Just Life - Part 2 by Agent Midnight
Standard disclamiers apply
To push one problem aside for the moment.
Nothing's more intimidating than having a teacher impose on another
teacher's territory. Heero had imposed on mine a year after I had
already made a title for myself as a professor. At that time, I hadn't
known it was him, but the whole jealousy issue did eventually dwindle
down as I saw who it was and we playfully groped each like the friends
we had been back in our college years. Suddenly, my normal days had
turned into exciting days as Heero showed his face at the end of the
office hallway and smiled at me as if we were silently racing towards
the grade sheets again.
It wasn't a race to see who would be at the top of the grade sheet
with over the 95, and who would be .36% below that grade. I remember
one time when Heero had gotten an 96% on exams, and I had gotten a
95.845%. That killed me, and as we met for lunch, we laughed about
it like it was the funniest damn thing we'd ever experienced. Now,
in any case, it was a race to see who would like who more. Which teacher
was the better teacher. Who was more like the students.
Heero definitely has the upper hand on this one because he is more
like the students than I am. I can't be like them because I'm still
stuck in my college, and even high school days. I'm still that quiet
person who got made fun of because of my appearance, because I was
very bright in all the classes, because I had boyfriends rather than
girlfriends. When I think about it, though, Heero might have been
the same way back in high school, but he was accepted in college for
the way he was. He came out really early and told fellow classmates
that, hey, I'm not straight so could you please stop trying to set
me up with your female friends? And they had agreed, apologized, and
tried setting him up with male friends instead.
Then there's me. Heero hadn't know I wasn't necessarily straight--
"Not... necessarily... straight? Mind explaining that one to
me, Duo?"-- until we were three years in on college, and even
then, he hadn't said much about me continuing to agree to go on dates
with female friends of our friends. One of the strongest memories
I have of those days is Heero sighing quietly as I told one of our
friends that I would love to go out with that hot girl in the English
class. Him sighing and leaving the room with a softly spoken excuse
of him needing to get some fresh air.
Another strong memory I have is of that same friend coming into
my dorm room, looking somewhat shocked and telling me that Heero wanted
to invite me out on a date instead of that same hot girl in English
class. And I shocked that friend more by saying that I would love
to go out with Heero.
Our first date was nothing more than a quiet breakfast and an afternoon
of movies in his campus apartment. Then, as he escorted me to my dorm
room that night, he told me to stop lying to myself and stop lying
to others. And I had agreed to a second date, knowing damn well that
Heero would be at my heels for a long while if I went out with that
girl in class again. That night, I didn't sleep a wink, and I realized
I was at the phone and dialing his number a little too late. It was
already ringing when I snapped to my senses, and I couldn't just hang
up and be rude.
He answered and we talked like friends, nothing more.
Somewhere along those "just friends" dates, we had developed
into something more and I found myself in his bed as well as his life.
It was shocking when something that strong stuck in our routine, and
I didn't even sense its approach. I didn't realize I was attracted
to him in a sexual way; hell, I didn't even realize those dates had
been getting to me in more ways that I thought. I just assumed it
was going to make our friendship stronger, not create a sexual relationship
as well. After that was already well-established, I hadn't felt like
going out with anyone, and it was when I came to that conclusion that
I realized it was way past just a sexual relationship. Somehow, it
became emotional, and at the time, I didn't know he wanted that. I
thought he just wanted me to acknowledge that I was lying to myself
by going out with women, taking advantage of them basically, and pleasing
others because of this.
It was a year before graduation when he had to leave the school
to fly back home to take care of his sick mother. We had made love
one last time before he took up his things and left my life for two
years. I received no phone calls except for one when he called up
and told me he didn't think he'd be coming back because his mother
was really bad off. The school had told him that they had a place
for him if he ever chose to come back and finish, and he did choose
to do that, but I was already gone and a year into teaching at a new
school. Just two days after he had left, I skipped classes for the
first time because it had all sunk in. I skipped and I just sat in
my room and cried. I cried because I realized that not only had I
lost my best friend and my lover, I had lost someone who I realized
I loved a little too late. Being shy in nature, I never gathered enough
nerve to call him up and tell him I had, in fact, fallen in love with
him and I didn't want him to hate me.
All communication with him was cut off because he was too pre-occupied
with taking care of family problems, and I was too pre-occupied with
cursing my own weaknesses. When I realized he had joined the same
school as I did simply because he had searched for me and joined because
of me, I admitted to him that I loved him and I never wanted him to
leave me ever again. Risking his friendship alone at that point. Instead
of him pushing me away, he accepted me and told me he had loved me
for a long while and he would try not to leave.
His teacher career had gone through a temporary halt when his mother's
condition turned from spectacular to terrible in what seemed like
a couple of days. It was actually about a year, but it didn't seem
like that when he packed a bag and told me he had to go again. I had
stopped him at his car a couple of minutes later with a bag of my
own, telling him he was taking me with him this time. Our students
had substitutes for three weeks before his mother passed away and
we returned after the funeral. His students had a substitute for an
additional two weeks before he could compose himself enough to come
to class. They had accepted him back with open arms, completely understanding
because I had taken it upon myself to go and explain why we had been
gone for so long.
Two weeks after that, Heero had returned to normal for everyone
else, but for me he was almost like a complete stranger again. He
was so sad about his mother, and even sadder because he wasn't there
at his father's side. He felt guilty for leaving his sister to break
the news to him, and when I had secretly called him to see how he
was taking it, he had mistaken me for Heero even though we were talking
through a vid-phone. He had cried and spoke with such a hysterical
edge to his words that it made me cry with him. When I hung up with
him, Heero had timed it just perfectly and knocked on my door. I had
refused to answer, and Heero spoke quietly to me, obviously having
heard because of the tone of my voice that I had been crying. He finally
broke into my apartment using a bobby-pin and a credit card, and I
remember one thought at the time was to get a new lock because that
just wasn't safe. The door was left wide open as he saw me standing
in the middle of my living room, sobbing into the sleeve of my night
shirt. He held me and whispered against my hair, asking me what was
wrong... what's wrong?... what's wrong, Duo? Why are you crying? Stop
crying. Please.
He had stayed the night at my place and cooked my breakfast in the
morning, none the wiser about what had set me off on the crying. Even
today, he doesn't know why I had been near the edge on that one night
when I talked to his father and realized that the man wouldn't have
much time left if he kept up like that. I knew that he would eventually
end up somewhere because Heero's younger sister couldn't continue
to take care of him with her school needs, and Heero certainly couldn't
do it with his job demanding he be there to ensure better education
for his students.
As for my life, my parents have long since been gone, drifting off
to the land of the non-living and leaving me alone with no one but
Heero and my students. Being the only child in the family, obviously
the Maxwell name will just as soon die off as soon as I follow my
parents. I doubt Heero and I will be having a child anytime soon,
and if we did, it wouldn't be a Maxwell by blood. It would be a falsely
named child continuing on a line that isn't, in fact, my own. If Heero's
sister produces a child, then the Yuy line will be continued at least
one more generation, just not by the male of the family.
I'm not all that disappointed, really. Heero and I don't need a
child to make us happy. I'd just as soon rather die alone with him
in my life than having a child witness his or her parents die off
from old age. I don't know if I would want to have to put a child
in that situation if it was preventable. If Heero dies before me,
I know I'd probably follow quickly because I feel like it's him that's
keeping me alive. And if he suddenly left, my heart would probably
just stop so I could be him again and make it like it always had been.
On a lighter note, I guess this coming out to the students has been
a real bitch of a remembrance to me on the old times. I'm not entirely
sure as to why it brought up all the good times and the bad, but I
do know that it did. Back in high school, after I had gone out with
someone who seemingly liked me and admitted to liking me, I had gone
outside and saw him leaning against my car. My trashed car, might
I add. He smiled at me as I stopped in the middle of the parking lot,
and then he straightened and picked up a bat from where he must have
put in on the ground by my tire. As I watched, he smashed my windshield
and the driver's side window, then hit the side mirror until it flew
off and landed on the ground with a loud crash.
I was scared, and I felt like crying, but all I really did was stand
there like I was some helpless spectator watching a crime being committed.
It took me a while to realize that that was true. I didn't say one
goddamned thing as he walked over to me, spit in my face, and then
landed one hard punch in my stomach. That's one of my saddest memories.
Curled up on the hot concrete, looking up at him and feeling his spit
on my cheek. Pain ripping across my stomach and myself focusing on
not much except for trying to force air through my tightened throat.
And he was staring down at me, grinning like a madman with his prey
right where he wanted them. From behind my car, his stupid fuck buddies
appeared and began to laugh, the sound muffled in my pained mind.
Two of them kicked me and one helped me to my feet just to push me
down again. The one I had gone on the date with stood over me, then
leaned down and punched me, giving me my first black eye.
"That's what you get, you stupid faggot."
On that concrete, when they left me alone, I secretly wished that
I had made him question his sexuality at least once when he went on
the mock date with me. I hoped to God that he would one day wake up
and his friends would beat him up for being a faggot like me. And
when I got home, I told my parents that I had gotten into a car wreck
and my car had been towed. When my father asked me where my car had
been taken to, I said I didn't know but that my car couldn't have
been saved.
I doubt they believed me.
The hardest thing after that was going to school the next morning
and realizing that everyone suddenly knew that I was gay. Even the
goddamned teachers had overheard the rumors, and I couldn't go around
denying them when I was basically cringing from pain in my stomach
and my face looked like I ran into a street sign about a hundred times
over. My classmates that would normally come and chat with me before
classes before going back to their seats, would just stand at the
other side of the room and watch me like I was a tiger in the zoo,
and I couldn't do anything to stop them. From the way they were suddenly
acting like bastards, I wouldn't have wanted to stop them anyway.
So, one mock date sends me spiraling into the depths of solitude.
Alone in a public school that had at least fifteen hundred students.
I took on the role of outcast, but nothing hurt more than having people
I considered to be friends "accidentally" slam into me in
the cafeteria and dump their food trays on my clothes.
Then, like the stupid gay faggot that I was, I would run to the
bathroom and cry while trying to scrub sauce off my clothes. The gym
teacher let me sit in the locker room during class after he had continually
witnessed me getting shoved down in non-contact activities like weight
lifting or endurance. How'd you get that bloody nose, boy? Um... slammed
it into the bar as I was nearing seven on the pull-up test?
Even worst, if such a thing can be possible, was going home and
realizing that suddenly my parents knew that I was gay. The silence
in that house was painful as I walked into the kitchen and saw my
mom, eyes blood-shot, scrubbing a towel against one of our fruit dishes.
She wouldn't even look at me when I called to her and asked her how
her day was. I went to her and hugged her, but she shrank away from
me like I was the devil himself reincarnated as her son. And maybe
I was.
My father was staring at the newspaper in the living room, sitting
next to the telephone and puffing wildly on his cigarettes. I asked
him what was wrong with mother and he looked at me, shrugged, then
tapped the message pad next to the telephone with one finger. The
message was something harsh about me, bad usage of brutal words and
slang. I almost made a joke of it to lighten the mood-- "Obviously
someone wasn't paying attention in English."-- but I managed
to contain myself as he looked at me and quietly questioned if it
was true. Is that why you're always coming home looking like Hell?
That was the first time he had ever hit me, screaming at me that
I had no right to come into this house and upset my mother like I
had done. If I was going to be a fucking whore, he said, then I should
keep it out of the goddamned house and not to get my parents involved.
Be a whore, you stupid fuck! Be a whore! Get out of my house, brat!
Get out of my house and risk your life! And my mother was sobbing
in the kitchen, the sound of dishes dropping to the floor and her
cries of pain.
Look what you've done! You've hurt your mother!
From my position on the carpet, trying to block off the pain as
my father continued to hit me, I could see my mother leaning against
the bottom cabinets. She was resting on the tile with her hands slamming
against the broken shards of the dishes, her red eyes locked onto
mine as she watched. Her sobs were all that I heard as she cried my
name out continually, screaming that she was sorry. Screaming that
she hadn't meant to make me like I am. She should have done more.
I should have done more, Duo! What did I do wrong?
I love you, Duo!
Your father loves you, Duo.
Why are you doing this to us?
My mother reaching her bleeding hands out towards me, begging me
back. Her glazed eyes cleared for nothing more than a second and she
screamed at my father to stop. I don't remember exactly what he was
doing that was scaring her out of her shock, but I do know that that
evening was when I got to experience what a broken bone felt like.
The loud snapping and me breaking my long silence with screams was
when my father's voice joined mine and he backed himself away. He
rushed across the carpet and into the kitchen, grabbing his wife and
watching me with something like horror.
Screaming in pain and crying on the living room carpet, my hands
clutching at my chest as the pain continued to stab across my body.
My eyes clouded and glaring into the kitchen as they cried with me,
my mother continuing to bleed but not as bad I was. My father apologizing,
shaking violently, tears spilling from his dark eyes to flood down
towards the point of his chin. My mother shoving her bloody hands
into her thick tangle of brown hair, yelling hysterically at my father,
calling him every harsh name she could think of. Look what you've
done, you bastard! ... What have we done? Look at him! Oh, god...!
What have we done? No! Forgive us, Duo... please... forgive us--
It was then that I grew to hate my parents.
*******
TBC
*******
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