Date: 16 Apr 2001 12:55:45 MDT
From: Inverse Clown <servo_blue@usa.net>
Subject: The Out-Crowd (Part16)

Author:  Servo Blue

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
=============
I don't think I have one this time.
                                             --Servo Blue


DISCLAIMER:
==========
The Author claims no fault for the appearance of Iowa.


The Out-Crowd
===========

Part 16: All In A Day

There he was.  Mr. "I Don't Like People", Fedora himself, playing ragtime
on the piano on the stage in the auditorium.  Weird, huh?  Then again, what
HASN'T been weird lately?  This is all like one crazy dream recently.

Anyway, the three of us, Wally, Shelby and myself, just stood in the
doorway and listened.  It was actually pretty fast, and his arms were
sliding across the keys, this way and that.  But then again, instead of
enjoying the secret performance, it was bugging me that I was watching a
presumable jerk like Fedora doing something that obviously took a lot of
work and determination, because as a person he was just a cold nothing.
Well, an angry cold nothing.

"C'mon," I said to Wally and Shelby, but still watching Fedora go. "Let's
get outta here."

Without a word, we backed out of the doorway and shut the door as quietly
as possible.

We made our way through the parking lot and started our venture home.  At
first, nobody was talking, but about a block away from the school, Shelby
started it up.

"My grandpa said that if I get directions to the Battleground, he can have
my derby car brought over," he said.

"Hey, as long as it's easily accessible, I can use my uncle's pick-up and
tow it over myself," said Wally.  "It'd be easier that way; less trouble
with directions and all."

"Really?" asked Shelby, almost as if he honestly didn't believe Wally.
"That'd be pretty sweet, boss."

"Speaking of which," said Wally, learing at me, when do we begin the
de-construction on your Edsel?"  I'd forgotten about that entirely.

"Uh...I don't know," I said plainly.  "When's good for you?"

"How about Friday, right after school?"

"Sounds like a pretty good deal to me, Wally," I said, as we approached a
corner.  Wally looked around, then said his goodbyes and trodded off on the
adjecent street.  Shelby and I ventured off to our own home, discussing the
many things one must tear off of a vehicle, and the fact that my friends
were not completely insane, as the car that they purchased for me was only
a few hundred dollars due to a body that had been reduced to near solid
rust from sitting in a field for the past twelve years, at least.  How it
still ran was a mystery to all who'd seen it.

When we got to our house, we dropped our stuff on the floor beside the door
and ran upstairs to change our clothes.  When we came down, we flopped onto
the couch in the living room but didn't turn on the T.V.  Actually, we just
sat there and stared at each other.

"You do know that about half our class knows Jeremy's gay, right?" he asked
me.  Uh-huh.  Interesting way to start a conversation, eh?

"Well, no, I didn't know that.  Why do you ask?"

"I just thought I'd let you know, so that when people start askin' why
you're always hangin' around with him, you know what they're thinkin',
automatically."

"But I don't hang out with him all the time," I protested, though I could
feel myself fighting off a smile.

"Maybe not yet, but once you get your mystery car outta the garage and onto
the street, I'm willin' to bet you will be," he said, tilting his head to
the said and returning the smile.

"Yeah, well..." I started, searching for something to say, "Let 'em talk."

"That's the spirit!" said Shelby, swinging a fist through the air and
cheering me on in mock victory.  I just rolled my eyes and got up to answer
the knock at the front door.  I opened the door, and Jeremy slammed up
against me, grabbed my shirt at the shoulders, and spun us both around in
such a fashion that in the midst of our spin, the door was shut and he was
holding me up against it, and then, not wasting a second, he kissed me.  I
mean, he KISSED me!  The boy was damn happy about something.  When he
finally broke his attack on my tongue, due to Shelby clearing his throat,
he first turned to Shelby and said "Sorry," with a big grin, not to mention
a little out of breath, and then turned to me and released my shirt.

"What was that?" I asked, catching my own breath as well.

"I just got off the phone and ran over here as fast as I could," he panted.
"He's comin' home--my Dad's comin' home!"

***************************************************************************

Juke hung upside-down from the chin-up bar that was mounted to the wall in
his bedroom.  He had his knees wrapped around it and was doing a set of
"sit-ups", if you can really call them that.  He'd been working out for
quite some time; at this point, he was only wearing a pair of mint green
shorts, and he was drenched with sweat.  He finished the last of his
sit-ups, grabbed the bar with his hands, and pushed off backwards with his
legs, in sort of a flipping motion, landing on his feet, though he was
still holding the bar.

Releasing his grip, he walked over to the queen size bed that was placed
with the headboard directly under the small basement window.  He stood up
on his bed, kicking the pillows out of the way, and looked up at the 6
o'clock sky, tainted pink from the sunset.

He watched as his father's 2000 Cherokee pulled into the asphalt driveway.
Out of it came a man in a dark suit, briefcase in hand, who looked like any
other tired office worker.  But he wasn't.  Juke knew this because he lived
with him, or what was left of him.  As the figure disappeared up the walk
to the front door, vanishing as he passed the small window, the tantilizing
aroma of his mom's cooking wafted its way around his nose.  Juke closed his
eyes, savoring the smell of a well-cooked ham, then opened them.

He saw the truck.  Well, no; he saw two bright headlights, two large
reflective squares above them, and a shimmering box of criss-crossing lines
between the lights.  The sudden fear was heart-stopping, and he could feel
his dad's hand against his chest, bracing him back against the seat, while
his other hand spun the wheel frantically, trying to out-maneuver the
on-coming rig.  The wasn't helping, and the gaurd rails on both sides of
the bridge weren't about to allow for the car to simply drive off the road
and avoid conflict.  There was a loud burst, undoubtedly the front tire of
the semi, and within seconds, the giant truck slammed into the front of the
car, taking through the gaurd rail that just moments ago disallowed any
form of passage.  Then the dashboard snapped, and a nanosecond later, he
was bleeding.  The car was run not only off the road, but several yards
away, into the swarm of trees.  He looked to his left.  The driver door was
gone, his father tossed to the street, face-down, immobile.  He tried to
get out, reach him, but the hood of the car was shoved in to the point that
even if his hand could've reached the buckle, he couldn't have gotten out
for the crumpled hood covering his lap and just inches from severing his
torso.

"Hey!" she yelled, snapping his attention to the here and now.  He turned
to see his sister of twelve years standing in his doorway.  He quickly
looked out the window to the black, starlit sky, but then back to her.

"Supper's ready, Juke," she said.  "We called you, like, a million times.
You gotta learn to listen," and with that, she ran up the stairs.

Juke sighed, grabbed a shirt, and left his room, crossing the basement to
the laundry room, which also held a sink and a shower.  He rinsed himself
off, opting to take a shower after he ate.  He dried off and put on his
shirt, and started to leave, pausing in the doorway of the laundry room,
leaning against it, his thouhgts returning briefly to the normal-looking
guy in the dark suit.  He was his father, yes, but not his dad.  He lost
his dad when he lost his voice.

****************************************************************************

Kate was laying on her bed, feet in the air and chin resting on her hands.
She was reading some stupid teeny bopper magazine--yes, I said "teeny
bopper"--and the hackneyed cliche of an article she was reading was on how
all of the sexy boys are always the stupid boys.  If I was there, I'd a
smacked her.

Anyway, halfway into her article, the phone rang.  She looked up at the
translucently shelled telephone on the desk three feet from the bed.  She
grumbled at the idea of having to reach the phone, but then tried to do so
without moving her body.  With arm outstretched, she tried to grab the
ringing appliance, but fell short about six inches, as she doesn't quite
have a six-foot armspan.  With an odd motion, she shook her body forward
enough to grab the receiver, but the bed shook, too, and she didn't regain
her former stability.  The a thud, a clang, and an "Ugh", Kate and her
phone hit the floor, receiver landing by her head.

"Ow," she mumbled, lifting up the front of her body to grab the receiver
once more.

"Hello?  Kate, are ya there?  You O.K., what was that?" came the hyper
voice on the phone.  Ignoring the urgency, she responded.

"Yeah, I'm here.  What's up?" she asked.

"What happened?  I heard a crash."

"Yeah, I fell off the bed.  So did the phone," she said.

"The phone was on the bed?" came the bewildered voice.  Kate sighed.

"What do you want, Jeremy?"

Now see, this was odd.  Jeremy very seldom calls girls, and Kate is no
exception.  He's content just to hang out with her.  In fact, knowing
Jeremy, had it not been so late, he most likely would've run to her house,
too.

"Well, um, I kinda have a question," he said, sounding unsure of himself.

"And that would be?"

"Um, have you seen Micheal lately?" he asked.  "He seems kinda...I
dunno....  Giddy."

"Micheal?" she asked, astonishment in her voice.  "Giddy?"

"Yeah, and he gets giddier every day.  He keeps talkin' about Wally said we
get to have a zombie, or something insanely stupid like that.  But he goes
on at a hundred miles an hour, and I can't get rhyme nor reason out of him,
and I figured that if you tried, you could probably get him to make sense."

"What?!" she yelped.  "What are you talking about?!"

"I don't know!" he exclaimed.  "The boy has flipped his knickers!  Don't
act like I know what he's talking about, that's why I'm talking about it to
you!"

"Wha--uh, O.K., fine.  I'll talk to him.  I'll regret it...but I'll talk to
him."

"Thanks, baby."

"Shut-up."

And with Jeremy giggling, they hung up.

*****************************************************************************

Zimran was sweeping up between the tables and chairs.  Closing time again,
indicated by the big neon sign in the parking lot having been turned off.
He stood for a moment, both hands resting on the top of the broom handle,
as he stared out the big glass window before him into the dark street.

Admittedly, he had a very distinct name, but with a reason that was decent,
at least.  Since forever in his family, everyone has had a biblical name;
his father, David, and his uncle, Joseph.  Zimran was just next on the list
when he was born.  Not many people knew his name, though.  In fact, not
many people knew much about him at all.

Now don't start feeling bad for him; he made it this way.  In fact, he
honestly thought that that was how it was supposed to be, that he was meant
to be truly alone.  And he didn't care.  His parents were taken years ago,
his last grandparent three weeks later.  His aunt left Uncle Joe when
Zimran came to live with them.  He didn't know anybody in California and he
didn't really care to.  Well, except for Joe, but he's family, he doesn't
count.  After his Aunt Cloe left, not even a whole two weeks after Zimran's
arrival, the whole thing started.  Zimran shut down completely, omitting
the rest of the human race.  His uncle was very worried, but nothing he did
ever seemed to help.  Worse, it never seemed to hurt, either.  There was no
right or wrong way to deal with Zimran, because he'd numbed himself
entirely to the world, the whole friggin' planet Earth.  In his mind, if he
cared for anybody, that person would be taken away.  He'd had that happen
too much, too fast.  How to stop it?  Stop caring.  Caring equals loss.
Loss equals pain.

"Hey, Z-man," came his uncle's voice from across the diner.  "Howzabout chu
finish up-a the sweepin an' gota sleep, eh?"

Zimran turned and gave his uncle a half smile.

"O.K., Uncle Joe," he said.  "I'll be done in a few minutes."

"Thasa my boy," said Joe, as he turned and walked up the stairs, hidden
behind a door marked 'employees only'.

Turning back to the window, Zimran finished up the sweeping then put the
chairs up on their respective tables and turned out the lights.  With a
sigh and a heavy heart, though only by ignorant choice, Zimran started up
the stairs and closed the door behind him.

*****************************************************************************

Vlad laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.  This was the 14th week.
It was bad enough being an exchange student, because nobody would talk to
you, but with the rumors around that he was a crackhead,--and yes, he was
with the slang of America by this time--nobody would even come near him.
Talk about feeling like a foreigner.  How ironic that insomnia should make
his reputation so poor that his life become a living nightmare.  It almost
made him laugh.  Almost.

He also didn't like the name people used on him, but he could appreciate
how he got it.  Fourteen weeks, on an average of 3 hours of sleep a night,
if he got to sleep, had him looking more than dead.  Pale, dark around the
eyes.  And no clue as to what caused it.  It was no wonder that nobody
wanted to be around him the whole first nine weeks.

But then, just a few days ago, an odd thing happened.  Well, odd compared
to recent routines.  A kid came over and talked to him at lunch.
Voluntarily.  Of his own accord.  Weird.  His name was Micheal, and he had
a nice accent, and a very pretty face.  But that wasn't the issue.  The
issue was that Micheal had asked him to be friends.  He said he knew what
it was to be the one who talks different, who looks different.  The one who
eveyrone sees as an outsider.  He said that he knew a few people who were
nothing BUT outsiders that nobody wanted, but they'd found great people in
each other.  The offer sounded a little hokey, but hey, friends are
friends.  He'd agreed to meet them, this weekend.  They'd all go to a movie
and afterwards get a meal somewhere, get to know eachother.  After that, if
Vlad didn't like 'em, he could just say so, no hard feelings, and never
have to bother with them again.

Sounds like quite a gang, too.

'Well, that's something we'll figure out this weekend,' he thought.  'Right
now, I've got some sleeping to not do.'  And with that thought in mind, he
stood up and walked to his window, gazing at the midnight setting of a
small California neighborhood street.


===========================================================================

....To Be Continued....
Yeah, this took a while, too.  I'm sorry.
Any Comments or Criticism go to me at servo_blue@usa.com or
Inverse@mindless.com  Whatever floats your boat.