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#Post#: 6--------------------------------------------------
untitled. live with it.
By: Slash Date: August 19, 2010, 10:33 am
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Out of boredom, and the need for a thread, I post rough draft
for thee. Written in the wee hours. It's not top-notch.
Inspired by John Green's work, and Going Bovine.
Constructive critism welcome.
So. Here we are. Scratch that. Bad start. Best foot forward
and all.
My name is Desi (it's a long story) Straite (ironic, I'll tell
you why later). Seventeen and a half years old, last year of
highschool. I go to Westford high, in Lemming Kentucky. This is
my story.
1:05am the clock reads. I roll away from the glow, pulling my
sheet up over my face to block the light seeping in the window
from the streetlight. Finally, in frustration, I kick my covers
all the way off the bed and sit up. After a minute of
searching, I step into a pair of jeans and my sneakers. Beatles
tee. On my way through the kitchen I jot a quick note for mom,
in case she wakes up to check on me - as she often does.
Now freedom. Out the door, 1:13 in the morning, nothing to do,
nowhere to go, nobody about.
The thought had barely entered my head when I heard an even
"clack...clack...clack" behind me.
"'Scuse me." Smack of bubble gum. I jumped at the sound of her
voice.
"'Scuse me. Either you move or I hit you, 'cause I ain't
stopping."
"What are you doing?"
"Skateboarding. Duh. I thought that was obvious."
"Yeah. But...at one in the morning?"
"You got a problem with that? I skateboard at one in the morning
so I don't have to worry about people. Now, my turn: what are
you doing out here?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"So you decided to wander about the town...I like you."
Her unvarnished way of speaking is a bit abrasive, but hey,
she's someone to talk to. She doesn’t seem like she’s about to
A)
B)
C)
conversation.
“What’s your name?”
“Winnona Ambrigia Calahan Cyrano Weston Pahool. Call me
Weston.” I tried, with rather pathetic results, to conceal my
shock. She rolled her eyes at me.
“Desi Straite.” I extend a hand. She returns with a fist bump,
that falls flat on my open palm.
“Are you new around here? I haven’t seen you around.” Soft
laugh. At me.
“Yeah. I’m new.’
“You going to Westford?”
“Graduated last year. I’m just roaming.”
“What about college? Job?” She laughs again, much harder.
Definitely at me.
“You have all your cute little ducks in a row, don’t you?
Finish highschool, get into a “good”,’ she inserted exaggerated
quotation marks with her fingers. “college, graduate, get a job,
fall in love, get married, and have a bundle of cute, giggly,
happy children, right?”
“I won’t have…I can’t..Never mind.” Her interest had been
awoken – no taking my mumble back now.
“No, what? Say it. I won’t laugh. Promise.” Win – Weston’s
voice had dropped all sarcasm. She meant it.
“I – no. I haven’t told anyone.”
“There’s a first for everything.” Her grin has a hypnotic charm
to it. It’s two AM. What happens now, stays now. I only hope
she knows this rule.
“Just that I…” I hesitate, take a huge breathe, and blurt it
out. “I don’t like girls. I – I’m gay. There. Laugh.”
Silence.
More silence.
“Weston?”
“Huh? Oh. I was just thinking.”
“Oh.” I yawn. “Well, I guess I should probably go sleep.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay. G’night, Desi.”
Only after I get home, undress, and climb back in bed do I
realize I have no way to find her again. No school, phone
number, email, address, nothing.
#Post#: 79--------------------------------------------------
Re: untitled. live with it.
By: missmegrp7296 Date: August 25, 2010, 5:38 pm
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Are you going to post more?
#Post#: 118--------------------------------------------------
Re: untitled. live with it.
By: Slash Date: August 31, 2010, 12:09 pm
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Eventually. I just started writing the second chapter, so it
might be a couple weeks.
#Post#: 135--------------------------------------------------
Re: untitled. live with it.
By: Slash Date: September 29, 2010, 2:02 pm
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Chapter 2:
I run and run and run and still the shrill whistle blows. Loud
and piercing. WHY WILL IT NOT STOP?! Then I wake up. My hand
slams down on the top of my alarm clock. Quiet. At last.
“DESI! UP! SCHOOL!” Mom. Ugh. Monday. I linger too long, again.
“DESIIII!” This time I jump up: she has dumped buckets of icy
water over me before. I don’t put it past her to do so again.
As quickly as the rush of adrenaline arrived, it left. In a
zombie-like state I get dressed and stumble down the stairs to
the kitchen. There’s only Cheerios and Wheaties left in the
cabinet. I put a couple waffles in the toaster, instead. Mom
rushes in the room, the one-woman tornado she is when getting
ready.
“Desi, hurry, please. I can’t give you a ride if it’s going to
make me late again.”
“Hurrying.” My bag, packed last night by my overly-helpful
mother, is sitting by the door ready to be napped as we dash for
the car. POP. We both jump at the sound of the toaster. I
grab my chocolate-chip waffles, slide my feet into Converse, and
run for the door, mom only slightly behind me. Before jumping
into the car I snatch my bag in a single, practiced motion. Mom
runs around to the driver’s side, throws her stuff in between
the front seats, climbs in, and is barely buckled with the door
closed when she begins to back out of the garage.
“MOM! Door!” Again. Third time this month she’s nearly backed
into the garage door.
“Oops, sorry.” She presses the button, and taps her
brown-painted nails impatiently on the wheel as the door creeps
upwards.
Finally, it’s high enough for us to pull out, close the door,
and race off to work – school, for me.
Upon reaching the front doors of the high school, mom just
barely stops for me to get out – maybe a millisecond of no
motion for me to leap out of the car onto the sidewalk, with my
bag, and close the door behind me.
She waves hurriedly – mother’s duty – before rushing to work. I
run in my trademark awkward way into the building.
“Heyy, suga! Have I ever told you that your run is so awkward it
makes me hurt?” That’s Bilquis, my girlfriend (safety
precaution) for show – and I know she won’t become too
attached: she’s lesbian. A pity really. Even I can appreciate
her stunning looks; curvy in all the right places, Egyptian
decent, long eyelashes, miles of legs, and the most musical
voice I’ve ever heard. Of course, this was all from
observation, and not sexual drive, for me, but it makes every
last guy in high school jealous of her boyfriend. Which would
be me.
#Post#: 139--------------------------------------------------
Re: untitled. live with it.
By: balletkat Date: September 29, 2010, 2:59 pm
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that is really good!
#Post#: 150--------------------------------------------------
Re: untitled. live with it.
By: Slash Date: October 1, 2010, 11:52 am
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[quote author=balletkat link=topic=5.msg139#msg139
date=1285790387]
that is really good!
[/quote]
Thanx.
I've been reading good books.
And creativity finally came back.
My notebooks are filling up.
x)
#Post#: 155--------------------------------------------------
Re: untitled. live with it.
By: Vampire Penguin Date: October 15, 2010, 9:13 pm
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Pretty good- You should post more.
#Post#: 157--------------------------------------------------
Re: untitled. live with it.
By: Slash Date: October 22, 2010, 12:02 pm
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[quote author=Vampire Penguin link=topic=5.msg155#msg155
date=1287195192]
Pretty good- You should post more.
[/quote]
Danke. I've got more written, just an issue of getting it typed
up and posted. I'll have more time when I have my own computer
back.
#Post#: 158--------------------------------------------------
chap. 3
By: Slash Date: October 29, 2010, 10:44 am
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"Desi. Desi!" AT last my eyes find the source of the yelling
of my name. Bilquis.
"Come here!" The instant I come within an arms-reach Bilquis
pulls me close; first tugging me by hand, then wrapping an arm
around my waist. She holds me tightly against her, loops both
arms behind my neck, and kisses me. Full and long on the mouth.
Her eyes are closed, as usual - she's picturing me as her
current crush. This is the way we get out the extra hormones
and urgency until one or both of us leave the closet.
"Backupnow." slides between my lips. She takes two small steps
back, just enough that our bodies aren't pressed against each
other anymore. My turn: with her chest off mine, it's easier to
picture her as Fergus.
The days of Lennon were so much simpler... Worry of somebody
discovering us, yes, but it was worth it. I guess, when I said
I'd never told anybody about being gay, I was lying. Bilquis
knows I like guys, but not the extent, and Lennon knew.
Lennon was my first (and only) boyfriend. He was a year
older than I, homeschooled, a couple inches taller, slender, but
muscular, with light brown hair that constantly fell into his
eyes. He was smart: everybody expected him to go to Harvard or
Yale, or an Ivy League - with a scholarship. He probably would
have, too.
We met in the music section of Barnes & Noble. The B
section. I was looking for Help!, he for the white album.
Conversation struck up, and after getting our music, we headed
out to Latte Da to appease coffee cravings. He likes his coffee
scalding hot, with a hint of pumpkin, if possible.
After talking three hours, mom texted me a "where are
you?", warning my imminent departure. Switching phones, we
added ourselves into each other's contacts. With promises to
call, or text soon, I left. The whole drive home I couldn't
stop glancing at his contact. Lennon Machov.
Almost immediately after getting home I headed for my room.
hey.
heyy. wassup?
i miss u alrea - No, delete, delete, delete.
skool. the reg. boring stuff.
gotcha.
hey, Cosmic Schmuck has a gig @ the Kage, Friday nite. U wana
go?
sure. what time?
7-12.
sounds like a plan. c u then.
The whole week I was psyched. Distracted and antsy. I even
went out and got a pair of jeans to wear. By Thursday night, I
had my whole ensemble picked out, figured out what I was going
to drink, and how to react if someone from school saw us.
#Post#: 168--------------------------------------------------
Re: untitled. live with it.
By: Slash Date: December 11, 2010, 1:39 pm
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now
After successfully surviving through another day in the life, I
head out - in my long, roundabout way, in the paranoid worry
that somebody'd see me - to the graveyard. It's been my Monday
afternoon traditions for just over a year.
I lie down in the grass, six feet above where Lennon lies.
He might as well be in the next universe, with the access I have
to him.
My tears fall fresh on hils grave. The memories still
retain their sting. I remember kissing in the pouring rain, and
hours listening to music, and I remember the feel of his hand in
mine, the shine in his eyes when he smiled.
A year and three weeks ago (it was a Monday) Lennon was
found dead in his room - died of a drug overdose. His suicide
note was discovered shortly after. He emailed me a more
detailed note.
"Desi?" My recollections are promptly burst. "Desi?" The voice
falters this time.
"Bilquis?"
"I need you. Like...you know." I do know. This is Bilquis for
'sex'. And 90% of the guys at school know it. Somehow. Offers
to "help you out" are called to her frequently, walking through
the hallways at school.
While I take her back to my house - I consider it highly
disrespectful to screw around in a place of peace for the dead,
and mom works until 6 - she explains.
Jagger tried to kiss her again. The keypal girlfriend
she's had for four months broke up with her. Stress from the
test today. The usual worry about being discovered lesbian.
We make it to my house and head up to my room; she gives me
time to picture Lennon, Fergus, Zevon - crushes; turn-ons
Necessary, being as how we don't turn each other on at all, we
have to start out ready. This is more support and cheer-up than
self-pleasing. Protection, however, is not an issue. Mom keeps
a basket (yes, seriously, a basket) of condoms under the
bathroom sink. She's had 'the talk' with me, and warned against
pre-marital sex, but saied she knows how the teenage years are,
and 'make sure we always use protection, it'll be under the
sink'.
I had grabbed one on our way past the bathroom; Bilquis got
her comfort and relief from the day, I got slammed with more
memories. When does life move on past tragedies?
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