Date: Thu, 9 Feb 2006 11:17:37 -0800 From: Ryan Miller Subject: Bonding Energy: Opportunity Cost Ch. 2 Consider this the second edition of my story. I looked back at my early works and saw how much I have improved as a writer and thought it only behooved me to polish up what I had written. So, I went through and edited the story stylistically and structurally. The story is still the same, just shinier. Note to readers: For those of you who have been asking about Opportunity Cost, I am not done with it. As son as I get done with all the re-writes, it will pick up right where it left off. It just took a while to write the next part because I knew where I wanted the story to go but not how to get there. But I have found the perfect segue and will start writing as soon as I can. Thank you all for your patience Disclaimer: This is a homoerotic story I have written, so if you aren't allowed legally, morally or ethically to read it, then don't. And don't post this anywhere else without my expressed permission. Feedback is very much encouraged, so hit me up at bluedragon314@gmail.com. Ch. 2 The next morning at school, all I could think about was being able to hang out with Brian and Aaron again that evening. And that wasn't such a bad thing because the classes I had that morning didn't require that much thought. First, there was PE, which had become one of my favorite classes. Not because I liked sports, but because I had taken special pains to schedule my recreational sports class at the same time as the advanced weight-lifting class. (Fill in your own blanks.) And then there was astronomy. At the 11th grade level, all we learned about was the solar system and a basic rundown of all the planets, so I could pass the class in a coma. (Get it? Coma!) And then there was advanced fiction writing with Lidia Yuknavich, my same writing teacher from last year. I always went to class early because I wanted to ensure my seat next to this kid named Jason. Not because he was cute or anything, but he was so much fun to antagonize. "So, Kyle," he said as I sat down. "What did you think of the symbolism in Crossroads?" "I though it was ok," I said, very nonchalantly. "Ok?" he said. "What do you mean 'ok?' Did you not see the metaphor he was using with the iced tea to show the constant struggle of man vs. himself over the threat of his own mortality?" "Well, it could just be because the writer lived in Alabama where iced tea is a traditional drink with most meals, thus his characters would drink it at lunch," I said. "What? No, it can't just be that," Jason sputtered. Then he got his classic confused-shock look (kind of like Frodo) and stared at the table mouthing words and arguing with himself. I loved to screw with his mind. Lidia walked into class a little late (as usual). "Hello, class," she said. "How are you all doing?" We all sat up and got ready to pay attention. "What's wrong?" she said. "I asked you a question. How are you all doing?" One girl in the back of the room piped up and said, "Pretty good." "'Pretty good.' I'll take that." She said. "I guess we know who is getting an 'A' in class today. The rest of you can just be uptight. And in case nobody noticed, we have a new student in class. Please, tell us your name." I turned around and saw in the back of the class a slouching figure dressed in black. He looked up at the rest of the class and his bangs fell into his eyes as he said, "My name is William." "Thank you, William," said Lidia. 'What's he doing here?' I thought to myself. 'I sure hope he doesn't want me to take any notes for him.' "Now class," said Lidia, "if you would all move your desks and form a circle around the room, I would be much obliged. That way, we can all look at each other as we read our stories." Our assignment had been to write a short monolog from the perspective of an inanimate object. I chose a dollar bill and wrote about how the dollar doesn't like to be passed from one person to another without any regard to its feelings, and yet people were always talking about how much they want money. "I think a good way to introduce him to the class would be to let William read first," said Lidia. "Is that ok with you, William?" "That's fine," he said as he took his paper out of his backpack and sat up. "I call this, Wrapper's Despair." "I stand on display behind a glass window. I am surrounded by others, all vying for your attention. Some are flamboyant and fun to look at, though they may embellish what is truly inside. Others are simple and cleverly conceal their contents, letting your imagination fill in the blanks. But you know from the way we shine, the way we smile-and the very fact that we are behind the glass-that whatever we conceal must be savory and satisfying. "You scroll through the selections, trying to decide what exactly you hunger for. Do you want something sweet, something spicy, something crunchy, something creamy? You spy me and your mouth starts to water. You fumble through your pockets, looking for the sum that will bring you happiness. You thrust your trinkets into the slot and make your choice. You don't even have to know my name. You just call for C-8. "I am arbitrarily flung from the world I knew. I hit the bottom hard and your greedy hand snatches me up. You hold me gently as you look for the proper point of entry. Then, without hesitation or remorse, you tear into me and gorge yourself on the treat inside. "You don't care what happens next, at least not to me. I am worthless from that point, a hindrance if anything. You are eager to discard me, sometimes before your treat is even finished. You may be embarrassed and hide me in a can with others like me, or you may be impatient and get rid of me wherever is most convenient for you. For what do you care? I was merely an obstacle between you and immediate gratification. I was only a candy wrapper." "Wow, that was dark," said Lidia. "Very good. I loved the imagery. Did everyone catch on to the point William was trying to make?" Everyone was kind of nodded their heads. It really didn't surprise me that someone like William would write something so dark and depressing. Just by looking at him you could tell he had an axe to grind, with his cold demeanor and gothy clothing. He was probably mad at his parents for not letting him stay out late enough, or for not letting him listen to punk rock or emo. People like him are so immature. They don't get their way so they throw a tantrum at the world by acting all dark and evil in hopes that some one will pay attention. 'Until you have your heart ripped to shreds by the ones you love,' I said, 'you will know nothing of darkness.' William's little story put me in a sour mood the rest of the day. All I could think about was the pain and neglect I had felt through the years. And it didn't help that in American history we started talking about World War II, the darkest period in history that people can remember. 'William is probably one of those freaks that goes out and parties on Hitler's birthday,' I said to myself. 'Why can't people like him just grow up and realize that the world isn't out to get them?' By the time I got home from school, I was just plain pissed off. I threw my bag onto the kitchen table and begrudgingly did my homework. When I was done, I huffed into the living room, hoping to find something worth watching on the TV. The news caught my eye because it was talking about how there will be another Wal-Mart built in our neighborhood. I personally don't mind Wal-Mart, but James hates it. He talks about how it destroys local businesses and calls it "The Blob of Capitalism." I kept watching the news report waiting for him to come ranting into the room, when I realized I hadn't seen him the whole time I had been home. I went up to his room and he wasn't there. He wasn't in the garage either, though most of his model trains and airplanes were. Then I heard his truck pull up into the driveway. I looked out the window and he got out of his truck, followed by two other guys. Brian and Aaron! I opened the door and rushed out to meet them. I flung my arms around Brian as he closed the door to the truck. "It's good to see you, too, Kyle," said Brian as he retuned my hug. "Hey, that's my boyfriend you've got your arms all over," said Aaron and he came from behind and put his arms around me and Brian and kissed him lightly on the cheek. 'Mmmm...hottie sandwich,' was all I could think. "Hey guys, a little help?" said James, holding all the luggage. We each grabbed a bag and went inside where James and Aaron plopped down on the couch together. I had left the news on and, when James saw it, he groaned, "Ah, shit! Not another one. Before you know it, there won't be a Mom and Pop store left in this whole town. Change it." "Ok," I said as I grabbed the remote and changed it to Everybody Loves Raymond. I sat in my recliner, but then Brian came over and picked me up and sat down, placing me in his lap. I felt his arms wrap around me and I just leaned back and got comfortable. Raymond was boring, so nobody really paid any attention. Then James said, "So, the funeral is supposed to be tomorrow. When does it start?" "It's going to start about 4:00," said Brian. "It's going to be at the Methodist church on Palmer Road" "Wait," said Aaron. "You didn't say anything about a church." "It's a funeral," said Brian. "Where else would they have it?" "Hell if I know," said Aaron. "What's the problem?" asked James. "Do you think that God will smite you guys for being gay?" "He might," said Aaron. "Please," said Brian. "I went to that church for 18 years and nothing happened." "And what about the people? I'm sure they wouldn't like to have some dirty homosexual sitting in their pews," said Aaron. "Aaron, please just let it go," said Brian. "I know you were hurt by the church-" "Hurt?" said Aaron. "I was fucking excommunicated! The church told me I was condemned to hell, and that's after they tried to exercise me. If I have to hear one more preacher tell me about how sinful I am, I think I'm going to kill someone." "Aaron, they're not going to know you're gay if you don't tell anyone," said Brian. "And we don't have to stay for the whole thing. All they've asked me to do is go up at the beginning and say a few words about my mom. We can leave after that." "We'd better," said Aaron. "I hate being in churches. I can just feel the bigotry all around me...man, I'm so freaking stressed out now. I need to go cook something." He got up and went to the kitchen. "Wait a minute," said James. "When Aaron is stressed, he likes to cook?" "Yeah," said Brian. "You should have seen the stuff he made during mid-terms. I ate nothing but fresh-baked muffins for a week." "Really?" said James. "If I had known that, I would have pissed him off more often." Brian stood up and I was forced to stand up with him. "Lets go upstairs, Kyle," he said. "You can help me unpack." "Ok," I said. Since Brian had stayed with us over the summer, he pretty much got his own room. It was covered with posters of movies like Blade, Constantine and Braveheart. My favorite part was the life-sized cutout of Anakin Skywalker. Brian set the suitcases at the foot of the bed and looked around to see if anything had changed. It hadn't. I sat down on the bed and he walked over to his desk and inspected the stuff on top. There were just a few pencils, an old notepad and a picture of him and me at the beach. He picked up the picture and smiled, saying, "I remember when we took this. You got such a bad sun burn that trip." "Hey, I can't help it if I burn to a crisp," I said. "We can't all be blond and tan like you." He held out his arm and compared it to mine, saying, "I'm not that tan, you're just white." I laughed and said, "Your mom's white." Then I realized the great error in my retort. Brian froze and just stood, staring off into space. I think I saw a tear fall from the corner of his eye. "Brian, I'm sorry," I said. "No, it's ok," he said. "Like I said, my mom's already been dead for a while. I...I'm just a little worried about tomorrow. There's going to be a lot of people there who don't like me. Some were even at the party the night my dad attacked me. It's going to be scary getting up in front of all of them and talking about my mom." "You don't have to go," I said. "Yes, I do," he said. "I owe it to the people there to at least say something. I'm her only child. But more than that, I need to do it for myself. I need to prove that I can stand up against the people who hate me and show them I am a civilized human being." He looked down at the picture in his hands and gently placed it back on the desk. He picked up the pencils and put them away in a drawer. Then he paused, chuckled to himself and said, "How long has that been there?" "What?" I asked. "This," he said, holding up a small book. It looked rather familiar, then I remembered where I had seen it before. "Hey, that's you di-uh-journal," I said. "It's ok," he said. "You can call it a diary. I always did. How long has it been here?" "I got it from your room after your dad ransacked it," I said. "Really?" he said. "What do you think of it?" "What do you mean?" I asked. "It's not like I read it or anything." "You didn't?" said Brian. "I would have." He tossed the diary on top of his suitcase and said, "I'll have to remember to take that back with me." "Hey guys," James yelled from downstairs. "You've got to come try these cookies!" "Sounds like Aaron got done baking," I said. "It's good to have you guys back." "It's good to be back," said Brian. "Let's go downstairs." "Yes, lets," I said. I stood on the bed and jumped onto his back. He grabbed my legs and gave me a piggyback ride downstairs. It was good to have them back. I was having a crappy day until they arrived. And it sounded like tomorrow was going to be rather unsettling as well. I had never had to confront a church full of people like that, but it was obvious Brian was going to have his work cut out for him. But I'm sure it would be nothing some cookies and good company couldn't solve. Remember that feedback is very much encouraged, so hit me up at bluedragon314@gmail.com or visit my MySpace profile at www.myspace.com/hunnamfan.