Date: Tue, 17 Jul 2001 12:18:52 +0800
From: Corey Castor <snatched@alloymail.com>
Subject: Bleak Future - Part 4

BLEAK FUTURE
Part 4

When I first moved to this town, three years ago, when I was thirteen, I
had this recurrent dream. I dreamt that I stood by a dam in a huge
rainforest. In the forest, there's a fence. The fence separates me from the
flowing water of the dam, from the wonders of the forest, but most
importantly, from a blue-black panther standing in the middle of the trees
as if she owns them and everything around us. For two months between the
summer and the first few weeks of high school I had this dream, and then it
disappeared. One night, I just didn't dream at all, and that was it. I
didn't dream for three years until tonight.

Tonight, I wake up from that same dream. In the dream, I'm staring into the
eyes of the panther from my side of the fence where there are exotic
flowers, trees, all sorts of animals, but no panthers. The panther stares
peacefully at me, and I at her. Then together we turn to the water, to a
path leading out of the forest, then again to each other. With a flicker in
her eye, she tells me to go, to leave. I have a choice, but I know what I
want.

"It's okay," she whispers. "Take the chance."

When she speaks, her mouth does not move. It is as if her voice is in my
head, swimming in my mind, swarming my thoughts. She is me, but not me. She
used to be a part of me and is giving me permission to let go of something,
maybe her. She is my past, but also my current understanding of the way the
world works.

When I wake up, I feel calm, peace. No cold sweat, no fast heartbeat. All I
feel is a chill, a good chill, and a longing. I'm not sure what the longing
is for or where it comes from.

I walk to my window and stare into the trees next to my building. The stars
are out; the sky is beautiful. It feels good to have that dream again. It
feels at home, natural. I lie back down on my bed in my tiny, comfortable
room. I try to remember every detail from the dream, and suddenly a picture
of Paul appears in my mind. I see his red hair, his pretty pale face, his
red lips. Sean would have called them luscious, his hair and lips. I don't
know what to call them. I find myself wishing he was a girl, something
attainable to me. I don't know where that thought came from and I banish it
from my mind. I fall back asleep.


Sunday. Church day. I don't go to work on Sundays because my mother doesn't
want me to. I don't want to either. I don't know if I believe in God, maybe
I do, maybe I don't, but if he did make the world in six days, I should
respect him for it. So I go to church and pay my respects to him and his
son who chose (I don't know if that's the right word for it) to sacrifice
himself for my salvation once a week. It's more something I'm used to doing
than something I believe in doing.

I am taking a shower when the phone rings. My mom doesn't answer
phones. I'm not a secretary, she always tells me. So, I am? I always ask. I
run to pick it up.

"Hello," I say, with soap still on my naked body.

"Hey, Tris. How's it going?" It's Donna. "I need you to work for me
tonight."

"Donna, you know I can't-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she cuts me off, "I know that you have church and
everything, but I'm not working tonight and I need you to train this kid
for me. I have a surprise for you, anyway." She sounds giddy. I don't trust
a giddy Donna.

"Fine. I'll ask my mom, but I'm not making any promises. You know how she
is. You've known for a year."

I sound serious because I am. Donna knows that my mother doesn't like me to
miss church in the morning or the evening. I'm sure that she will say no,
but when I ask, she doesn't. She says yes, with only, "She has a surprise
for you," as an explanation.

"Whatever," I say. I'm a cross between annoyed and apathetic. I don't know
how that works, but it's what I'm feeling. Annoyed and apathetic.


Church begins at ten in the morning and ends at two in the afternoon. I
attend Sunday school, the praise service, and the afternoon lunch with the
members. It's routine. I've been doing this for three years. It grows on
you, even though I've grown indifferent to the words of everyone around me
here.

For three hours after church I fall in and out of consciousness on my
bed. Sleeping is more of a hobby for me than a necessity. I love to just
sit in the delirium of thought that comes between sleeping and waking
up. My eyes open - or, try to open, rather - and close while I think of
miscellaneous things. I think of love, of my future, of experimental drugs
that I don't need to make me feel this way... delirious. I wonder if most
guys would use this time to masturbate. I bet they would. I don't, even
though I could. I don't know what would motivate me to masturbate
anyway. When I was eleven, twelve, fourteen, I could think of wood, and
that would prompt masturbation. Now, I'm not sure what to think of. I work
in a video store with an "ADULTS ONLY" section that I have to straighten up
whenever I work there. This doesn't induce a feeling that I should run home
and play with myself. I'm not normal, I suppose.


My surprise is a raise and a set of keys to close and open the store
whenever Donna doesn't feel up to it. I'm half an hour early, as
usual. James is there, counting out the registers. When she sees me, she
smiles.

"Hey, loser. Heard you got keys."

"Yeah," I say, not excited at all. This is too much responsibility. I've
worked here for a year and have gotten three raises. I was satisfied then,
now I'm exhausted "More work for me, I guess."

She laughs. I love this girl's crazy sense of humor. "You're just a key
holder. Wait till you're a supervisor."

"I hope that never happens," I laugh.

"Ooh! Guess who's here?" she says, more excited than I've seen her in a
while.

"Days of the New?" Her favorite band.

"No. Are you kidding? Do you think I'd be standing here talking to you if
that was true? Guess again."

"No. Just tell me."

"Loser," she complains, rolling her eyes at me. "We have a new employee."

"Oh, yeah. I heard. I have to train him or her, whoever it is." My level of
exhaustion intensifies by the minute. "Who is it?"

"I think you know." She is doing everything but jumping up and down with
excitement.

I don't feel the least bit interested. Like I said, this is exhausting
me. Just the thought of some dimwit new girl or guy who can't work the
register, who gives customers the wrong change, who asks me numerous
questions about videos so obvious that I want to rip my hair out makes me
itch. Trust me, I know this will happen. I was the dimwit a year ago. "I
don't know," I say, and walk away, watching for her to follow like I know
she will. When I see her walking beside me, I smile inside. Now, I know
that she can sense my boredom. She always does. I can almost time how long
it will take her to tell me, but instead of telling me, she walks ahead of
me. At the "Employees Only" door, she stops and waits. I open the door, and
there he is.

He doesn't look at me; he looks into me. His brown eyes are making me feel
weird. If I didn't know better, I'd say that I felt faint. Haha. Faint. I
never feel faint. He smiles; I don't. I stare at him with... awe... maybe?
I can't help but think of what this means, our staring at each other. James
seems to disappear, and there is no one there but us. Me and this kid who's
making me feel weird.

I desperately try to talk, but my voice is nowhere to be found. I just
can't find it. I'm taking anxious breaths, hoping he won't notice, hoping
James doesn't see. She sees.

"Cat's got your tongue?" she smiles, and pushes me into the room. She
closes the door behind us. "Tristan, you know Paul. You guys are working
together tonight."

I find my voice somehow, but, "I know," is all that comes out. I need to
sit. I grab a chair at the table, opposite him, as far from him as
possible.

"So, how's the Spanish going?" he asks.

"Okay, I guess." I say.

"You've been coming to class pretty early lately."

"Yeah. I just thought about what you said. I might need it someday."

"Not 'might'. Will. You WILL need it someday." His eyes are now focused on
the table.

"Right. If you say so," my anxiety disappears when I remember our study
session, my dream, his serene red hair. I take the chance and smile. I turn
to James. Trying to shake off this shiver that I have all of a sudden, I
say. "So when it's a guy you've got the hots for, it's okay to hire him,
but when it's a hot girl, I have to get on my knees and beg, right?"

James shrugs my question off. Paul glances at me, but before I can try to
decipher the look he's giving me his head is down again. I realize that
I've said the wrong thing, but isn't that what guys are supposed to say?
Guys who don't think about other guys, I mean. Guys who don't wish some
guys were girls. Silence overtakes the room.


We work quietly for two hours. It's like he already knows everything. He
asks no questions, but I want to know why training him is so easy. "You're
either REALLY quick and smart, or you're psychic," I say while I watch him
alphabetize the videos in perfect order, getting ready to put them back on
the shelves.

"Neither," he says, without turning around. "I got here two hours
early. James wanted to teach me how to do some things. And I came here a
couple of times this week so that she could show me how to work the
register."

"So I don't really have to train you then?" I'm disappointed.

"Guess not."

"Right. Okay." Sundays are not usually this slow. Tonight is different. I
can see the full moon through the window, I can feel the sultry air, I can
sense the tension building, and for the first time in a year, I know what
to think about if I ever decided to masturbate.


It's one o'clock in the morning. I type in the password. The alarm beeps. I
lock the doors and gates of the store with Paul's help.

We haven't had any real conversations. We talked about how well we're both
doing in school, how we dislike most of our teachers. He's always been an
honor student with straight As. I've always done well in the classes I know
I should. I get As in English, Math, Science, and casually fail History,
Spanish, and Art. Gym's not a problem for either of us. It's not that much
of a rigorous class; we don't play dodgeball. He's the most artistic person
I know. All through the night, I find him drawing things in this little
black notebook. When no customers came for over an hour, we both sat on the
counters. He drew, while I stared at him. I wondered if he noticed how my
eyes wouldn't move from his red hair, his white skin.

I sit outside on the ground and wait for my ride. My mother will either
come, or I will walk home. This happens whenever I work on school nights. I
wait for her to remember that I worked because she won't let me use the car
on nights before she has to work the next morning. Paul sits with me. We're
almost too close to each other on the ground, but I don't move. I don't ask
him to move.

"You sure you don't need a ride? How long do you usually have to wait?"

"Not long. If my mom doesn't come, I'll walk. I don't live too far from
here." This is a lie. I'm glad he doesn't know where I live.

"Yeah you do," he says, skepticism on his face.

I can feel his breath on my cheek. "Yeah I do, what?"

"You live about twenty minutes from here if you walk. Three, if I drive
you."

I wonder how he knows all this. I don't remember telling him where I
lived. "I don't need a ride," I say with as much finality as I can muster.

We wait in silence for about three minutes before I feel him looking at
me. I look upwards at the full moon. I want whatever's going to happen to
happen. I return his gaze. Although I can't actually see it happening, I
can feel his face moving closer, and before I know it, his lips are on
mine.

It takes a while to realize what's happening because I don't return the
kiss. It's as if he's the only one who wants this. My mind is blank. I
think of nothing but the current moment. He stops after a while. I'm
disappointed. I don't get any tongue. We walk silently to his car. I can't
believe he owns a Lexus.

In the car, we do not talk. We ride quietly while I try to figure out a way
to tell him that I want him to do it again. I want him to know that his
kiss didn't disgust me, that I want more.

Before I know it, we're in front of my building. I refuse to move. I stay
in my seat, squirming just a little. I don't know what to do, I can't let
this go. I turn to look at him, I have a frown on my face, so severe that
my face hurts. He looks at me, his lips painfully beautiful. He's asking me
to forgive him with his eyes. I wonder if he knows why I'm frowning. His
mouth opens because he's about to say something. I take the opportunity to
put my lips on top of his, while they're still open.

I'm sucking on his upper-lip; I've never kissed anyone before. This is all
new to me. I don't know how to get my tongue inside of his mouth. I move my
right hand from the seat and put it in his hair. I push his face into mine
and hear him moan. Then he does it. He pushes his tongue into my
mouth. It's so slippery and warm that I whimper I can hear myself moan. I
don't want to leave. I want to do this forever. I just want to eat him
up. He lets out these amazing little groans, like he wants this about as
much as I do. My eyes are closed so tight that I'm afraid I'll never be
able to open them again. I don't want to come up for air, but I want to
look at him so I push him away, gently.

"Sorry," he says, like it's his fault that we're kissing,. "I- "

I can't let him finish. It'll probably be something stupid, like, I won't
do it again. I put my lips on top of his, this time pushing my tongue
against his, taking him completely by surprise. My hands are all over his
body. They're under his shirt, on his back, in his hair. He's exploring my
body too with these little growls at the back of his throat. My head's
swimming, and like before, not a single thought passes through my mind. I'm
just in the moment, enjoying the taste of his mouth, loving the little
groans he's making. It's like I'm falling. But before my descent ends, he
does something that takes ME by surprise. He grazes his fingertips against
the zipper of my pants, and I jump back. I break the kiss. It's not that I
didn't want him to; it's that I didn't expect him to. I look at the
time. It's one thirty. I look at the full moon. I want to remember
everything about this moment. "I'll see you tomorrow," I say, without not
so much as a look his way. I look at everything but him because I need to
remember this moment. I get out of his car. Walking to the door of my
building, there are a million thoughts rushing through my head. I can't
pick any one out. I turn around to look at him one last time because his
face is part of the moment. I will remember the moon, the trees near my
building, my erratic heartbeat, then his face. He has this surprised,
speechless look on his face. I smile at him; he smiles back and drives
away.


Copyright (c) 2001 Castor


(7/16/01)