Dead Boys

1

Tobias

"Boys who like boys are dead boys." -Richard Siken, Crush.

I didn't mean to read this quote. I didn't mean to read Crush at all. I was just in the library, fixing the books because somehow the poetry got mixed in with the paranormal romance novels and happened upon it.

The cover is what made me pause. It was an image of a man brushing his lips across his knuckles, or maybe biting them, stubble upon his upper lip and something wet and dark on his thumb. The photo was in greyscale. It didn't betray anything about the contents of the book, so I ran a finger along the outside of the pages until my fingernail caught and opened it up to that page.

The truth is, I typically don't enjoy reading poetry. It's hard to follow and pretentious. I prefer stories. Short, simple ones I can read in one sitting, losing myself in the pages just long enough to forget. Ones that don't have meaning. Ones that don't go past the skin. Ones that are as easy to swallow as an ice cube, going down nicely and melting into nothing as it passes through. Poetry, in contrast, was a horse pill that got lodged in the middle of your throat, bringing tears to your eyes and obstructing your ability to breathe.

But still, my curiosity seemed harmless at the time and as my eyes fell onto the page, the first quote that caught my attention said in dark letters: "Boys who like boys are dead boys."

There was more to it, an entire stanza more to read, a before and after, but it didn't matter anymore. I had snapped the book shut and practically threw it back on the shelf, thankful with the librarian told me that the principal wanted to see me and gave me a hall pass. I left that book behind without a look back and briskly walked to the front office through the accusing empty hallways.

"I'll save you a seat in hell." I flinch. The office TA whose name I couldn't remember to save my life refers to the school bus that we both ride and takes the slip of paper from my hands. I vaguely remember her from our church as well.

"Thanks." The TA stamps my hall pass with a perfectly even smile, lips as red as fresh meat pulling over porcelain teeth. I take the paper with a parallel smile and pin it to my backpack strap, pricking my thumb as I maneuver the needle in between the fabric and the metal slot.

The office is empty save for the TA and me, so I take the middle seat out of the three chairs near the Principal's door. The TA goes back to her computer, writing something on a pale blue notepad while I sit. Above her head, there's a picture of a smiling atom with the caption: Think like a proton! Think POSITIVE!

Positive. I hold up my right hand to the harsh fluorescent light. The wound on my finger is hardly a wound at all, less than a small bead of blood raising from the skin. I stick it in between my lips and the taste of copper fills my mouth. It's kind of gross, but that's what Mom always did when she cut her finger.

I take out my sketchbook, propping it up on my knees and resting my backpack against the metal legs of the chair. I pluck the pencil from the pocket of my jeans and begin to doodle mindlessly, not bothering to move the honey-colored curls that fall into my face. Each thin stroke of the graphite hits the paper differently, carving out the profile of a man just a few years older than myself, with tangled hair and bruised lips. I wish I had my colored pencils with me. In the man's eye is defiance. I might've even colored it the same blue as mine if I had the nerve.

The door to the office swings open and a boy walks in. I yank my hand away from myself, reaching over and squeezing out a blob of sanitizer on my palm, hissing at the burn underneath my breath as I rub it in. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the boy has a short conversation with the TA, running a hand through his inky hair which is a bit long, ending at his jawline. He doesn't seem to have a backpack on him. He's tanner than I am, which isn't saying much, with a pale scar above his left eyebrow. The TA laughs at something he said, throwing her strawberry-blonde ponytail behind her shoulder.