Grad '89 (#2)

[typhonblue]

Long time no see, peoples.

_______


Guns and Roses blasted across the yard, the sound thrusting itself out and around, into the velvet dark of the wood and against the crisp black of the sky. I loved the night. It brushed my hair, sending me hints of burnt hot dogs, spilt beer and ash. On my stump by the old barn I looked up at the moon. It swung high, a split silver dollar. A line of smoke snaked down ending in a yards tall bonfire. Young predators twisted and arced in time to the whining beat. Predators preying on each other.
I took another swallow of Molson. It no longer burned, sliding down smooth and deepening my mind?s slow spin. I had sat down to settle my dizziness. I was very drunk. But I had no intention of letting up. The wildness was in me and I wanted to feel it all.
Since I was a child I had felt the desire to preserve moments of time. Recordings became intricate cross sections of events. A record of dissection. More mystery revealed by inspection after the fact then the blurry consciousness of present. For this pit party?my last before I moved to Calgary and a new future as a college student?I had taped a recorder to my chest. It was a blocky rectangle with wide plastic keys. I had marked record by hot gluing half a lima bean to it. I wanted to make sure this night wasn?t forgotten.
A car pulled through the woods, tires scraping against the gravel road as it?s lights streaked over the yard. A girl squealed. I looked up in time to see her pale ass, squatting low beyond the fire, exposed by the headlights. She looked back, eyes wide with drunken humiliation.
I laughed and threw my empty against the barn. It made a solid thump. I staggered to my feet, swallowing a few times to find my balance.
?K!?
I turned at my name. Then felt a pull on my shirtsleeve. I rotated my head. A large, red smeared smile floated in front of me. Two gray eyes perched like olives above it. I squinted. ?Susan?? I recognized the tinny inflection.
?Oh, K!? She leaned forwards dizzyingly, flashing the swell of her breasts. The image lingered in my mind. I noted the reaction with interest. Drunken leering at a girl?s rack wasn?t below me. I was just as much of a beast as every other man there.
For some inexplicable reason she lurched forward and landed against my chest. As I cradled her reflexively I wondered if she was as drunk as me. She looked up, the sharp glint in her eye belying the effect of booze. I sobered up a bit, feeling suddenly small and squeaky.
?I was hoping to run into you!? She gave my chest a speculative squeeze. I noticed the subtle nod that followed and was too drunk to stop my brow from furrowing.
?Wha??
?I know you?re leaving for college! It?s our last night together!? She curled up, a frizzy blonde seashell against my chest.
I patted her heaving shoulders. When had this ?our? and ?together? business started? ?Well??
?I want you to know that I am moving up to Calgary as soon as I graduate!? She pulled herself out of my hands and glared up at me, daring me to disagree.
My mind clicked over the absurdity of the moment. She was fifteen. The only time that could even be considered close to a date was the night she and six of her friends attempted to seduce me in a smoky room full of candles and incense?straight out of a teen girl rag-- her father watching TV a floor below. Failing that they had attempted rape, leaving me with scratches and a torn shirt. An expensive torn shirt. My tongue stumbled out ?Wha??
?Hey K!? A heavy hand clamped on my shoulder, sending a buzzy shockwave through my head. Potato wine fumes stung my eyes and plucked metallic notes in my ears. I was jerked around into the stink of manure and sweaty male?Jim.
He crushed my chest under his arms, his fingers prodding the muscles of my back. ?That Lumber yard job agrees with you.? Another lurch and I was at arms length, my head lolling forward. I pulled it up like a cement bob on the end of a string. ?Hi.? I grinned.
His full lips were tight against his teeth. The smile hit his blue eyes and exploded out, an intense burst of joy-lust-joy. I was thrown into memories of sun-fried docks on Round Lake. Water rippled over pebbles, the scent of swollen berries, soft mud and sappy pine flushed over us with the breeze. He had sat beside me, restless on the hot wood, his brown hair slicked black by sweat, his broad back brown and gleaming with the same revealing ripple as the lake. He worked with cows. And had once, famously, swallowed bull steroids when a steer had blown back on the pipe. That day on the docks he had fed me cinnamon cherry schnapps?red 500?and fondled me when I was too drunk to protest and too horny to care. The rest of that day was a blur of explosive vomiting and slippery friction.
?Hi.? Jim said again, his eyes stupid with affection.
?Hi.? I replied, stupid with alcohol.
?You?re moving to Calgary??
?Excuse me!? Susan cut in sharply, her eyes darting between us. He?s mine, she thought. I could see it in the tilt of her head and the slant of her shoulders. One slender hand, nail polish neon orange and ringed with jelly bracelets, folded against my chest. A possessive paw. ?I was talking to him first!?
?Susan.? Jim nodded, eyes narrowing, lips thin.
?Butt out, bull boy.? She said.
I opened my mouth to argue Jim?s superior claim to my time. My teeth snapped shut, biting my tongue, as someone grabbed my jacket and wrenched me back from behind.
I stumbled a few feet in reverse, my mouth filling with blood, before a shove sent me teetering. Michael, blond mullet and mean drunk, followed me, his face screwed tight. ?Don?t you touch her!? He pelted me in the chest. His knuckles cracked against the faceplate of my recorder. He screeched and pulled his hand back against his chest, his lips flared like a chimp?s.
I held my hands up and shook them. ?Calm down Mike!? The attack had been unexpected. I had baby-sat Mike from eight to twelve. That he was rounding on me, fists shaking and nostrils flared, seemed unreal. ?This is silly??
He lunged, yanking my jacket up over my head. Three fast jabs and I was choking on my own blood, pain blossoming in my skull. The heel of my shoe hit a beer bottle. I went sprawling backwards. Buried underneath polyester and leather I gasped for breath, feeling helpless and blind.
Mike kicked a beer bottle with a hollow thunk. It struck my thigh and I curled away from the impact. As I clawed at my jacket I heard a rumble above me and too my right. I paused in my clawing, wild thoughts of earthquakes or monster trucks ran through my mind. The rumble took on a human sound, mutating into a rough bass, ?what the hell do you think you?re doing??
I managed to pull my jacket away in time to see Jim slam into Mike. Picking him up. Mike?s face flashed-- eyes wide, mouth an uncomprehending ?o??before he was thrown ten feet into the bed of a truck. Jim leapt after him. The suspension groaned as he hit the bed, swinging low.
I flopped onto my belly. My fingers scrambled against the slick flesh of my cheeks as I tried to stem the humiliating flow of blood. I couldn?t find the source. It was pouring out from all over. I pushed myself to my knees. The world careened around me.
The crowd had hushed. Standing and staring in confused concern. I stumbled to my feet. If I got to the lake?
I took two lurching steps towards the woods. My arms flailed as I balanced on treacherous ground. I stopped to regain myself and remember the proper sequence for walking. Several concerned faces bobbed into view, each saying a variation of ?do you need help?? I pushed them all away. By pulling my feet underneath me as I fell I managed to make it to the barn wall. Sliding along it I made even better progress towards the welcoming dark of the wood. The end of the barn marked a yawning chasm of pitch between myself and the first thick trunked poplar at the edge of the yard. I spun out into it, moving through dark that pulled at me like molasses. I hit the poplar and steadied myself.
Behind me roared the sounds of battle, punctuated by Susan?s screeching. I pitied Mike.
My desire to get to the lake grew as Metallica slammed out of the speakers, pulsing in my skull. I thought of cool water as I stumbled on. The taste of blood lay heavy against my throat. My stomach churned. It would be quiet at the lake. I could wash my face. My skin itched under the sticky blood.
Branches scraped against my hands and face as I fought through the underbrush. Time seemed to contract. I stumbled out onto a smooth pebbled beach. The rocks crunched beneath my feet. Falling to my knees I dipped my face into the water, letting the shock of cold freeze away my headache and wash away the blood. I wasn?t scared of the shadowed water. I knew what lay within it. I could feel my own heart beat to the tide of ancient seas; the gentle lap of the water against my ears reminded me of floating on translucent undercurrents. I lay the side of my face flat against the surface, listening to the lake and my own breathing. Water tongued my fingers, tickling the soft webbing. I shivered. All the subtle sensations of my body poured out of me and danced on the lake?s surface. My breath settled, becoming a slow pulse. Closing my eyes I saw through the lense of the water.
Feet poked through me, sending vibrations into my core. In the deep of me a rippling thing shifted, aware but tranquil. The feet splashed closer. I jolted back into the being of K.
Raising my eyes I blinked away the drops of water, snuffling them out of my nose and wiping them from my lips. Figures picked their way along the shore, too far off to see skin-deep details. They glowed the tan and green of unawakened souls. I sat back on my haunches, my mind a bright mirror.
They did not notice me for a long time. I watched them. Perfect, convoluted organics against the expanse of simple rock and water and sky. The sheer precision of their placement filled me with joy.
A hiccupping giggle turned into a scream. They had noticed me and dropped like stones beneath the water. Only three bobbing heads remained. ?Who?s there?? One called out.
I recognized the voice. Tracy. A classmate.
?It?s me, K.? Their actions were odd. But I was unconcerned.
Murmuring to the others Tracy relayed information. Something was decided. Then silence.
I inspected the damage to my head with light fingertips. The water had restarted the bleeding a bit, but I could finally feel the extent of the injury. It was slight. Some tearing and bruising. Most of the blood had come from a cut running under my hair.
Water rippled beside me. Closer then before. I turned.
Tracy stood a few feet away. Moonlight and water glazed the surface of her sleek body, dripping from the tips of her upswept breasts and the ends of her long chunky blond and brunette hair.
I went still.
She held out a hand. The other lay against the slow curve of her thigh. ?Would you like to join us??
Possessed, my eyes traced a drop as it slipped down the smooth landscape of her stomach, disappearing into a matt of moist, coiling dark.
The speed of my body?s reaction was shocking. I clenched over myself, bringing my hand up to shield my eyes as I brought my chest forward to shield my crotch. ?Sorry!? My apology tumbled out over a tongue stuck fast by thick saliva. ?I can?t! Sorry!? I tried to bolt to my feet while remaining crouched and flopped forward. Only quick footwork and a scraped palm saved me from landing teeth first in the stones. Without looking back I ran into the woods.
Some deep part of me laughed. An old part that didn?t have to deal with near spontaneous boners in math class, on the bus, climbing gym ropes... At least this particular one had reasonable cause. And the ones that send you bolting for a bathroom stall in the boy?s change room don?t? The old part teased. I swallowed hard and slowed. I thought of cinnamon and cherries. My face burned. I imagined it was a bright red beacon in the dark. Like a baboon?s ass. I giggled at the image. Then clamped down on my laughter, punishing myself with stark puritan self-loathing. The sickly sweet taste of the schnapps still hovered at the back of my throat, threatening vomit. It was echoed deep in my pelvis by a lonely ache. I didn?t love Jim or Susan or any of them. It was the touch I loved. But the thought of my maternal grandfathers? stern disapproval?if he could ever know--made me bow my head, my eyes stinging. He was dead two years. Disease whittled him down to a stick in the end. His stubborn heart jump-starting him time and time again until it too broke. Healthy he had been a broad wall of German muscle, taking me fishing and canoeing, helping me grow up a proper boy. What would he think of me now? My slender body a shadow cast by my quiet, fey paternal grandfather. A slim Irish man who died in a whisper. I had a bit of German in my look. Even if I had Lapland eyes and a slender neck. My shoulders were square, my hands blunt fingered and thick palmed. He had watched me in the lumberyard. Proud to see me labor. Proud in a way I doubt he?d be now, knowing I was off to Calgary and training as a computer tech. I stopped walking and leaned against a poplar. Papery bark shrugged off the trunk beneath my hands. I turned towards the faint sound of music and laughter. Even before I was gone Killington pulled me back. Work the lumber yards, work the factories, work the fields? what right do you have to leave?
?I don?t belong.? I touched the keys of the recorder through my shirt. The record key was depressed but the lima bean was gone. Despite the beating it had taken, it still vibrated. Silently cataloging. I felt lower. A crack spread below the cassette deck. I felt a flash of anger over Mike?s senseless attack.
Still stewing over his stupidity I broke through a screen of brush back onto the pebbled beach. As I watched the black arc of tree line beyond the water I knew I had left them all far behind.
I sat down beside the uncomplicated sentience of the lake. The prehistoric minds dwelling in it?s bowels welcomed me. Others might be frightened of the things I saw. Large as a prairie sky, flat like thick pancakes, black marble eyes as big as beach balls, round cave mouths undulating with the northern flow of rivers. Water spirits.
A breeze stroked my cheek. I turned my face up and saw? it.
Wide as a barn, bright as lightning it seemed pinned to the indigo sky. Pressure poured off of it in waves, cracking in my ears and flattening the rushes below. Its whole being was an eye, watching me, waiting for calm to flood me. I knew it. I knew it would move the world away as it moved me towards it. The night paused with baited breath--no crickets, no mice, no fish. Only pressure and silence and light.

Wind ruffled my hair, stealing my warmth away. My eyes flicked open. The sky was a damp gray. I pushed a few russet strands from my face. I was in a large space, wide and flat, filled with fog. A dull ache was beginning at the base of my skull. I was lying on something too hard for comfort. I pulled myself up. A strange sting radiated along my spine. But my head was clear. I touched the wounds on my face. The scabs were loose. I peeled them off.
The wide space was a field and I sat on one of three picnic tables placed like awkward monuments. Sharp edged and surreal in the clinging mist.
My jeans were intact. My socks and shirt were gone, yet I was still wearing my shoes. I touched my bare ankles. My wrist brushed against a hard edge. I looked over. It was my recorder. The face plate smooth and whole. I picked it up. It rattled. I shook it. The rattle came from the cassette deck. I thumbed it open. My lima bean, carefully stripped of hot glue, lay inside. My tape was gone. I closed the lid and held the tape deck to my chest.
?K!?
A figure moved in the fog.
?Jim.? I said. Not calling. I knew he heard.
Jim huffed from exertion as he neared my picnic table. ?I?ve been looking for you all morning you know. How did you get out here, on the other side of the lake??
His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes drawn with concern. I felt a rush of happiness at the sight.
?Aren?t you cold? Here.? He took off his jacket and held it out to me. I set the recorder down and shrugged into its warm sweatiness.
?What?s with the recorder??
?To document.? I swung my legs off the table and hopped down. ?Everything.?



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typhonblue,
"Peace and Love? Them's fightin words!"
The fightin-est peace nick
http://homepage.mac.com/typhonblack/PhotoAlbum1.html

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[Branflakes]

Wow, sorry it took me so long to get to this. Well done. I really like the character development and scene setting. Very cool.