jesus christ i finally have part one of this fukcin story jfc procrastination is real
tw: f-slur
* * *
"What's wrong, little faggot?" Kyle taunted. His friends snickered. Socs and greasers, cats and dogs, never really been friends.
"Homosexuals are SINNERS! You're a sinner, Howell! You and your family!" one of the others said.
There was nowhere for me to run... I was cornered in the boy's bathroom, and all I wanted to do was light myself on fire. "F-A-G-G-O-T! Queers are fucking SINNERS!"
It hadn't been a bad dream... it had been reality last Thursday.
* * *
It was a sunny day when Dan Howell moved in next door.
So sunny that my mother decided she was going to go outside to the garden to tend to the flowers.
So sunny that she wanted me to come outside too.
I told her that I didn't have anyone to play with, which is true. The only kids on the street were a little girl named Suzanne and a boy about to become a man when he leaves for the army in a few weeks.
She glared, and grabbed her things. I was then alone in the house.
Fine by me.
Nothing big ever happens in this town. A lot of the other neighboring towns are the same way. It's just a bunch of occasional picnics and corn fields. We're a small town, but we've gotten used to it.
I stay in my room, until I see a truck pull in next door.
No one's lived in there for years... it's always been for sale... finally, someone moved in...
I watch as a nuclear family hops out of a truck. A mother, a father, a daughter and a son.
A son, who looks to be my age.
I watch as my mother walks over to the family, taking off her gardening gloves. Introduces herself. Handshakes all around. Everyone stops to stare at the giant moving truck that parks on the curb.
"I do! One eleven-year-old, Jacob, and one sixteen-year-old, Daniel," I hear my mother say. English decent, rooted in the South.
I hear my mother walk inside. "Daniel, come down here now and meet the new family!" she shouts.
Stumbling down the stairs, no... keep your cool...
I walk out onto the porch, just as my mother introduces me. "And this is my son, Daniel!" she exclaims in her fake cheery voice. The family smiles and nods. The boy waves. I wave back.
Why is my stomach fluttering?
"Would you like some help getting unpacked? I can bake a pie, and Dan here can help unload." "That would be wonderful! Thank you so much!" the woman says. Her voice sounds different... they aren't from here, and maybe that's a good thing.
I walk over to the family, and we exchange handshakes. Introductions. I reach to wipe the summer sweat off my neck, feeling nervous... I wonder if the new family knew we were supposed to get a heat wave this week...
"Hey Dan, we have some kitchen items in the back of the truck, if you don't mind unloading. Harold and I want to take a moment to talk to the drivers... something happened to the truck on the highway..." Shauna says. I nod and walk to the back of the truck, seeing the new boy has already gotten ahold of the large kitchen table. "Lend me a hand?" he asks, his voice hitched from using all his willpower trying to hold the table up. I race into the truck, "Oh, yeah, hang on," and grab onto the other end. "Okay, listen, we're going to have to work together for this... I already opened the front door so we can walk it in, but this old slab of wood is extremely heavy," I hear him say. I nod, and slowly back up down the trailer of the moving truck.
We make our way safely across the front lawn, and finally, moment of truth, the front door. "It's okay, we got this," I hear the boy say softly, but something suggests he's half telling himself that to make it all better.
We collapse in the kitchen; the center of a family meal is finally in one piece and safely inside. I find myself leaning against the table for support, taking a break from the most exercise I've done in a while. "Hey, don't get too comfortable," I hear the boy say from the front door, "We've still got all four of the chairs for that to unload as well." That goddamn smile with the tongue poking out, and then it's gone.
Never even got his name...
* * *
Sun is low and dipping down in the sky by the time my new neighbor and I have finished unpacking all the things that belong in the kitchen. The adults had been left to taking care of thanking the moving truck man and getting all the things set up upstairs and such. The youngest girl had been content playing with toys in the front lawn.
"Did I even tell you my name?" the boy finally asks. He's perched on the counter, resting his head against the cabinets. I shake my head from my seat at the kitchen table. I've been trying to arrange the flowers from the centerpiece in just the right fashion, because nothing so far has taken to my liking. "Oh... well it's Phil. Hi," he says awkwardly with a giggle. I chuckle. "Hi."
Phil's parents enter the house, along with my mother. I can hear her talking, too loud as always. "Yes, I would introduce you to him, but sadly, he's on a business trip. Somewhere in Cincinnati? I'm not quite sure, he left Monday morning. Oh, hello Dan!"
The house grows louder with the sounds of laughter and cheering and talking. Phil and I moved into the living room to listen to Phil's records of Elvis that his parents didn't particularly care for but would listen to with him anyways.
"Do you like him? I think his music's great," Phil said, busying himself with organizing the record pile. "Who?" I asked, picking my head up from the rug. "You know, Elvis? The big man."
I put my head back down, continuing to stare at the ceiling. "Oh. Yeah, I guess. He's cool. My mom doesn't let me listen to him, but I heard his songs once on the radio when I was driving around town with my old friends."
Phil looked over at me and gave me a smile, then returning to the pile. "That's boss. He's like, crazy man!"
I just chuckled, laughing again when I heard Phil hiss "Oh fudge!" when the record player finished the record. "Are you playing it again?" I asked. "Yeah, why?" "No reason, just checkin'."
An hour after was spent messing around on the floor of the living room, talking about Elvis and considering putting grease in our hair by the time school rolls around. Finally, it was Mother to ruin the party. "C'mon kiddo, let's go home."
"Mom you can't keep calling me kiddo, I'm sixteen," I reminded her. We walked out to the house, calling goodbye to the Lesters. Phil gave me a hug before I left. "Here, listen to this," he whispered. I felt good, feeling his hot breath tickle my skin. Placed in my hands was a 45 of Elvis.
I still have it.
