Marcus Shepard
This is the continuation of Breakfast at Tiffany's. As before, this story is lacking in sexual content, that happens later... maybe... If you are not interested in reading a story about a man and a teen boy, then don't read it. If you are offended by this type of content, go to you address line on your browser, and delete everything you don't agree with and hit "enter"... As always, this never happened... I was never here... And you didn't see a thing...
Then that's the only, idea we'll ever have.
Maybe if we are surrounded in beauty,
Someday we will become what we see.
`Cause any one can start a conflict.
It's harder yet to disregard it.
I'd rather see the world from another angle.
We are everyday angles...
Jewel.
On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, about two weeks after Marc met Joey; Tiffany went to visit her Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin. After talking to the adults for about half an hour she enquired "where's Simon, normally he's all over me when I come over?"
"He's up in his room," Mr. Christensen replied. "He's been really down the last few weeks. We tried talking to him about it, but he won't say anything. Teenagers, what can you say?" He shrugged.
"We're really starting to get worried about him; he just hasn't been himself lately." Mrs. Christensen intoned.
"I'll go up and see him; maybe he'll talk to me." Tiffany was glade for an excuse to get away from them. She wasn't overly found of her aunt and uncle, or their generally apathetic attitude towards their son. They were always caught up in their own lives, and in their work. The only real reason Tiffany came over was to see Simon.
"Oh would you Tiffany dear? That would be so nice." Mrs. Christensen replied.
So Tiffany went up the stairs and down the hall and knocked at Simon's door. After getting no reply, she slowly opened the door, and looked in. At once she knew that he Aunt and Uncle had not been exaggerating. The boy's room, which was usually a complete mess, was neat and tidy. The bed the boy was sitting on was even made, something completely unheard of.
Simon sat quietly on the bed, his long red hair in a tight braid falling down his back, and listening to his headset as he gazed forlornly out the window. When she stepped into the room he looked over his shoulder at her, and then went back to looking out the window.
Tiffany wasn't about to have any of this. She calmly walked over to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and unfolded every pair of socks the boy had, leaving a few hanging out. She proceeded to go through every drawer, messing up the clothes and leaving random articles hanging out the partially opened drawers. She then walked over to the boy's desk, and spread all of the papers and CDs around, then opened the boy's backpack and unceremoniously dumped its contents on the floor. After that, she went to the bookshelf, and started to knock random books off, even going to far as to toss some across the room. Finally she went over to the clothesbasket, and started throwing various garments around the room, making sure that a pair of boxers landed on Simon's head. The boy did nothing.
Looking around again, Tiffany saw that the only clean areas left in the room was the corner where the boy kept his violin and music, which was always clean, no matter how bad the rest of the room, and the bed. Making her way over to the latter, Tiffany started to unmake the bed around Simon. She un-tucked the sheets and blanket, took the pillow out of the pillow case, and hung it over the foot board, and just generally rumpled things.
Deciding that the room was close enough to its normal state of disarray, Tiffany flopped down on the bed next to Simon. As soon as she had settled, with her head on Simon's pillow, he looked down at her. She raised a hand to her ear, and making a cupping gesture, moved the hand behind her ear. Taking the clue, the boy reached up and moved one of his headphones behind his ear.
"Hey kid, how you doing?"
"I'm fine Tiffany, how are you?" Simon said stiffly.
Tiffany gave him a queer look. "You know honey, you sound entirely too serious for a little boy with a pair of smiley face underpants on his head. What's wrong love?"
Simon reached up and took the boxers off his head, then tossed them across the room. When he looked back at her, Tiffany saw the tears in the boy's eyes. Suddenly, Simon jumped forward, buried his head in her chest, and started to sob. Tiffany sat up and pulled the usually cheerful, but suddenly lachrymose child into her lap. She stroked his back, and long red hair, that was so much like her own, and made soothing sounds into his ear. When the boy had calmed down, Tiffany looked into his tear-reddened eyes and said, "You need ice cream."
She stood up, still holding the child who promptly wrapped his arms and legs around her, and rested his head on her shoulder. Tiffany went down stairs, told Simon's parents that they where going to go out and was told to be back by six for dinner. She went out to her car, and opening the passenger door, placed Simon inside, before going around and getting in the drivers seat. She drove to the local Baskin Robins; which was conveniently located next to a park.
She bought him a cone, and herself a cup, and they went and sat on a bench in the park. They talked about his school, and her restaurant, and his performance the next day. They talked about everything; they talked about nothing. When they had finished their ice-cream she asked "so what's bothering you Simon? I doubt it's that A you got on your math test."
Simon looked at her seriously for a moment, "Promise you won't tell my parents?"
"Cross my heart, Simon. You know I'll always keep your secrets."
"Well, you see, there's this guy I like..." Simon began but was cut off by Tiffany.
"Oh goddess, what's with the men in my life?" Tiffany exclaimed, before realizing that now wasn't a good time for it.
Simon looked like he was about to start crying again. "That's why I didn't tell mom and dad. I knew they wouldn't understand either."
"No, no, Simon. It's not that at all. It's just that another friend of mine is all down in the dumps. He's having guy problems too." She kneeled on the ground in front of him and hugged him to her. "There is nothing wrong with you liking another guy, and I'm sorry if I made it sound like that. I'm not upset with you, ok? Tell me what happened."
"Well the guy, he's older then me, so I told him I was older so he would, you know, like me too." Tiffany had trouble believing that. Simon looked even younger than his thirteen years, and could have passed for eleven. The boy had trouble convincing people he was his own age, yet alone any older. Tiffany kept her speculations to herself. "Well, it seemed like he did, you know, like me. But then he found out how old I am and now he won't talk to me. I don't know what to do. I tried talking to him, and apologizing to him but he won't even acknowledge me."
"Oh baby, I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you what to do, but it sounds like you did what you could. Maybe he just needs more time... If you want, I could do a spread on it."
Simon hesitated pensively before saying, "I guess you can if you want to."
So Tiffany took out her black bag, and shuffled her cards. She placed them down in a simple spread and was startled by a strong feeling of déjà vu. It took her a moment to figure out why she felt like she had done that before. With the exception of Joey's and Marc's cards being switched so that Joey's card was in Simon's place, and Marc's card in Simon's friend's place. She found it amazing that her two favorite men in the world would be going through something so similar, and have such similar tarot spreads at the exact same time. Finally, she picked up the "Insight" card and showing it to Simon said, "Hope love, there is always hope."
They went back to Simon's house and had dinner with his parents. The boy's spirits seemed to have lifted, at least a little, and he was able to chat with them over the food. Upon finding out that Simon's parents weren't going to be able to get off work for Simon's performance the next day, Tiffany volunteered to close her store early and pick Simon up from school, and go to the show with him. They would meet up with his parents later for a celebratory dinner at Simon's favorite restaurant. It was an offer that was gratefully accepted by all.
The next day, Marc arrived a Tiffany's for breakfast. As always, his food was ready when he arrived. Tiffany asked about his health, and as had become her habit in the last few weeks, she smacked him upside the head and called him a fool for not talking to Joey. Only today, his reaction was different.
"You're right" he yielded "I am. I've decided to write to him tonight. I know I need to talk to him, but I don't think I should do it all online." He took a deep breath. "I need to ask you a favor Tiffany. I want to meet him again, and I think here would be the best place. It wont be as public as the mall, and I would be more comfortable. Besides, at least here he has an ally." He paused to gauge her reaction. She smiled. "I want him to come here for breakfast on Saturday, around nine. Is that all right with you Tiffany?"
"Wonderful, Saturday at nine; I'll be sure to make something nice." She leaned over the counter and kissed his cheek. "I'm sure Joey will be happy. Oh, bye the way, I'm going to be closing early today, around two, so if you want lunch, let me know before then. I'm going to my cousin, Simon's violin performance. He's really good. You want to come?"
"No thanks Tiffany, I have a shipment coming in around then and need to be here for it."
"Ok, that's fine."
Marc finished his breakfast and went to open his shop.
At
Simon took a quick shower, and then stood before the mirror examining himself critically. Well below average height, and skinny –not lean- with long red hair, and emerald eyes. His chest was flat, but for his ribs which could be seen slightly. His stomach was actually slightly sunken, something he hated. He felt his body was a collection of hollow places. His armpits, stomach, even his throat and shoulder blades had recesses. A school doctor had once called CPS on his parents of neglecting to feed him for long periods of time. The boy wasn't starved though. He ate like a horse, partially in an attempt to gain weight. But his entire attempt had been futile, he just couldn't gain weight. This resulted in Simon being the shortest lightest kid in his class. And that, coupled with his passive, intellectual nature, led to a lot of bullying. It didn't help his ego much that most of the fag comments hurled his way where perfectly accurate.
Simon continued looking himself over. His waist, obviously, was slim, with a distinct V pointing down to his genitals. He was pleased with the curly red hair that had recently sprouted there; the only hair on his body not directly connected to his head. He loved looking at his long slim erection jutting forth form the space red curls, and imagined that when he had more hair, it would look like a rocket blasting off for space. His legs where long, and due to his fondness for jogging, had at least a little muscular development. He turned around a little and smiled to himself. "At least I have a nice ass to fall back on."
"Well aren't you just so punderful," Came Tiffany's voice from the other side of the door. "Now hurry your nice ass up and get dressed so I can brush your hair."
Simon saw his reflection flush to the same color as his hair and called back "I can brush my own hair, Tiffany!"
"Yeah, but I called dibs. Now hurry up, I'll be down stairs."
Tiffany was sitting on the coach meditating upon her gods when Simon came down. Ok, so she was reading a tabloid. Hey, nobody's perfect. As Simon advanced towards her, hairbrush in his hand, she began her own assessment. Sure the boy was short and skinny, but he was also vary attractive. Tiffany was sure that at least some of the boys that called him a fag did so with a certain amount of desire. Besides, the boy knew how to dress when he wanted to.
Simon stood before her in jade green slacks, a cream colored shirt with long sleeves, and a buttoned V neck vest, also of jade green. His hair, dry, but as instructed in a complete state of disarray. Considering some of the more unusual ways Simon's hair was falling, Tiffany figured that he had desperately messed it up, just for her. Tiffany took the brush and gleefully set into the boy's hair. Fortunately for both of them, they both had extremely silky hair, not at all taken to tangles. It only took her a few minutes to get the hair brushed, but she sat there for much longer, enjoying herself. Simon would never admit it, but he liked having her brush his hair every bit as much as she liked brushing it. It made him feel loved and wanted, something he often lacked as his parents worked so much.
Soon it was time for them to leave, so Simon went to get his violin, and then they went out to the car. The drive took almost and hour, Simon sitting there singing along to U2. Simon had no trouble with the drive, even with the anticipation of his performance. Tiffany on the other hand, became fidgety. As soon as they arrived Tiffany got out and started stretching, and jogging around a little. Simon laughed. "What, you think it's funny? Fine, next time you drive!" The boy's eyes got big and a smile spread across his face. "On second thought, I'll drive..."
They went inside and Tiffany ordered several copies of the CD that was to be made from the night's performances. Simon went off to warm up and tune his instrument. There where to be fourteen individual performers, and three performances by full orchestras. The idea was to raise money from the show for the local school districts music department. All of the performers where exceptionally good, the best the schools had to offer. When the thirteenth soloist was finished, he and the other twelve mounted the stage for a bow. Then the orchestras assembled and bowed. The received their applause and headed off the stage. Then the stage went dark.
Instead of the light in the theater going on, a voice came over the speaker. "As a special treat tonight, we have a gust performance this evening. Mr. Simon Joseph Christensen will be performing a song of his own composition." The speaker went off, and a spot light clicked on. There, standing alone in the center of a circle of radiance was Simon, poised and ready to play. There was no music stand with his sheet music, just the boy, and the violin. With the light around him, and the serene look on his face and his hair falling down his back and over his right shoulder, the boy looked radiant. The violin was perched on his left shoulder, his arm loose, his back straight. When the crowed quieted, he began to play.
At first the piece was quiet, almost tentative in nature. Then slowly it got louder and bolder. For a while the notes where fast and strong, almost sounding like they where playing a game together. The music worked its way up playing along the highest notes. Then suddenly there was a pause. When the music started again it was the same notes, but two octaves lower, and played half as quickly. The song was no longer a game, but the remembering and attempt to reclaim joy, now past. It grew slower and slower, and then that too ended. The song was not long, full notes with lots of vibrato. The song was grief and mourning. Slowly the song increased in speed, ever so slightly, and worked its way up to the middle strings, and the song became hope. The song was sad, the song was sweet, and the song moved everyone there vary deeply. There wasn't a dry eye in attendance. The song ended, the last note fading away to oblivion, and the room was silent. A few moments later, as a single entity, the audience rose and broke into a tumultuous applause.
Simon lowered his instrument, bowed once deeply, and the spot light clicked off. The lights in the auditorium slowly raised, but the clapping went on for several more minutes before disintegrating into the general chaos of a crowd after show. Almost everyone who hadn't ordered a CD before the show went to order, as well as most of the people who had only ordered one. The producers of the show, mostly music teachers and band directors, where ecstatic; they had practically doubled the music departments funding in one night.
Simon, instrument in hand, ventured forth in search of Tiffany. He was besieged by a horde of well-wishers and new fans. Everyone wanted to shake his hand, pat his shoulder, or give him a friendly slap on the back. Worst were the girls that would squirm up to him, touch him, giggle and flee back to their friends, all of them goggling at him. Most of all though, everyone wanted to ask him questions. `How old are you?' `How long have you been playing?' `Did you really write that?' On and on the questions and the prodding and the touching went until Simon wanted to scream.
By the time he reached Tiffany, Simon felt like he was about to come apart. His arm was wobbly from all the hand shakes. His hand felt crushed from all the men who advocated the `firm handshake' philosophy. His shoulders where soar, his back stung. Even his ass hurt from the menstruations of a few unknown pinchers. The second he reached her, the smile that had been plastered to his face for the last half hour vanished, and he gave her the most pathetic expression imaginable. She took his violin in her left hand and perched him over her right him, holding him up with that arm. He wrapped his arms around her neck and rested his head on her shoulder. "I'm tiered, I'm hungry, and I want to be out of here." He whispered into her ear.
Tiffany made her way to the exit, the crowed seemingly parting before her. Simon reflected that this was probably the only good thing about being so small. Tiffany could still carry him; something his parents had stopped doing long ago. He loved it; loved the warmth and security, and the love he felt when he was held by her. For despite all his talent, intelligence, and maturity, and despite the fact that he spent so much time avoiding others, he still needed that positive affirmation of who he was. He thought of a line from Epiphany, and how it always sounded like it was about him. "I am nothing more than, a little boy inside, that cries out for attention, yet I always try to hide." Or the part that said "cause I can't take any more of this, I want to come apart, and dig myself a little hole inside your precious heart."
Tiffany bore him out of the theater, and to the car. They drove off to meet Simon's parents for dinner.
Meanwhile, back at the bat cave, more commonly known as Mar's computer room, Marc –you all forgot about him didn't you- began to compose a long series of e-mails.
Dear Joey,
I'm going to send you several e-mails now. The last one will have a song attached. I want you to read them all, and think about it before reply.
I know I haven't written to you in a while, and I know how much that must have hurt you. I want you to know that I have read them all, listened to all the songs you sent, and I kept them all. On my computer is a file with your name. In it is everything you've sent me. Every letter, every song, every URL, everything. I've been going through it, thinking about you and me, and what we were to one another.
Joey, you didn't deserve to be ignored by me. That was wrong. To start to make up for it, I am now, finally, going to reply to each letter you've sent me.
In response to the first, Joey, don't apologize to me. I should apologize to you. I was rude, pig headed and insensitive. I was so caught up in what I felt; I didn't pause to think of what you must have been going through...
The letter went on, and as promised he replied to every letter in turn. It took several hours, and when the last reply was sent, he got himself some tea, stretched, and began to compose his final letter.
Dear Joey,
I've been thinking a lot lately... about you, about me, about us. I've been talking to a friend about it, and she's made me see something. Joey, I love you. You're the one who "came through the screen and taught me the meaning of happiness." Joey, these last few weeks without you have been hell for me, I can only image what they've been for you.
I want to make it right. I know I can't undo what's been done, but hopefully we can redo it. I wasn't to meet you again. Not at the mall. I have a better place in mind. It's semi-neutral territory. Somewhere I'm familiar with, and where you have a fervent supporter. I assure you, she's hit me every time I've seen her since I left you at the mall. If anyone is going to have the home court advantage, it will be you, which is as it should be.
Meet me on Saturday at
Love Marc
Attached was a song.
You'll say, we've got
nothing in common, No common ground to start from, And we're falling apart,
You'll say, the world has come between us, Our lives have come between us,
Still I know you just don't care.
And I said, "What about 'Breakfast at Tiffany's?" She said, "I
think I remember the film, And as I recall, I think, we both kind of liked
it."
And I said, "Well that's, the one thing we've got."
I see you, the only one who knew me, And now your eyes see through me, I guess
I was wrong,
So what now? It's plain to see we're over, And I hate when things are over,
When so much is left undone.
And I said, "What about 'Breakfast at Tiffany's?" She said, "I
think I, remember that film, And, as I recall, I think, we both kind of liked
it,"
And I said, "Well that's, the one thing we got."
You'll say, that we've got nothing in common, No common ground to start from,
And we're falling apart,
You'll say the world has come between us, Our lives have come between us, Still
I know you just don't care.
And I said, "What about 'Breakfast at Tiffany's?" She said, "I
think I, remember that film, And, as I recall, I think, we both kind of liked
it,"
And I said, "Well that's, the one thing we got."
Oooooo
And I said, "What about 'Breakfast at Tiffany's?" She said, "I
think I remember the film, And as I recall, I think, we both kind of liked
it."
And I said, "Well that's, the one thing we've got."
And I said, "What about 'Breakfast at Tiffany's?" She said, "I
think I remember the film, And as I recall, I think, we both kind of liked
it."
And I said, "Well that's, the one thing we've got."
To be Continued
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