Date: Thu, 20 Oct 2011 04:14:09 -0400 (EDT) From: koshkathekittykat@aol.com Subject: Russian Boy in the Bayou (Young Friends Archive) DISCLAIMER: Don't read this if you're an ignorant homophobic cunt, or if you're a rational person who by the politics of ignorant homophobic cunts might be penalized for doing so. Yay. -------------------------------- Dear Beloved Readers, This is an autobiographical story. Any resemblance you may infer of the events and characters of this story to your own life are purely coincidental... unless you're a friend of mine, in which case you've already been made privy to this story and have given me your approval in using your likeness in this story. Wow, I feel like a lawyer. >.< Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the story, and I would be absolutely delighted if you wrote me with comments/compliments/critiques/ect! =] Sincerely Yours, Koshka <3 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Koshka, I swear if you make me late to work, so help me Christ...", my mother shouted from someplace outside my door, in Russian. I cut her off before she could finish. "Just a sec Mama! I'm getting dressed", I shouted back, in heavily-accented English. Truth be told, I hadn't even pulled myself out of bed. Can you blame me though? It was Sunday! Pulling out of my mess of sweaty blankets, I drug myself from the not-quite-comfort of my old spring mattress and walked over to the mirror on the back of my door. My room was a shoebox, barely large enough to fit my bed, night stand and dresser. For reasons I'd still yet to figure out, it smelled perpetually of swamp water, and it was easily the hottest room in the house. It wasn't all bad though; there was a small window above my bed that perfectly framed the sunrise each morning as it broke through the trees. I'd overslept, so the room was already flooded in amber light. In the mirror I looked myself over, as I did every morning. Pretty extraordinarily vain, yes, but at twelve years old I'd begun to realize for the first time that appearances could be good or bad. Besides, I didn't know what vain really meant anyway. My English isn't that great. I pushed the long golden locks out of my face as best I could. My hair, I guess, is really my signature feature. Most boys my age cut theirs short or wore the shaggy skater look, but not me. Mine was long, descending a bit past my shoulders with bangs past my mouth, and it was straight with the slightest bit of wave, like my mother's. Since before I could remember, I've been getting mistaken for a girl. I've got full lips, a feminine face, and a slender nose. I'm 5'6'', tall for my age, but what I had in height I lost in weight. We seldom had much to eat, and it was all I could do to make 80 pounds regularly. My big blue eyes rounded out the illusion, and I still can't go into town without someone telling my mother how pretty her daughter is. It's not as much fun as it sounds, trust me. My parents' little joke was naming me Koshka, the Russian word for kitty. According to them, Mama wanted a cat, but the day they went to pick one out, they found out she was pregnant. I guess she was bitter about not getting the cat. Back when we lived in Russia, all the kids would make fun of me. But now I'm ranting, so... back to the mirror. After a few more seconds of examining my skinny frame in the mirror, I was shocked back into movement by a loud slam on the door. "Koshka, hurry up!", my mother shouted, again in Russian. Her English, unlike mine and my father's, was extraordinarily limited. I really don't know how she even got a job at the diner in town. But I suppose if there's a will, there's a way. "Mama, I'm going, I swear!", I shouted back, this time in Russian. Her native tongue usually calmed her down a bit. Working fast, I threw off the triple oversized white shirt I slept in at night and walked naked to the dresser. I tore through it for the clothes I needed, trying my best to ignore my mother yelling something else as she blow-dried her hair in the other room. Quickly pulling on a pair of blue briefs, some slim torn-up jeans and a green tank top so slim I swore it had to have been from the girl's department, I burst out of the room and headed into the kitchen to grab a quick bite. Whether or not we'd have dinner was never a certain thing in my house, and neither was lunch most of the time. Breakfast, however, I usually managed. Today's was a rare treat; bacon and eggs. I guess Daddy, or Papochka as I called him, must've done well at work. I didn't really know for sure, I normally only get to see him once or twice a week. The same goes for Mama, though I do get to spend an hour with her in the morning if I wake up early. When they aren't working, my parents usually find themselves at the bar in town, so I'm typically stuck outside on the porch until long after dark. We only moved here a month ago, and it was still summer so the sun stayed up late, but I was afraid to imagine what it'd be like during the darker months. I may be 12, but I'm really afraid of the dark. You see, my parents had only recently made the decision to move from the frigid snowy wasteland of Northern Russia to the humid bayou wasteland of Louisiana. I have no idea why, and not for lack of asking. They never did tell me, but whatever the reason, it was all very impromptu. We lived in a relatively dilapidated shack of a house on the outskirts of a small town, which found itself in turn on the outskirts of a bigger city. Our little piece of Louisiana was situated essentially right before the terrain becomes nothing but bayou. From the first day I felt more out of place than you could possibly imagine. "You'd better eat all of those", my mother chided as she entered the kitchen. Mama never ate in the morning; a cup of black coffee was typically all she required. I guess they fed her for free at the diner. Without really stopping to speak, I nodded my head and groaned something akin to 'yes' before shoveling more food into my mouth. After finishing her coffee and waiting for me to finish my eggs, Mama shooed me out of the house before closing and locking the door behind us. Right now you're probably thinking that she takes me with her to work, but you're wrong. Apparently, that's unprofessional, and the Americans would judge her. However, ever since I accidentally broke a window in our old village while playing alone, she no longer trusts me to behave by myself in the house. So, from the time she leaves for work in the morning until she or Papochka return home at night, I'm stuck outside. I know, I know... Child Services would absolutely not be amused. Trust me, neither was I. Once outside, Mama gave me a quick red lipstick kiss on the cheek and two dollars in case I got hungry and wanted to get a snack in town, and off she went. Suddenly alone, I decided to go about the usual ritual of exploration, and took off into the bayou toward the East of town. ~+0+~ When we first moved to Louisiana, I'd been absolutely terrified of the swampy forests that surrounded our home. Especially when the sun went down. After a week or so, however, they'd become to me a whole new unexplored world. Ever since then, I'd been spending my days running about in the bayou. About two weeks prior, I found an old community pool in the woods along the East side of town. It was empty and there was a broken-down shack along side it. Both of them had been all but reclaimed by nature. Initially I'd been too afraid to explore it; my preteen mind could conjure up some crazy scenarios. But caution quickly gave way to curiosity, and it was now my favorite place to play. It was maybe two or three miles from town, close enough to be convenient yet far enough away from civilization that I could make it my own imaginary world. I ran to the pool expecting a typical summer day of imaginary sword-fights, playing with frogs, and bouncing around. But when I reached the pool, much to my surprise, I wasn't greeted by the familiar solitude of my secret retreat. As I ran over to the edge of the pool, I noticed an older teen with a mess of shaggy black hair and sunglasses lying on his back at the bottom of the pool. Immediately I froze. I didn't know if he could see me, through his sunglasses I couldn't even really tell if his eyes were open or not. Before I had a chance to figure it out, however, he solved the mystery for me. "Hey you, blondie. Whatchu' gawkin' at?" he inquired in an amused voice. At first my blood ran cold with the realization that I'd been caught, but he didn't seem mad, so I responded. "Uh.. I dunno'," I stuttered, still embarrassed that he'd caught me. "You uh.. you not from 'round here buddy?" he asked, rising to his feet with curiosity. Suddenly aware of my Russian accent, I blushed a deep scarlet and mumbled a meek 'no' in the clearest English I could. Since I'd arrived in America, I'd never really had occasion to speak to anyone beside my own parents. I was almost never in town alone, and school hadn't begun yet so I had no friends to speak of. In Russia I was considered a pretty fantastic English speaker; I'd been practicing my whole life. I guess I never really thought about what I sounded like to Americans. "You okay?..." asked the stranger, who now stood next to me, rousing me from my inner monologue. I don't think it would've been possible for me to be any more embarrassed. Suddenly lost for words, I simply nodded as my cheeks continued to reach purer and purer shades of red. It occurred to me that this was my first actual interaction with an American and I was absolutely blowing it, in the non-colloquial sense of the word. I wanted desperately to start some sort of conversation, but in my panic I couldn't decide how to do so acceptably. Fortunately for me, my companion didn't seem to have any such hangups. "Okay. So, where ya from buddy?" he asked in a friendly voice. Now that he was standing next to me I was immediately struck by the fact that he was huge. Not particularly muscular by any means, but he had to have been easily 6'2'', if not taller. My Papochka was the tallest man in our old village, but this guy, who I figured couldn't have been much older than 20 or so, easily dwarfed him. He'd taken his sunglasses off at some point, revealing a pair of steel grey eyes under his black hair. His complexion was as pale as mine, and he had ridiculously masculine facial features. Immediately, I felt the faint essence of lust begin to creep its way into my being, but I did my best to fight off the nervousness that accompanied it. Lord knows I didn't need to be any more awkward than I already was. "I'm from.. R-Russia", I mumbled, eyes fixed to the ground. "Russia, really? That's awesome. You some kind of Soviet spy?" he laughed. "Some kind of what?" "Oh, nevermind. Just makin' fun, is all." "Oh..." For the next half hour or so we had a pretty tame conversation. He'd ask me a question about Russia or something, I'd try my best to answer, and for some reason he'd always laugh a bit at my response. Pretty uneventful, but to me it was thrilling; my first real conversation with an English speaker. The fact that he was incredibly good-looking, and taking an interest in me, just made it all the more exciting! Initially I'd been shy, answering mostly in one-word sentence fragments with my eyes glued to my shoes. But as I'd become more comfortable, both with my shaky grasp of English and the situation itself, I began talking more and stealing occasional glances at him. Finally, he broke with the Twenty Questions. "Hey, this place is kinda' dull. Too many bugs. You wanna' maybe head to the arcade?", he asked nonchalantly. My heart skipped a beat. "Yeah!", I almost shouted. Immediately I blushed at my own burst of enthusiasm, but he just smirked. "Alright bud, let's head on down, then." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thus ends the first installment. I've been reading Nifty for quite a while, but this is my first attempt at actually writing something. No idea if it's interesting to anyone, so by all means let me know what you all think, and whether or not it's worth continuing. For all those who didn't get it up top, my email is koshkathekittykat@aol.com! Pretty lame. Everything I do is. Thanks again! =]