Date: Wed, 20 Sep 2006 07:53:12 -0700
From: Orfeo Sunstone <orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com>
Subject: I, Roberto Aleman Chapters 5-6

Copyright 2006 by Orfeo Sunstone

Disclaimer: Subject matter of this fictional short story is of homosexual
nature, if this offends you or it is illegal to read in your state or
country, please leave immediately.  All individuals depicted are a figment
of the imagination, and any resemblance to real persons is purely
coincidental.

Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between.  Write to
<orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com>



			I, Roberto Aleman


Chapter 5

Summer has come and going and I'm still here.  There have been days where
nothing happens as I watch the restless deconstruction of my existence.

Three weeks after the kiss and, you know, the other "stuff" that happened,
I received an email from David Wentworth informing me that what had
occurred was a mistake, the side-effects of alcohol, that he was not, you
know, "different", that the letter I had received was not true, he was not
my secret admirer, he did not love me, and that it be best if I forgot
everything.

If I recall, he was not drunk, Sofia told me; I asked if anyone drank
alcohol at her party besides yours truly and she said no.  The kiss was not
a mistake, he wanted it and I certainly did too.  I didn't reply to his
email.

I made as if nothing had ever happened.  I worked all summer long, went
here and there like a hummingbird, engaged the mind with trivialities, and
let my heart spend many sleepless nights thinking of him that too often it
cried itself to sleep.  Sleep with the moon, awake with the sun, and still
an empty heart.

Sofia met with me several times where she related her relationship with
Scott.  They were now a couple.  A couple of idiots for believing in love.

During our get together, David came up in her stories, and it appears he
has a new girlfriend; a girl named Annabelle who had recently moved to his
neighborhood and would be attending our school.  I continued my
indifference.  No one will see the adamant suffering of my eyes when they
close and think of him.  Sofia also told me she was going on vacation to
Australia for a whole month and that Scott and David were going to Hawaii.
I wish I could take a trip too, but that's never going to happen.  I
wouldn't be able to afford it even though I've been working since I was
nine years old every summer.

One late afternoon when the sun was winding down and the voice of a snail
was ahead of me, I witnessed myself talking like the crazy wind, and in
that discourse I suffered an unpleasant surprise, an uncomfortable thought
almost assaulted me: two strangers, on a park bench, holding hands,
touching lips, David and another guy.  But then reality smacked my thoughts
away and there on the park bench were Annabelle and David kissing like I
will never be able to.  A tear rolled down my cheek and a flayed sigh
escaped from within.

Her cell rang interrupting their contact.  She answered and David turned to
where I stood.  His gaze held my eyes for a mere second and it felt like
they held the world.  I stood watching the seconds pass by, watching the
minutes laughing in my face, watching love escape from my heart.  My blood
seemed to run a little slow.  Another lonesome tear dropped from my eyes
but my left hand swiftly wiped it away, then I turned around, bowed my head
to the ground, and retraced the steps I wish I had never taken.  Life was
just not for me.



When school commenced, dear Reader, I was only half human.  I masqueraded a
joyful face and played a marionette to please those around me, yet, I was
lost in the streets of my skull, sleeping with my naked thoughts.  The
horror kept repeating itself: Annabelle and David.  But I smiled at defeat.
I, Robert Aleman, will not surrender.  I too will find happiness.

It turns out that David and I share the same classes again this new school
year, so I went to the counseling office and requested that my classes be
changed.  And they did, except for the last class, which was English,
again; the other classes were too full already so I had to endure the pain
that the presence of David contributed to my being by sitting next to him
in class.  He didn't acknowledge my existence and I played indifference to
his.

All seemed to flow smoothly until right before winter break.  That's when
fate decided to manifest its spiteful face.  As I was pulling out my
economics book from my locker, I heard my name screamed from across the
hall.  I turnaround and running toward me was Sofia Hayes, exasperation
denoted her features.

"I'm really sorry, please forgive me, I didn't to mean to blurt it out, I
don't know what I was thinking..."  I certainly didn't know what the heck
she was talking about, or what she was thinking.

"Hold up," I gestured with the palm of my hand. "What are you talking
about?  Forgive you for what?"

"I revealed your secret."

"Wha...what...secret?"  I panicked.  Don't let it be what I think it is.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to.  Scott and I were talking and one thing lead
to another and I told him that you're gay and that you're in love with
David."

"No..." I whispered.  No, this can't be.  "Why?"

"I'm sorry—"

"Sorry isn't going to help me much here, Sofia.  What the hell were you
thinking?"  I was angry.  How could she disclose something that no one was
to know?  I don't reveal to the world when she has her period, or what she
uses to masturbate.

"I know.  I'm very, very sorry.  I didn't mean to, honestly.  I'd take it
all back if I could."  Tears were emerging from her eyes.

I let out a heavy sigh: "What else can I do now...?" Defeated, I left with
the presage that my life was going to suffer a few blows in the next couple
of hours that would last for the rest of my life.  Eyes, they were
everywhere, glancing, questioning, drowning me with their stares.

The classroom was empty as I made my presence known.  I took a sit and
waited for the inevitable.  There, on the desk, staring at the hands that
encompassed my body, turmoil began to brew in my head.  But my thoughts
galloped away and I was left with the silence of hope.

Minutes lingered in the air, the class began to fill, and Scott Huntington
treaded in.  For a mere instant time was suspended as he walked toward my
direction, halted at my desk, placed both hands on top of it, leaned his
head to my right ear and whispered: "Hey fag."  I just stared straight
ahead at the blackboard and he continued, "Expect a visit from David."  A
hidden, indefinable, floating in the air fear gradually began to encompass
rapture me.



At the end of the school day, there was still no sign of David, and word
had not spread, yet.  As I stood in front of my locker stuffing books into
my backpack, a sudden chill struck my skin.  I kept my eyes on the inside
of the locker as a voluptuous shadow fell on my right side.  I closed my
eyes and sought asylum from the silence that awaited my destruction.

"Roberto..." I heard him say as a perpetual busing resound in my ears.  The
seconds that followed were asphyxiating.  David grabbed my arm, twisted me
around, but my eyes remained fixed on the carpeted hallway.  "Look at me."
I couldn't lift my gaze.  "Please."  I shook my head.  He let out a heavy
sigh and I felt his breath on the tip of my nose.  "What are you afraid
of?" he whispered to my lips.

"Everything," was my only answer.

"Don't be.  Scott won't say a word, I made him promise.  It's your secret,
prohibited knowledge to all.  No one will know unless you offer." I
resisted the urge to raise my pupils and stare into his.  "Is it true?" he
rubbed his nose against mine.  "Do you really love me?"  I didn't want to
answer, my voice had gone dried.  What would I gain from telling the truth?
"Please say something...anything," he pleaded.

"I'm afraid of you."  And it was true.  I had become terrified of him.  He
now knew my secret and I disgusted him.

"Why?"

"I..." and I paused for the wind that was listening to rush through.  "I'm
going to be late for work if I don't leave now."  I turned around, closed
the locker, swung my backpack over my shoulders, and walked away.



Chapter 6

	"In the middle of the night, when my eyes grow tire and it seems
that sleep will take over, your face remains resilient.  I can silence the
voices in my head, but I can't stop hearing yours.  I can calm the mind,
empty its thoughts, but I can't stop yearning for you."

That, dear Reader, is a note from David Wentworth that Scott Huntington
gave me on the last day of classes before winter break.  Scott also
apologized for all the derogatory names he called me in the past.

I forgave Sofia Hayes for disclosing certain classified secrets to her
boyfriend, Scott.  She was not at fault for the error I committed in
carrying that journal around school, material of that sort should be hidden
in the privacy of the brain.  But I've remedied that problem: the journal
has been turned into ashes.

The note.  I slipped the note that David sent back into his locker.  I was
not going to play his game.  First, he makes me belief that he might be
interested in me, maybe that was just in my head, second, he beats me up,
and it hurt too, third, he tries to seduce me but it blows up in his face,
literally, fourth, he rejects me and gets a girlfriend, and now he wants me
again.  Time for I, Roberto Aleman, to find myself a new attraction.

In the middle of the day, a note was slipped into my backpack, apparently
when I was not looking.  It read:

	"Please be my boyfriend.

	David Wentworth"

Wow.  He signed it.  Impressive.  I decided to go to the main office to
find out the mailing address of David Wentworth in order to respond to his
message, but before I was able to walk through the door, I heard my name
hollered from two opposite directions.  To my right was Scott Huntington
rushing up to me.  On my left was a gorgeous girl, more beautiful than
Sofia Hayes, waving her hands up in the air.

Scott reached me first and asked: "David want's to know if you have an
answer to the message he left you."  Ah, the messenger.  I wondered if he
was aware of the information contained in the note.

"Yes, please tell your dear friend that it's a big definite `no'," I
replied with a smile on my face.

"Okay." And he left running out the front doors.  Then I was viciously
attacked by a pair of arms that surrounded my waist.

"Hi Beto, long time no see."  I turned around to face the culprit that had
the majority of the student body staring at me; I despise being the center
of attention.  Black eyes and lushes red lips smacked themselves on my
face.  I still didn't know who this girl was.  "Don't you remember me?"  I
shook my head.  "It's me, Citlali Bracho.  We were neighbors when we were
little, very little."  Now I remember.

"You're the one that made me drink my piss when we were five," I said with
disgust in my voice while wiping away her smudges.  "You're despicable."

"Yes, but you made me drink your piss too.  I should hate you more."  She
had a point.

We chatted for several hours in the parking lot on top of the hood of my
car, almost froze to death.  I won't bore you with the details of our past
lives, dear Reader, but I will inform you that she guessed that I am, well,
you know, "different", and I found out that she is "different" too.  Small
world.



Trapped.  I was trapped in the mall elevator.  Trapped with David
Wentworth.  With a seething David Wentworth.  The hostile silence was
almost perfect.  Perfect for my destruction.  I was up against the railing,
clutching it with both hands for dear life.  For an enormous moment I felt
his eyes on my skin, touching it, listening to its thoughts.

"Who is she?" he questioned.  I didn't answer.  "Why was she kissing you?"
he demanded.  I wanted to run away but the darn elevator was stuck between
the 4th and 5th floors.  My silence was making him more irritable.  So I
answered him.

"That girl that had her lips wrapped around mine is Citlali Bracho,
my...girlfriend?"  I guess I really didn't answer, more like asked.  His
eyes flared and I thought for certain he was going to go ballistic.
Citlali and I were only practicing the art of kissing.  Nothing else.  At
least that's what it was to us.  But I didn't want to justify my actions to
him.

"When did she fall in love with you?"  No, she wasn't in love with me.  She
had a crush on one of the cheerleaders—maybe all of the cheerleaders as she
kept ogling at them—from our school and she wanted to perfect her kissing.

"You mean when did I fall in love with her?"  He had the audacity to smirk
at me.

"I know for a fact that you aren't in love with her."  His body began to
move towards mine.  The warmth from the faux shearling jacket I wore was
asphyxiating.  My hands became clammy.  "You, Roberto Aleman, could never,
ever, be in love with a girl."  Now his hands were placed on each side of
my head and his face bending towards mine; I was only 5'9" tall against his
six foot stature.  I made to scoot, but his right leg prevented me from
moving.  He kept smirking.  "You're very handsome.  Your soft black curly
hair begs to be caressed by my fingers."  A soft smile appeared on his
lips.  "And your dark brown eyes, oh, Roberto, you don't want to know what
they arouse.  I go crazy seeing another mouth drink my honey."  His lips
kissed my closed eyelids.  "May I kiss your lips?"  No, say no, I told my
brain, but my head nodded in affirmation.

His lips were soft and sweet, and I ravaged them without mercy, squeezed
them with my teeth, licked them with my tongue, and bathe them in saliva.
His hands roamed my body like wild ivy, groping here and there, trembling
with appetite.  Our breathing became heavy, but our mouths continued to
attack each other.  As our clothe bodies rubbed against one another, it
became apparent that we were both in the pinnacle of a climax.  And we
erupted with a flayed sigh as the elevator door slid open.

Still embracing, we slowly turned to the open door and were confronted by
Sofia, Scott, Citlali, and a couple of firemen looking at us.  David
quickly disentangled from my arms, gave me a disgusted stare, swung his
fist in the air and struck me on my left temple with such force that I fell
to the floor.  "Fucking faggot," my ears heard David shout as darkness
touched my forehead and gradually began to overpower my being.



The doctor informed me that I had suffered a concussion, so I was kept 48
hours in the hospital under observation.  Evidently, many individuals who
suffer a concussion experience short memory loss, but in my case, I
remembered it all, especially the fist that belonged to David Wentworth.  I
guess I'm becoming a masochist.

Christmas was spent in a hospital bed in the silent night wrapped in my
room with the invisible, constant, presence of fear My parents, dear
Reader, found out what happened, including the kiss with David.  A couple
of words were exchanged in repugnance and as of tonight, I have no home, no
family, no one.  Alone, I'm left facing people and the sun.

I kept quiet as my thoughts began to runaway with the wind that blows them
over and won't return them, and I surrendered to sleep.



Your comments are welcome, positive, negative or in between.  Write to
<orfeo.sunstone@gmail.com>