Date: Fri, 21 Oct 2005 14:16:52 -0700
From: Ryan Miller <blue98custom@gmail.com>
Subject: Bonding Energy: Opportunity Cost ch. 2

Disclaimer: This is a homoerotic story written by me, a somewhat
anti-social yet personable gay youth. This means three things: If you are
not allowed legally, ethically or morally to read this, then don't. You
are not allowed to reproduce my writings on any other web sites without
my expressed permission. I will not tolerate people e-mailing me to hit
on me or send me naked pictures of themselves. I welcome feedback--in
fact I implore it--but I have no desire to see hairy old cocks staring
back at me when I open my e-mail.

If you want to supply feedback, send an e-mail to blue98custom@gmail.com
and if you want to get to know me, go to www.myspace.com/jamesnkyle . I
guarantee no frequency in my response time, but I always respond.

The next morning at school, all I could think about was being able to
hang out with Brian and Aaron again that evening. And that wasn't such a
bad thing because the classes I had that morning didn't require that much
thought. First there was PE, which had become one of my favorite classes.
Not because I liked sports, but because I had taken special pains to
schedule my recreational sports class at the same time as the advanced
weight-lifting class. (Fill in your own blanks.) And then there was
astronomy. At the 11th grade level, all we learned about was the solar
system and a basic rundown of all the planets, so I could pass that class
in a coma. (Get it? Coma!)


And then there was advanced fiction writing with Lidia Yuknavich, my
writing teacher from last year. I always went to class early because I
wanted to ensure my seat next to this kid named Jason. Not because he was
cute or anything, but he was so much fun to antagonize.

"So, Kyle," he said as I sat down. "What did you think of the symbolism
in Crossroads?"

"I though it was ok," I said, very nonchalantly.

"Ok?" he said. "What do you mean 'ok?' Did you not see the metaphor he
was using with the iced tea to show the constant struggle of man vs.
himself over the threat of his own mortality?"

"Well, it could just be because the writer lived in Alabama where iced
tea is a traditional drink with most meals and so his characters would
drink it at lunch," I said.

"What? No, it can't just be that," Jason sputtered. Then he got his
classic confused-shock look (kind of like Frodo) and stared at the table
mouthing words and arguing with himself. I loved to screw with his mind.

Lidia walked into class a little late (as usual).

"Hello, class," she said. "How are you all doing?"

We all sat up and got ready to pay attention.

"What's wrong?" she said. "I asked you a question. How are you all
doing?"

One girl in the back of the room piped up and said, "Pretty good."

"'Pretty good.' I'll take that." She said. "I guess we know who is
getting an A in class today. The rest of you can just be uptight. And in
case nobody noticed, we have a new student in class. Please, tell us your
name."

I turned around and saw in the back of the class a slouching figure
dressed in black. He looked up at the rest of the class and, as his bangs
fell into his eyes, he said, "My name is William."

"Thank you, William," said Lidia.

'What's he doing here?' I thought to myself. 'I sure hope he doesn't want
me to take any notes for him.'

"Now class," said Lidia, "if you would all move your desks and form a
circle around the room, I would be much obliged. That way, we can all
look at each other as we read our stories."

Our assignment had been to write a short monolog from the perspective of
an inanimate object. I chose a dollar bill and wrote about how it was
always being passed from one person to another without any regard to the
way it felt and yet people were always talking about how much they wanted
money. They valued what he was instead of who he was.

"I think a good way to introduce him to the class would be to let William
read first," said Lidia. "Is that ok with you, William?"

"That's fine," he said as he took his paper out of his backpack and sat
up. "I call this, Wrapper's Despair."

"I stand on display behind a glass window. I am surrounded by others, all
vying for your attention. Some are flamboyant and fun to look at, though
they may embellish what is truly inside. Others are simple and cleverly
conceal their contents, letting your imagination fill in the blanks. But
you know from the way we shine, the way we smile-and the very fact that
we are behind the glass-that whatever we conceal must be savory and
satisfying.

"You scroll through the selections, trying to decide what exactly you
hunger for. Do you want something sweet, something spicy, something
crunchy, something creamy? You spy me and your mouth starts to water. You
fumble through your pockets, looking for the sum that will bring you
happiness. You thrust your trinkets into the slot and make your choice.
You don't even have to know my name. You just call for C-8.

"I am arbitrarily flung from the world I knew. I hit the bottom hard and
your greedy hand snatches me up. You hold me gently as you look for the
proper point of entry. Then, without hesitation or remorse, you tear into
me and gorge yourself on the treat inside.

"You don't care what happens next, at least not to me. I am worthless
from that point, a hindrance if anything. You are eager to discard me,
sometimes before your treat is even finished. You may be embarrassed and
hide me in a can with others like me, or you may be impatient and get rid
of me wherever is most convenient for you. For what do you care? I was
merely an obstacle between you and immediate gratification. I was only a
candy wrapper."

"Wow, that was dark," said Lidia. "Very good. I loved the imagery. Did
everyone catch on to the point William was trying to make?"

Everyone was kind of nodded their heads. It really didn't surprise me
that someone like William would write something so dark and depressing.
Just by looking at him you could tell he had an axe to grind. His cold
demeanor, his gothy clothing. He was probably mad at his parents for not
letting him stay out late enough, or for not letting him listen to punk
rock or emo. People like him are so immature. They don't get their way so
they throw a tantrum at the world by acting all dark and evil in hopes
that some one will pay attention. Until you have your heart ripped to
shreds by the ones you love, you will know nothing of darkness.

William's little story put me in a sour mood the rest of the day. All I
could think about was the pain and neglect I had felt. And it didn't help
that in American history we started talking about World War II, the
darkest period in history that people can remember.

'William is probably one of those freaks that goes out and parties on
Hitler's birthday,' I said to myself. 'Why can't people like him just
grow up and realize that the world isn't out to get them?'

When I got home from school, I was just plain pissed off. I threw my bag
onto the kitchen table and begrudgingly did my homework. When I was done,
I huffed into the living room, hoping to find something worth watching on
the TV. The news caught my eye because it was talking about how there
will be another Wal-Mart built in our neighborhood. I personally don't
mind Wal-Mart, but James hates. He talks about how it destroys local
businesses and calls it "The Blob of the Capitalism." I kept watching the
news report waiting for him to come ranting into the room, when I
realized I hadn't seen him the whole time I had been home.

I went up to his room and he wasn't there. He wasn't in the garage
either, though most of his model trains and airplanes were. Then I heard
his truck pull up into the driveway. I looked out the window and he got
out of his truck, followed by two other guys. Brian and Aaron! I opened
the door and rushed out to meet them. I flung my arms around Brian as he
closed the door to the truck.

"It's good to see you, too, Kyle," said Brian as he retuned my hug.

"Hey, that's my boyfriend you've got your arms all over," said Aaron and
he came from behind and put his arms around me and Brian and kissed him
lightly on the cheek.

'Mmmm...hottie sandwich,' was all I could think.

"Hey guys, wanna take your little homo moment inside?" said James,
holding all the luggage.

We all untangled and went inside. James and Aaron plopped down on the
couch together. I had left the news on and when James saw it, he groaned,
"Ah, shit! Not another one. Before you know it, there won't be a Mom and
Pop store left in this place. Change it."

"Ok," I said as I grabbed the remote and changed it to Everybody Loves
Raymond. I sat in my recliner, but then Brian came over and picked me up
and sat down, placing me in his lap. I felt his arms wrap around me and I
just leaned back and got comfortable.

The news was boring, so nobody really paid any attention. Then James
said, "So, the funeral is supposed to be tomorrow. When does it start?"

"It's going to start about 4:00," said Brian. "It's going to be at the
Methodist church on Palmer Road"

"Wait," said Aaron. "You didn't say anything about a church."

"It's a funeral," said Brian. "Where else would they have it?"

"I don't know," said Aaron. "But did you ever consider the fact that you
are gay and have a boyfriend? Going into a church might not be a good
idea."

"What are you afraid will happen?" asked James. "Do you think that God
will smite you or something if you go into a church?"

"He might," said Aaron.

"Please," said Brian. "I went to that church for 18 years and I was never
smitten."

"And what about the people? I'm sure they wouldn't like to have some
dirty homosexual sitting in their pews," said Aaron.

"Aaron, please just let it go," said Brian. "I know you were hurt by the
church-"

"Hurt?" said Aaron. "I was fucking excommunicated! The church told me I
was doomed to hell, and that's after they tried to exercise me. If I have
to hear one more preacher tell me about how sinful I am, I think I'm
going to kill someone."

"Aaron, they're not going to know you're gay if you don't tell anyone,"
said Brian. "And we don't have to stay for the whole thing. All they've
asked me to do is go up at the beginning and say a few words about my
mom. We can leave after that."

"We'd better," said Aaron. "I hate being in churches. I can just feel the
bigotry all around me...man, I'm so freaking stressed out now. I need to
go cook something." He got up off the couch and made his way to the
kitchen.

"Wait a minute," said James. "When Aaron is stressed, he likes to cook?"

"Yeah," said Brian. "You should have seen the stuff he made during
mid-terms. I ate nothing but fresh-baked muffins for a week."

"Really?" said James. "If I had known that, I would have pissed him off
more often."

Brian stood up and I was forced to stand up with him. "Lets go upstairs,
Kyle," he said. "You can help me unpack."

"Ok," I said, and we made our way upstairs.

Since Brian had stayed with us over the summer, he pretty much got his
own room. It was covered with posters of movies like Blade, Constantine
and Braveheart. My favorite part was the life-sized cutout of Anakin
Skywalker.

Brian set the suitcases at the foot of the bed and looked around to see
if anything had changed. It hadn't. We had left it alone after he and
Aaron went off to college, so everything was just as he had left it. I
sat down on the bed and he walked over to his desk and inspected the
things on top. There were just a few pencils, an old notepad and a
picture of him and me at the beach.

He picked up the picture and smiled, saying, "I remember when we took
that. You got such a bad sun burn that trip."

"Hey, I can't help it if I burn to a crisp," I said. "We can't all be
blond and tan like you."

He held out his arm, compared it to mine and said, "I'm not that tan,
you're just white."

I laughed and said, "Your mom's white." Then I realized the great error
in my retort.

Brian froze and just stood, staring off into space. I think I saw a tear
fall from the corner of his eye.

"Brian, I'm sorry," I said.

"No, it's ok," he said. "Like I said, my mom's already been dead for a
while. I...I'm just a little worried about tomorrow. There's going to be a
lot of people there who don't like me. Some were even at the party the
night my dad attacked me. It's going to be scary getting up in front of
all of them and talking about my mom."

"You don't have to go."

"Yes, I do. I owe it to the people there to at least say something. I'm
her only child. But more than that, I need to do it for myself. I need to
prove that I can stand up against the people who hate me and show them I
am a civilized human being."

He looked down at the picture in his hands and gently placed it back on
the desk. He picked up the pencils and put them away in a drawer. Then he
paused, chuckled to himself and said, "How long has that been there?"

"What?" I asked.

"This," he said, holding up a small book. It looked rather familiar, then
I remembered where I had seen it before.

"Hey, that's you di-uh-journal," I said.

"It's ok," he said. "You can call it a diary. I always did. But I don't
remember bringing it with me from my house."

"That's because you didn't," I said. "I did. I got it from your room
after your dad ransacked it."

"Really?" he said. "What do you think of it?"

"What do you mean? It's not like I read it or anything."

"You didn't? I'm surprised. I would have." He tossed the diary onto the
bed next to me and said, "Go ahead, have a look."

I looked down at it, then back at him and said, "Are you sure? I mean,
didn't you write a lot of personal stuff in there?"

"Yeah," he said. "But you already know most of it. Read it and tell me
what you think."

"Hey guys," James yelled from downstairs. "You have to come check out
these cookies!"

"It's good to have Aaron back," I said.

"It's good to have you guys back," said Brian. "Let's go downstairs."

"Yes, lets," I said. I stood on the bed and jumped onto his back. He
grabbed my legs and gave me a piggyback ride downstairs. It was good to
have them back. I was having a crappy day until they arrived. And it
sounded like tomorrow was going to be rather unsettling as well. But I'm
sure it would be nothing some cookies and good company couldn't solve.