by Kage Alan
"I was just saying what you said didn't make any sense to us...” Kim and Ryan both elbowed me ... hard. “I mean me.” Traitors! “Exactly what are we supposed to do if we suddenly discover that English isn't our ... fidgeting agitator? Learn another language and emigrate to that country?"
Cathleen appeared completely unimpressed with my observation.
"I was making an observation."
No reaction from her whatsoever.
"Okay, maybe it was just a tad sarcastic. You know, sarcasm? It's a satirical remark meant to be both witty and biting."
"Thank you for that insightful definition,” she sighed, “but I'm quite familiar with sardonicism, and I didn't find your comment to be either whimsical or rapier-like. Let's just hope you can write better than you speak. Now, if there are no more interruptions...” No one else spoke up. “...let me go through the roll. Just tell me if you're here when I call out your name. Posha."
A girl in the front responded and Cathleen frowned ever so slightly.
"Tristan."
The blond kid looked at her and smiled.
"Tayvin, Leonardo, Rueben, Aterri, Devon, Savath, Keegan, Orion, Tres, Darcy, Venise, Tyce, Conor, Abby, Winfield ... Jesus H. Christ!"
"He's in this class?” Ryan looked irritable.
"At least we know what his middle initial is,” I added.
"But what does the ‘H’ stand for?” Kim wondered.
"Harold.” Cathleen looked up at the group. “Where the hell did your parents pick out these names?” She stared back down at her sheet. In the old country, she'd have burst into flames for that kind of sacrilege. It certainly explained the color of her hair. “Andrew...” She looked around when no one answered. “Andrew? Drew, perhaps?"
"Andy?” I offered.
"Andy...” It sounded so plain flowing from her lips, and I think she emphasized it on purpose. “I thought it was a misprint. Is there anyone I missed?” Ryan and Kim raised their hands and said their names out loud. “Yes, you're both here. After the other names, I just figured the secretary was having a bit of a laugh with me. Well,” she wrote something down, “people with plain names are people, too."
"What a...” I started, completely forgetting that she had super-hearing.
"Something else you'd like to share with the class, Andy?” Expletive! “You don't have to whisper, you know, but it would show some manners on your part if you raised your hand.” She had to call me on it—it was a teacher thing.
"I'll try to remember that.” I really wanted the last word—it was a gay thing.
"You do that.” She didn't miss a beat.
"I will."
"We could do this all day, but I think the other students who paid for the class might be disappointed.” Cathleen did have a point, and I wasn't known to be a troublemaker in class. This wasn't going well.
"I was just agreeing with you that there are some unusual names in here."
"Like?” Aterri challenged me, which almost made me laugh. Hello? Aterri? Kinda proves my point.
"Uh ... let's see.” I looked down the length of the room and saw Tristan smirking. Was it still getting hotter in here or was it me? Apart from Rueben, Aterri and Abby, his was the only name I could still associate with a face. “Tristan, for instance."
"What's unusual about it?” someone asked accusingly.
"Tristan's a pinball game,” I offered. Yes, with bumpers, balls and a grand ol’ bonus if you landed said ball in the right hole. I was definitely starting to sweat.
"And Rueben is a sandwich.” Kim added, bless her soul.
"Rueben's a fruit.” Ryan put his own two cents worth in.
"These are all wonderful observations.” Cathleen addressed us. Ha! She agreed. There was hope yet. “You demonstrate perfectly just how much it is you have to learn.” Okay, maybe not. “I'd like to ask all your peers here to please make an effort to culture you in any way they feel appropriate when they see you around campus."
I felt Ryan tense up next to me and Kim's mouth dropped.
"And speaking of culture...” Cathleen's attention strayed from us. “...I've been informed that we are extremely fortunate to have a very talented young poet with us this semester. I'll be paying close attention to him, as should you, and helping him out in any way I can to see that he succeeds in his goals. As for the rest of you, I'm in a good position to help you reach your own goals provided you write in the exact way I dictate to you."
Ryan raised his hand.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to make a witty and extremely biting comment."
"No,” she dismissed him, “but thank you for raising your hand. My last comment about you writing the way I dictate was a joke.” There was silence at first, then all the asskissers filled the void with equally hollow laughter. “No, actually it wasn't.” They stopped. “Yes, it was. Now, I'd like to introduce you to our poet, and I'm told he has a piece to read that was just written this morning.” She motioned to her side. “Tristan?"
"Thank you.” Tristan stood up and walked to the center of the room while Cathleen retreated to the side and sat down next to another student—Aterri or Atari or Anasazi. “Open lips,” he began, “an intruding tongue tasting virgin territory, the smell of innocence to be had, to be turned."
Okay ... a sex poem. Was Cathleen expecting this? One look over at her face, which appeared as if she was half-shocked/surprised and half-sweating herself suggested she wasn't.
"A sound whispers through the body and becomes a moan, but my ears are muffled between a thigh and a sheet."
Oh, really?
"Soft wet kisses glide towards home as my finger explores, loosens."
Loosens?
"I stop and linger on the apple, working my way in, slick and ready."
Apple? Wasn't that the wrong fruit analogy?
"We meet again, for the first time, tongue to tongue, outer to inner.” Tristan paused, looked up from his paper and stared directly at me. “A shudder of pleasure, the stamina of youth, and two streams of white-hot fire are born for an instant, for the moment. All fades, like the dream unrealized and child no more, but living for the next."
"Wasn't that just descriptive?” Cathleen stood up, fanning herself with a copy of her syllabus. “I must be having another goddamn hot flash."
"I call it ‘Orgasm Fourteen.'” Tristan took a small bow and the class—well, most of the class—applauded.
"He's inspired!” Someone—I gave up trying to remember their names—boasted.
"He's a master of description!” another offered.
"He's an artist!” This was getting out of hand.
"He's a pervert,” Ryan mumbled. Finally!
"Yeah,” Kim purred, “he is and did you notice how he was looking at me when he read it? He was practically eye-fucking me."
Something was going on here that bothered me more than what Kim had just said. And, believe me, that bothered me a whole lot. There was something about the poem that people were missing. There was definitely something unusual about his descriptions. That bit with the apple—women didn't have apples, but men did. An Adam's apple. Then there was the bit with two streams of white-hot fire. That could only happen if there were two...
Hello! Was it possible Tristan was gay? Was it possible that it could be anymore obvious? That would explain why he had been looking at me, but then it wouldn't because no one knew about me.
Obviously relieved to be taking over the class again, Cathleen began outlining her expectations for the semester, only I wasn't paying the least bit of attention. Tristan kept sneaking glances my way, and Kim kept purring in response, obviously still under the assumption he was ... retinal-copulating her.
What was he really up to, though? Maybe he was trying to identify himself to me as a friend or simply as someone else who also happened to be gay. I could always ask him out. Maybe I should play hard to get and let him come to me. Oh, this was just stupid. Tristan wasn't interested in me that way. I have one terrific experience in California and
look at me now, someone in serious need of getting over himself.
Oh, who was I kidding? I'm cute as a button! Baby got button. Shaddup!
Cathleen decided to spring an in-class writing assignment on everybody twenty minutes before we were supposed to leave then began calling some of the students up to her desk one at a time for a private consultation. After the student spoke with her, they packed up their gear and left. Unfortunately, Tristan was one of the first people out the door, which meant I wouldn't be able to talk to him, but that didn't mean I couldn't look for him while I was on my way to another class. Then, too, who's to say he wasn't going to be looking for me? Uh-huh, and things like this happen to me all the time. Okay, I'd just look for him. Not that I was interested...
[Back to Table of Contents]
3
They're all freaks,” Ryan ranted as we headed towards the student center after class, “every last one of them.” It was obviously bothering him, since he was still going on about it when we walked through the doors and back into warmth. “I can't believe we already have to write a short story for next week when the second class this week is canceled. And what do you think of that teacher?"
"Bitch!” the three of us announced in unison.
"You should hear what she said to me when I went up to talk to her about the exercise I wrote.” Kim shoved her coat and backpack into a booth then slid in after it. I sat next to her, and Ryan took the side across from us. “She wondered if English was my second language."
"Is English her first language?” I shivered when I thought about all the words I was going to have to look up when I got back to the dorm, provided I could even figure out how to spell them.
"She didn't even get to our papers.” Ryan sat back with a smile. “Hell, she barely made it past that dork's paper. What's his name?” He snapped his fingers and pointed to Kim. “Titan? Trojan? Tutankhamen?"
"Tristan,” she answered, aggravated that he wasn't saying the name of her future boytoy correctly.
"Whatever. And what was up with that poem he read in class?” Now he was intentionally doing that thing that he did so well. Little did he know that he was starting to irritate me, too. “It sounded like he was creaming his jeans at Kentucky Fried Chicken.” Ryan mimicked Tristan's voice. “The apple was finger-licking good..."
"Oh, my.” I looked up, and my heart skipped a beat. Speaking of the stud, Tristan was coming towards us! Looks like I wouldn't have to search for him after all.
"Hey,” he greeted us, and sat down right next to Ryan. “Don't I know you guys from somewhere?” He was trying to be cute and was succeeding marvelously.
"Yeah.” Ryan smiled back, though it was obviously fake. “We're interns at a VD clinic."
"Cathleen was wrong about you.” Tristan's smile never wavered. “She said you were only funny-looking, but I think you're actually pretty witty."
Ryan's smile wavered, though, big time!
"So...” Tristan turned to Kim and I next. “...what did you think of the poem?"
"I thought it was descriptive, but perhaps a bit too much.” I had to somehow warn him that Kim and Ryan weren't aware of what his poem was really about, and that it needed to stay that way. “It contained things I'm not sure people need to know about."
"I thought it was incredible, vibrant, sensual and utterly climactic!” Kim cooed. “Why shouldn't someone know about it? After all, you have to be who you are or you'll never enjoy what life has to offer."
I had a sneaky suspicion what it was she was offering.
"Honey, there are too many secrets in the world."
"Secrets can be good,” I countered, “because then everybody would know things that only a few people should know anything about anything at all and then you know what happens then ... we know too much.” Ooooookay. That sounded intelligent. “Look at me. I don't know things, and you don't hear me complaining."
"That's nice, sweetie.” Kim patted my shoulder. “You just sit there and look pretty and puffy."
Oh, no, she didn't!
"Well, it's not exactly a secret.” Tristan put his hand on the table and reached over towards mine, which I quickly dodged. “I don't believe in that. Do what feels good, and if it feels good, do it."
That was a bit of a blanket statement, and I couldn't figure out why Ryan wasn't ripping into him for it. I would have.
"Absolutely!” Kim agreed with him wholeheartedly. “If I see someone ... something I want, then I get."
"Exactly.” He looked over towards me. “Which was why I was thinking you might come over tonight, and we can—"
"Okay.” Kim naturally assumed he was talking to her. After all, she was the only woman at the table, thought he was adorable and was willing to reenact .1/2 Weeks with him in nine-and-a-half minutes.
"I don't think he was asking you—” I wanted her to butt out of my social life.
"Honey, you remember when I said you need to just sit there and look pretty and puffy?” Kim cut me off. “Let the adults talk."
She did not just do that to me again.
"What time tonight?” I figured it was best to keep the conversation going.
"Excuse me, Andy.” Kim sounded indignant. “Y'all are not my pimp. Now...” She looked at Tristan and was all sweetness again. “...what time tonight? Meow meow meow."
"Hmm...” He was incredibly amused by the situation and taking it in stride. “I guess ... anytime, really.” The corners of his mouth lifted into a devilish grin when his eyes met mine again. “Eight?"
I nodded. I absolutely couldn't believe I was making a date to get to know someone as talented and strikingly handsome as this guy, let alone possibly get to know him physically, too. I'd thought Jordan would be the only one, but apparently not.
"Then I'm looking forward to it."
"Me, too.” Kim and I spoke in stereo then glared at each other.
With that, Tristan stood up, made a waving motion with his hand and left.
"I want it sooo deep,” I gushed.
"What?” Ryan stared at me, and I realized I'd actually spoken that out loud.
"I mean ... he's so deep.” Oh, nice one, Stevenson.
"And we have so much to learn from him.” Kim finished what would have been my next sentence.
"Are you kidding me?” Ryan stared at us. “I'm trying to imagine both of you with a brain right now."
"What do you think his poem was really about?” She ignored him and turned back to me. “We're talking true artistic expression here, so—world politics? The current state of religion? Nature?"
"Uh...” I was caught. I hated telling a lie, but I didn't feel like truth was the way to go here. Coming out to my friends was definitely on my agenda, only not this way. “I really don't know what he was talking about, but it was, you know, deep."
"Excuse me.” Ryan was once again riled up. “But just because nobody understands him doesn't make him an artist."
"Well...” I stood up and grabbed my coat and backpack. “...I've got some work to do before my next class.” I had to get home and make sure I had an outfit for tonight!
"I'm outta here, too.” Kim got up and grabbed her gear.
"What are you talking about?” Ryan looked at us like we were crazy. “I thought you guys had at least an hour and a half before you had to leave."
"And just look at how fast it's gone by.” Kim looked at her watch and then back at Ryan. “It just goes slower for you. I've heard that about people with Napoleon complexes."
"What?" Ryan yelled.
"Neapolitan complexes,” I offered. Obviously, she'd said it wrong.
"I know what she...” He glared at me. “Hey, both of you can suck my ass."
"I'm on appetite suppressants.” I put my jacket on and wondered what kind of cologne I should use tonight. Irish Spring did wonders for me on one other occasion, so cologne should definitely improve my chances. Maybe Brut.
"See you guys tomorrow?” Kim called over her shoulder.
"Fine.”
I took off towards the stairs, several variations running through my mind about how the date could go tonight and how I could use what I learned over the summer.
"Fine.” She hurried toward the elevator.
"Fine?” Ryan was stunned, but still managed to call after us.
I didn't have a clue what he said, and while I'm sure it wasn't nice, I didn't care. The most unexpected thing had happened. I had a date tonight!
* * * *
My room was a total disaster. Clothes were scattered all over the floor and bed in various combinations, but nothing really worked. It seemed I only owned T-shirts, and most of those either had pictures from Star Trek on them or wolves. I did have one nice white dress shirt and a new pair of dark-blue jeans that went together okay, but something was missing.
I tried them on and looked at myself in the mirror from several different angles. A tie maybe—and I definitely had to do something with this hair. Hairspray only worked on it for so long, and the static psychotherapy stuff combined with the wind outside dramatically shortened its lifespan. To make matters worse, I only had boots or tennis shoes to choose from to complete an ensemble.
"God, I have nothing to wear.” This was both chaotic and idiotic! Women never went through this much crap to look good, did they? Guys never worried about this, so why was I? I kept asking myself that all the way to the shower while carrying my bar of moisturizing soap, vitamin-enriched fresh scent apple shampoo, conditioner, buff-puff, cleansing cream, invigorating cream, revitalizing cream, some othering cream, Brut scented shaving cream, razor and a never-before-opened bottle of Old Spice aftershave. I could have brought the fresh apple scent conditioner as opposed to the regular kind, but a line had to be drawn somewhere.
I dried off after the shower and quickly set about gelling my hair. This could take hours! I hadn't done this since high school and even then not since Footloose was popular. Man, I loved that film...
Still, gel would help me survive the elements. Wouldn't he notice something was odd if my hair wasn't moving, though? Probably. Well, I could always say the wind froze it in place and that I was just warming it up. He'd buy that.
A few of the guys on my floor stared at me when I walked back to my room, and I thought I could detect the faint sound of snickering but couldn't be sure. It was only after I put everything I was carrying down on the dresser that I noticed my towel had fallen off somewhere along the way back to the room.
