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 parent's 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 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.
My
Anaslis;
Five
days ago my parents gave me access to an
account - funds for college and university,
and cash to live on while studying. I checked
and there was just over $250 grand in there.
I withdrew the lot without telling them. They
told me to spend it wisely, because it was
the last money they would ever give me. I
plan on it.
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.
