Thanks to rexbrookdale for helping to edit this story.
All characters are at least 18 years old.
*****
Night has always suited me better. I've never understood morning people and their love of sunrises. No matter how many shades or curtains I have drawn, that blinding light slithers in to bite at my eyes. I fight it, roll over, bury my head between pillows, force myself to pretend I'm still dreaming. It never works. I resist, because waking means surrendering dreams to reality. Opening my eyes would mean seeing myself how time sees me: naked and frail.
Today, though, I was actually naked. And everything hit me all at once.
What had I done? I'm not gay.
What the fuck, Ryan? What the fuck! Get off Noah. Your friend, Noah. Yeah. He's your friend. Just your friend. You have to get out of here. Don't wake him.
Oh God. Why is it sticky? And what is that smell?
I didn't remember getting dressed but, fully clothed and walking full-speed, I found I had broken away and out the door of Willard Brown's Donald Hall for ... Boys. Good old Wilbur and its ancient beneficiaries; they had built the school grounds so that its boundary edged right up to a robust forest. I imagine they had done it to be closer to 'God's creation'. They'd even had the gall to christen the forest 'Eden'.
The thoughts kept coming and I had nowhere to put them. I couldn't sort them fast enough or delegate them to someone else.
Are you a fag?
Fuck you.
You liked it.
No I didn't.
Why'd you keep going, then?
Because it would have been weird to stop.
Hahaha that's such bullshit, and you know it.
Shut up! Noah had been ... upset about something.
Oh, well then naturally you should suck his cock like a fag.
It just sort of happened. I didn't force him.
Right. It was the devil! It wasn't your mouth polishing his hog. You know he's probably thinking about how fucked up you are. He's freaking out about how gay you are and how he never knew. He's probably re-thinking your entire friendship. Wondering how many times you have seen him naked ... how many perverted, fucked-up thoughts you have had about him ... how many times you have gotten off, fantasizing about his body! What if he tells Pete? Or Ned ... or Jill? Everyone is going to laugh at you, then beat you up. I bet the whole school already knows. Maybe if you fell just right your neck would snap quickly.
In my dissociative stupor I started down a familiar trail into the forest but then aimlessly walked through the trees. I had stumbled my way to the edge of a bluff, one of many within Eden. I gazed down the steep drop-off. There was a ledge about halfway down, like a tongue gaping out of a wicked mouth. Weakened by erosion, large stones had fallen from the top, landing on this substantial shelf. They leaned away from the cliff wall as if all pulling equally against each other. The sunrise had colored these 'teeth' a dingy yellow, but left the throat in shadow. Looking down and across from the black depths of its jaws, the forest continued encouraging my inclination to fly.
Too afraid to back away and yet stubborn enough not to jump, I sat down. My feet baited the sinister mouth while my eyes searched. Six hundred yards across from where I perched, another escarpment jabbed through the otherwise flat ground. The trees had turned the colors their biology dictated for this time of year: shots of yellow, burnt orange, and cardinal red dotted the forest floor between the two bluffs. Some brave seeds, years ago, had used the wind to climb the rocky outcroppings. Many must have tried and despaired, upon landing. The dead stones guarded their precious nutrients. A few, though, over the years had found soil and were now tall enough to look out above their ancestors.
Down below, a creek lazily dodged slight depressions and minor hills to pool between the bluffs a little to the north of where I sat facing the sunrise. Long ago it had drowned the trees and opened up a clearing. The rays barely touched where a deer and fawn stood on the creek bed sipping the cool water, the mother licking at her child.
I watched the interplay; she licked as the fawn resisted. It would hop away, quizzically look back at its stoic mother, and then begrudgingly return. The mother worked her way along from its jaw to the flank. When the fawn had been thoroughly ruffled and fluffed the family took one last sip. She turned to leave and the fawn hopped ahead into the shadows of the trees.
I had lost track of time. How long had I been sitting on the cliff? The sun was much higher now and I had class at 8. With Noah. And Mrs. Dorowitz. I couldn't skip; if I missed one more she could drop my grade. And I couldn't play on Friday with a D. I dimly recalled taking the Aberdeen trail, south of the school. But where was the trail? I jumped up and jogged back into the forest.
The trail had to be northwest of the bluff. I turned that way. I found the trail cutting through the trees and sprinted back toward campus. As I grew nearer the trail widened from frequent travel. Panting, I finally caught sight of the clock tower. 7:54. No time to get my bag. I took off toward Marilyn: a building that looked like something straight out of a Tim Burton movie. The four-story stone mansion's towers loomed overhead as my feet pounded up the steps. Down the left hallway, the door on the right. I slowed to a quick walk. I couldn't look like I wanted to be there too badly. Reputation is everything.
Mrs. Dorowitz peered at us, over the top of her lime-green 60s-era cat's eye glasses, from where she sat at her desk. I sat down beside Donny and Q in the far back with a quick "'Sup" to both. Mrs. D had always worn those ridiculous glasses because she thought they went with her fiery red hair. The mane never stayed in its ponytail for long because she ran and jumped while she taught. Chemistry excited her to such a great extent that she'd wanted to teach it first thing at 8 am. Her body had little fat, its old sinews protruding through the skin on her arms and neck. Her face, though, was stretched tightly against her skull. Those damn glasses. Why did she never get new ones? Change up her style? Her dress was plain, professional, and compliant with school code. It seemed as if Wilbur itself had forced her into conceding to conventionality.
I looked around. Noah wasn't here yet but Jill was, headed right for me. "Becca told me you and Noah were with Sherry last night," she hissed before tightly pursing her lips. She raised her eyebrows and didn't blink. Daring me to deny it.
"Miss Beaumont, if you would give half as much attention to the clock as you did your outfit this morning, you would notice that class has begun."
I watched a pulsing vein in Jill's forehead, thinly veiled behind a weak smile, as she straightened up and strode over to take her seat. Mrs. Dorowitz had been talking while Jill was busy egging me on. And Mrs. D hates talking over people almost as much as she hates pretty, rich girls.
"I'm sure the chair is as glad to have your ass as I am your attention." Yeah, she never liked Jill.
Glowering at her yawning pupils, Raggedy Ann began to lecture about acids and bases. "When a strong acid meets a strong base they come together to perfectly cancel each other out. Weak acids can make more acid when confronted with a base and therefore buffer a solution like our blood..."
It was all very dull and I had nothing to take notes on since my bag was still sitting in the room. Where was Noah? Maybe he hadn't shown up because he knew I would be here. Just as the forest's mouth was resuming its torrent of hate, the door creaked and Noah's blond hair streaked to the closest desk while Mrs. D had turned to write something about Henderson-Hasselbalch on the board.
Turning to address the class, she did a double-take ... but Noah was safe. He was the only one she never caught coming late to class. I hoped he would glance my way. I just needed to know if he was mad. He continued to stare at the board and dutifully take notes. Why wouldn't he look at me? This could be bad.
