he gives us bugs or something.” Ryan gave her a cold look, and then looked at Anaslis. “Can you stay a while longer?” Anaslis said; “No, I have to be leaving before I catch Stupid Bitch disease.” The Nice Boys snorted with amusement. Clearly they weren’t crazy about this girl, either. Another point in his favour. Ryan walked Anaslis to the door. Once out of sight of the others, he kissed him and gave him forty dollars. “Get some food.” Anaslis took the money, looking down at it. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Are you sure about this?” Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Take it. Will I see you tomorrow?” Anaslis nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly. He stuffed the two twenty dollar bills into his pocket. “And… thanks.” “For what?” “For not… spending the afternoon fooling around with me on your bed and then introducing me to your girlfriend as ‘just some guy’.” Ryan touched his face, saying nothing, uncertain of what he wanted to say. Anaslis kissed him once more, then quietly left. ***---*** They were together every day after that. Sometimes they went to Anaslis’ house and groped and fumbled. Then, after a doctor declared him clean, the groping and fumbling became sex. Good sex at first, then bad sex, finally dropping off to no sex as Ryan began seeing his life for what it would be – a long narrow path to nowhere, with attempts to stray soundly and viciously thwarted. He became depressed, and their precious time together became hours of darkness as Ryan felt the noose close around his neck. Towards the end, they would just lie on Anaslis’ dirty sheets, naked, holding each other, saying little. “There has to be something we can do,” said Anaslis quietly one dark October night, his head on Ryan’s chest. Ryan shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t see it. They’re already talking about when I’m going to marry my girlfriend. I’m not even twenty yet! Jeez they make me sick! I want to dump her because she’s a whining little twit with all the brains of a sack of dog crap, and all I hear is ‘Oh but she’s so sweet and cute and you’d be crazy to dump her, we love her.’ Well why don’t they marry her? I don’t want to. I’m going to be twenty in March and I want to live my life.” Anaslis sat up and looked at him, his long black hair falling loose around his shoulders. “We could go away together.” “And do what? Live where? Anaslis, you don’t understand, if I announce that I’m moving they’ll take away any money I have and send me to a hospital. Mom will say I’m demonstrating irrational behaviour and delusional thinking, I’ll never see you again.” He gently drew Anaslis down against his chest, closing his eyes. “I couldn’t live with that, I can’t lose you.” Anaslis lay with his head on Ryan’s chest, feeling a sick lump in his stomach, and a crushing ache around his heart. “So what are you going to do with me after you get married? Pass me off as your live-in interior decorator?” Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, then rolled over, landing on top of Anaslis. He tried desperately for a few minutes to take him, then gave up, lying on Anaslis, holding him tightly. They said nothing more to each other. Then, when dawn came, Ryan dressed and left without a word. Then, four nights ago, Ryan came to his room in the middle of the night. He undressed and climbed into bed with him, reaching for Anaslis with a hunger he had not shown in weeks. They made love twice, passionately, lying entwined and embracing until the sky began to lighten. Then Ryan kissed him, and gave him an envelope. “Don’t open this until just before midnight on October the thirty-first, okay? Promise me.”
Anaslis looked at it, his black hair rumpled and spreading around his head like a dark aura. “What is it?” Ryan kissed him. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Sure. I promise.” Ryan touched his face, and gazed at him, as if this was the last time he would ever see him. “I love you. You’re all I do love.” Then he grabbed his Canucks jacket and was gone. Anaslis glanced up at the rain, then down at the watch on his skinny white wrist. He couldn’t see it, so he took out his Zippo and lit it. Three minutes to midnight. He put the lighter away briefly in order to draw out of his other pocket a black candle and the envelope. He lit the candle, thankful the rain wasn’t a torrent; the candle should stay lit just long enough to glance at what he had. He tore open the envelope and dumped the contents out, finding a letter.
Anaslis read the letter twice, then glanced up as the beams from car headlights swept across the grass. The vehicle stopped on the wide asphalt path near the grave, and as Anaslis rose to his feet, he heard the passenger side door open. Anaslis picked his battered green duffle bag off the grave and ran to the car, throwing the bag onto the back seat before getting into the front passenger side. He looked at the driver, his mascara running down his cheeks like black tears, his hair lank and wet. He was soaked and shivering, and accepted the towel he was offered gratefully. “So is running away to Toronto and changing your name considered spending wisely?” asked Anaslis. “Seems like a damn smart idea to me,” said Ryan. Anaslis smiled, and leaned forward to let Ryan taste his anise flavoured black lipstick. God wrote dull and predictable novels. But once in a while he added a happy ending. |
Disclaimer: All original fiction and the characters, places and situations with them are copyright Alyx Shaw, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent. The characters, places and situations described in these stories are fictional unless otherwise stated in the story headings. (C) 2008 Alyx Shaw |