Play Detective

Etiquette

The weather was fair for once in about two weeks of rain. Yes, it was all very gray, but light shoved itself through cracks in the blinds and it looked like day.

Sitting in the corner of the courtyard was a small boy. His hair was funeral black, and cut sensibly, stopping after brushing his ears. Wide eyes watched, but his body made no effort to join the playing boys around him. He took his hands out of the pockets on his thin jacket- they'd be cold no matter what he did- and felt the cobblestones that lined the meter-wide area surrounding the macadam of the play area. As previously stated, he sat alone and out of the way.

It wasn't home.

Then again, he hadn't thought about it for a while. It was as if home didn't exist anymore. There were abstract faces floating, but he couldn't remember much affection from them, or even aggression. They were, as he was.

He hoped someone would lose a ball over there. Having them see him felt nice, maybe they would offer to sit, also.

Yes, he liked it.

Affirming it to himself, he turned his attention, with more energy, to the boys playing kick the can. They ran after each other with savage drive over a can that lay barren. It was stupid, he told himself.

It was dumb.

He sat still and looked up at the everlasting gloom of the sky, and was greeted by a tiny raindrop hitting his cheek. The sky was his friend, he decided. It was some time later before another drop kissed his nose, and one more, and a few more, until it was just barely raining.

Looking around, he saw everyone else had gone inside, but the sky was asking him very nicely not to go. With a few more droplets, it was pleading, and he felt his jacket become slightly moist. Maybe he could just sit with his new friend...

Or, maybe not.

With a grumble of thunder, it was an object, and nothing to be affectionate towards. The corner became a place of safety- an umbilical cord attached him to the cobblestones. The day had gone, and he was still as-is, nothing to compare if it had occured. Hugging his arms around his chest, he felt the rain dampen his hair as runoff from the roof began to dribble onto him with an uncomfortable amount of force.

Moving out from under the stream, he shook the water from his head and headed inside, ignoring the wild sobbing of the skies. It was not his friend anymore.

He took his jacket off once he was inside, and it was measurably damp, as was his hair. He felt cold, even in the heat heaving through the vents and the radiators.

He wiped his feet beside the coat rack, and decided to take his jacket with him on a whim. He clutched it in his small fist as he walked towards the recreation room near the other conservatories and like frivolous additions.

He found a place to exist again in a parlor chair in he drawing room. He had to keep his feet on the floor- he was still wearing the shoes he was given upon arrival for everyday use. There really wasn't anywhere to put them except the dorm room he shared with four other boys, and he didn't necessarily feel like making that trek across the building.

Older boys were studying on the couches and occupying the desks like cans strewn in alleyways: somehow attending constantly. They didn't bother him, but they weren't much to watch. He exercised poor posture and slumped over an arm of the chair, a spring in response attempting to lodge it's way into a very personal place through the seat of his pants. He wiggled, and managed to trap it under his thigh as he set watching the students turn pages and pages away from the covers of their books.

One of them mentioned to another about some sort of test.

All he really knew regarding tests was that Mr. Wammy seemed very satisfied whenever he scored well. What he would do with the scores of papers was uncertain, but the meaning was important, on the very least at a superficial level.

His red Henley shirt was vaguely itchy, and irritated his armpit as he sat slumped. His coat lay at his side, and he collected it before heading out of the room, leaving the students undisturbed.

Passing the attached mini-cathedral he believed the building sprouted from, he heard a nun praying softly. It was rude to eavesdrop, and he didn't, but deducted dinner would be soon after hearing her mention blessing the meal.

Dinner was a fact, not a pleasure. Eating never sparked as a luxury, or as a thing to be rationed. It was merely a fact: you need to eat or you hunger. Dessert and sweet things never failed to please him, they were intended for enjoyment alone. Sugary syrups, boiled sweets, jams and marmalade were all made to give immediate pleasure. It would be utterly rude to rob such un-food of it's purpose.

Etiquette or lack thereof was a fixation of the adults around him now, not caring wasn't an option if (and they always did) someone else cared. However, expressing pain when someone hurt you- especially unintentionally- was regarded impolite and juvenile. In his opinion, adults needed to busy themselves with other hobbies.

Dinner was served at six: vegetable soup with plain toast. He swallowed the soup and munched on his toast, and waited calmly to be dismissed. His immediate right was slurping loudly against the moderate din, a dribble of the rusty liquid running down his multiple chins. Disgusting.

He didn't consider himself a Nancy-boy or a prude, but basic dignity should be universal. Eat like an animal, lay in your excrement like an animal, be treated as an animal.

He was called into Mr. Ruvie's office later that evening, but Mr. Wammy was there to greet him.

"We haven't been able to turn up any records of you adding to or conflicting with what you've told us... Are you sure you don't know your first name? Your parents? Where you lived?"

He'd thought about it now and again, and he never thought to remember, and thusly didn't forget what he didn't know to start with.

"No? Well, for all intensive purposes, we've put your initial as your first name. We will refer to you as L."

Huh. One letter. Really, anything can be a name, it shouldn't surprise him.

"Does that suit you?"

He nodded gently, it did suit, indeed.

"That's good. Now to discuss... other things. Are you bored, L?"

"Yes."

It came easily, he was very bored. He'd completed the jigsaw puzzles left out for months, counter ceiling tiles. There was nothing for him to do.

"I thought so. All the tests are indicative that you are a very logical person- nearly algorithmic... But, this means plenty of puzzles. Do you like puzzles?"

"Yes."

"Good! I'll begin gathering a few for you- funny we haven't already had a few around. In a gifted institution, they all seem to want to play physical games to get some energy out or to read for enjoyment... quite a few tinker in the science labs after schooling hours, also. Is there anything you'd like to talk about, L?"

"No."

"It is late, I should let you head off to bed. Goodnight."

He rose from the chair and left without another word with the man trying very hard for something he couldn't identify.

The walk back was fine, he decided he'd shower in the morning and changed into his pajamas under the eyes of a boy who was sharing the room with him. Meeting eyes too quickly caused the other to look away and turn his once-broken nose back to his bruised ribs. That boy was newer than his was... Wasn't his name something Clay? Clay.

His own winter pajamas (it was March) were pilled and torn. A red flannel nightshirt with a yellow bear accent displayed on his chest. Although the back of his thighs will chill when he got up, he was kept warm, especially so if he wore socks to bed.

He laid on top of the covers on his bank and watched his roommates undress, redress, and perform nighttime rituals. He never felt the voluntary urge to pray, but not praying at mass was regarded impolite.

They switched the light off two minutes before it was mandatory and shifted beneath the sheets for comfort that was spread thin tonight.