Pavane for a Lost Boy (Or Rather, How to Survive Loss after Rejection)

Chapter Twenty-Six

A/N: Play the song when directed.

Okay, so things are starting to get very real in the last several weeks since I started high school.

1.) I'm the constant hot topic as all eyes are on me. But that's nothing new since EVERYONE knows about my uncharmed life and are keeping me accountable to focus on my mental health.

2.) I'm also dealing with threats from a certain femme fatale who's desperate to cling onto someone who doesn't really love her and has a jealous streak that's as long as the I-20 interstate in the entire state of Texas.

3.) Oliver Slade, my transgender diving partner, stole my very first kiss from me and I'm still not sure where things stand between us. I mean, I'm not homophobic or anything. I'm just not sure if love's even in the cards since...well, you know how my mother was about me regarding my chances of developing any relationships or friendships.

I'm treading water right now. I'm trying to play keep-away from Peavey while wanting nothing to do with Jillian Kendricks. I'm also facing down my old neighborhood's residents as they talk about how they REALLY felt about my dead family and my former relatives. And right now, I just need a moment to let myself breathe.

As for my therapy sessions, they're coming along and I'm going to keep at it for as long as I can because I really want to break away from the mess that is my uncharmed life.

************

"All right, class," Mrs. Burton, the middle-aged English teacher said as she took to the helm of the classroom. "Last week, I assigned you all to write one poem that gives you a bit of hope. And after reading a bit of Tennyson yesterday, you all had ample opportunity to write something that can bring you some light in this dark world. Anyone wants to go first before I randomly pick someone?"

I took a deep breath, remembering what Dr. Nguyen assigned me to do yesterday at the therapy session. I gingerly raised my hand. "I have a little something that I wrote," I commented. "It's a bit on the rough side, but-"

"All the better to share it with the class, Mr. Bader," Mrs. Burton said, a few of the students humming in agreement. "Come on up."

I took in deep breaths as I jostled up to the front of the class.

You're making a big mistake, boy, Mama's voice hissed in my head. Sit back down and risk being a failure in everyone's eyes.

Shut up, Mama. Just shut up.

I opened my journal up and found the page that I wrote on last night. "I call this piece 'Peachtree Kisses and Dreams,'" I said.

Why? Tell me why.
Why am I still hurting, even though I'm smiling on the outside,
vainly enjoying the kisses of my lady as we gaze at the sunset?
       The spark of regret still lingers like a rotten worn inside a lovely quince.

When? Please tell me when.
When will I find redemption for my destitute soul?
Sunrise? Sunset? High noon? Maybe twilight?
      Must this ache be the price I must pay for my hidden sins,
the tears never stopping to cease pouring down my worn face?

Where? Where?
Where can I finally embrace the hour of forgiveness,
allowing myself to enjoy the electric rainbow and wearing it with pride
      after dancing in the cyber rain?

It's human nature that I'm still feeling this way.
It's near the time of freedom of the chains of yesterday's sins.
It's only in the heart of the Maker where we can find penance?

So many questions of uncertainty, yet there's so many answers of assured goodness.

Soon. It'll be soon.
That's when we'll walk with the stars amongst the sun.