Date: Wed, 22 Mar 2000 03:58:47 GMT
From: MM
Subject: Metron Ariston, Part II: Dyniologia

By the way, to reassure those who've asked, this story is fiction. Thanks to
those who've written to me. I welcome all comments.

Metron Ariston
Part II: Dyniologia

* * * * *

"Tout est chaos a cote
Tous mes ideaux, des mots abimes
Je cherche un ame qui pourra m'aider
Je suis d'une generation desenchantee..."
    - Mylene Farmer, "Desenchantee"

* * * * *

He scrabbled at the door, which I had deadbolted when he came in. He was too
hysterical to work the mechanism and he crumpled to the ground in a fetal
position, screaming his head off. I ran over to him. "What is it?! What's
the matter?!"

"I'm not! I'm not gay! I'm not I'm NOT!" he howled. I reached out to him,
but he batted my hand away. "Don't touch me!"

I lifted my hands up. "Okay. Look, I've raised my hands. I'm not going to
touch you. It's all right. You're safe. You've got nothing to prove. Calm
down, relax, it's gonna be all right." I was actually frightened by how
easily these calming formulas came to mind.

After a few more seconds, he began to calm down. He was still gasping for
breath, taking deep, rasping breaths like a drowning man. "Ok. You're just
having a panic attack. Breathe slowly, ok? In.... and out. ...In.... and
out. There we go." I kept my voice gentle, focusing on calming him down. He
stopped breathing heavily, but he was still shaking like a leaf. I crouched
down beside him, and looked into his eyes. "Don't worry, it's ok. It's
natural. You've just had a system shock, that's all. You just reacted bad.
It's ok. It'll pass."

"What... what am I g-gonna d-do? Nothing m-makes sense. I d-don't
underst-stand anything," he stammered, his teeth chattering as if he were
freezing to death. Rage flew up in him again and he started to pound on his
head with the heels of his hands. "I'm so stupid!" he screamed.

My arms instinctively shot out and grabbed his wrists, keeping him from
hurting himself more. "Hey! Cut that out. That doesn't help." I said loudly.
He looked fearfully up into my eyes. I dropped my voice. "This is all
*perfectly* *natural*. What you're going through is what *everybody* goes
through when they question their sexuality. So just relax. You're safe here
and nobody's going to judge you." I sounded like a social worker.

Some resistance seemed to wash away. "What was it like for you?" he
whispered.

"You want the truth? I didn't have anybody to help me through it. Nobody
told me it wasn't evil or sick, and I tried to kill myself by cutting my
wrists."

I let go of his arms and held up my hands, showing the white line running
parallel down each wrist. "This is what happens when you don't talk to
anyone. So talk to me."

He looked at me, pain in his eyes. "I don't know what to say. I don't
understand anything yet. You're not gonna tell anyone about this, are you?"

I blinked. Big dumb macho jocks have such blind spots sometimes. "No, of
course not."

"Promise?"

"Scout's honour."

His voice shrank to a murmur. "Then, um, could you, hm, mmrrmmmlmrl...?"

"What?"

"Could you kiss me again?"

My eyebrow went up. "Sure you're not going to flip out again?"

He had relaxed, and he chuckled. "I'll try."

I stretched my arms out and took him by the shoulders, gently pulling him
towards me, and he folded me against his chest. He sought my mouth this
time, pressing his warm lips onto mine, opening his mouth, meeting my tongue
with his. Feelings of warmth and empathy to which I was unaccustomed welled
up in some deep part of me. I didn't know to what to attribute them, or even
if they had a name, so I just concentrated on the kiss, and how warm I felt
against his big body. I tried to give him the same sense of security in my
arms that I had been trying to project in my voice.

Almost reluctantly he broke the kiss, and moved to stand up. It was almost
seven o'clock in the evening. "I have to go, or my mom will freak out. Can I
have your phone number?" I gave it to him, but didn't bother asking for his.
He wouldn't want me calling him and making his parents suspicious.

As he was going out the door, he turned to me. "Denis?" he said. "I'll try
to get the guys to go more easily on you. It hasn't worked before, but I'll
keep trying." He smiled sadly at me, then closed the door behind himself.

I let out a breath, and sat down. A bizarre evening if there ever was one,
yes. Was he gay? Probably. Who knows? More importantly, was he going to
seriously muck things up in the throes of self-doubt and questioning?

I didn't know. I hoped he wouldn't.

I couldn't recall the last time I'd felt empathy for someone else. It was a
very odd feeling.

And why on earth was I feeling it for him?

* * * * *

"I live with the pain
That my father has left me
I live in the fear
Of my mother, her child..."
     -The Wyrd Sisters, "Sins of the Fathers"

* * * * *

I decided to go to school the next day. Where other people might notice
getting beaten up, I noticed not getting beaten up. It was a relief. I
actually didn't see the Refrigerator Brothers at all. A few teachers
bothered me about having missed classes, but I gave them my patented "don't
bug the pissed-off Goth" look and pointed to the scab on my forehead, and
they backed off.

I returned home and was having a personal conversation with some
trigonometry textbooks when my doorbell rang. I gave two guesses who it was.
"Hi, Randy," I said when I opened the door. "Managed to call them off, did
you?"

He beamed. "Yeah. I kept them distracted. Cool that it worked." He came in
and stripped off his coat, plunking himself down on my sofa. I sat down
beside him.

He paused, and looked around. "I just realized that you don't live with your
folks. Why's that?"

"Cause they didn't want me."

He looked at me, stunned. "What? What's that about?"

I sighed. "Let's start at the beginning. What's my last name?"

"Um... L'Engle or something, right?"

"It's de l'Angelier. As in De L'Angelier and Cadieux, the second-biggest law
firm in Montreal. You know Langelier metro station?" He nodded. "It was
named after my great grandfather. Let's just say my father moves in some
*very* rich circles. And rich circles are conservative circles."

He was looking at me intently. I went on.

"Anyway, so there's these rich bastards, Maitre Etienne de l'Angelier and
wife, nee France Parizeau, heir to the Parizeau cookie fortune. Very rich,
very tony, very conservative. And their son becomes a suicidal gay pagan
Goth." His lips parted and his head tilted back in understanding.

"When I told them, it wasn't what I expected. I was figuring they were going
to yell at me or scream or something. But we, I mean they, had a calm
discussion of options and decided it was best if I left. Then they wouldn't
have to tell their rich friends that their kid is a fag. I wouldn't be an
embarrasment to them; I'd just disappear. So I got emancipated. I think
their friends think I'm at some exclusive private school in Switzerland."

He was shaking his head. "God, how could someone do that to you?"

I blinked. "I don't really think about it. I don't really care. For the
longest time I thought I was worthless. Now I know it's them who're
worthless. Doesn't really make a difference for me. Besides, I kind of like
being alone."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed. How come you never hang out with anyone? I mean,
not even the other..." He stopped talking.

"Freaks?" I suggested bluntly. His mouth opened, about to apologize, but I
cut him off briskly. "No, don't bother. I know I'm a freak. I don't give.
Like I said, I usually would rather be alone. I tried to hang out with some
of them a while ago but I didn't fit in. I'm that much of a weirdo. And
before you ask, I'd never give up being a freak to be popular. God, I think
my soul would die if I did that."

He looked solemn. "If you want to be alone, I can leave..."

Without even thinking about it, I let loose with, "No! Don't go. I want you
here." I was startled. He was starting to be one long line of firsts. He
looked into my eyes; we were equally astonished by what I'd said.

My voice lowered. "Please stay."

* * * * * * *

Part 3 to follow.