Book Of Phan One Shots

through the reeds i see the final form of happiness

"Today is cancelled." A voice beams from across the outside corridor. Everyone remains the same, talking and such. Eating snacks, discussing the quiz later.

"What was that?" I ask, obviously concerned about the lack of interest towards the distressed voice.

Boyd turns towards me, he and I have been playing on the same lacrosse team since we were young. Now that we're in high school my parents decided to officially transfer me to Watermount High. They're known for spitting out lacrosse prodigies, "that's Dan." Boyd's light blue eyes train on mine seriously and I lean back at the intensity of it, "he's a weirdo, just ignore him."

"Is he hurt?" I look over his shoulder to try and make out where this Dan kid could be.

"No." Connie laughs, placing a hand on Boyd's shoulder lovingly, "he always acts like that. I guess he's like a super genius but can't talk to people good."

"Can't talk to people well." Harrison reminds Connie. She rolls her eyes and waves him off. All the while I try to decide if I should listen to them. The part of me that wants to be cool in my new school begs me to stay but my compassion pulls me towards the boy. 

I stand up because my curiosity takes the better of me. Boyd tries to get me to sit down, reminding me that I have to be popular now. Choosing to ignore them I cross the path paved with stone over to the garden area. There's a small tree surrounded by even smaller flowers. There sits a boy.

He's curled up his legs so that they sit unnaturally under him. His hands are pushed through his hair so that I can't make out his face.

"Why is today cancelled?" I ask.

He whips his head up so that we make eye contact. I awkwardly shove my hands in my pockets. He has deep set eyes that seem to swirl with all kinds of colors. And by swirl I mean the way leaves dance on fall air. That kind of swirl. His nose sticks upwards, dotted with light freckles. Rosy cheeks compliment his softness. Matching lips curl up in curiosity. His clothes are layered and seem a bit inappropriate for this hot weather.

He shakes his head and leans forward on his knees, "because I don't want to live here anymore."

"Oh." I nod and look around at all the flowers surrounding him. He seems to have books all piled around. A camera sits hazardously atop a rock, "why is that?"

"People dismiss my brain." Dan points at his head, twirling his hair in the process, "they say they say they say..." He trails off for a moment, "they say they don't understand. So it makes me invalid."

"I'm sorry about that." I mutter, "may I sit down?"

"Sure, don't bother the pansies though. One time I picked one and had bad luck for a whole week." Dan points at a clear spot along the wall. Sitting down next to him I listen to his banter, "my pages were covered in bad, horrible luck."

"How so?" I inquire.

"Oh, the pictures and drawings were pure evil." He nods, picking up a book, "It happened last May." His thin fingers covered in band aids flip through the pages, "oh, see this." He holds up the book carefully.

The pages are colored black, a Polaroid of the sun is taped to one side and along it it reads through the reeds I see the final form of happiness. He has drawn a person with grotesque features, a long neck and slanted eyes, sharp shoulders and messy hair. I try to make out what it could be saying but before I can he shuts the book tight and places it on the ground.

"I do see that." I nod. Sun filters through the branches of the tree casting bored shadows on Dans face.

"You get it?" He asks, eyebrows furred.

And I don't know if I do. I want to think that I understand what he's saying. But if I do say I get it than does that make me just as crazy? Will I anger him if I say I don't get it?

"I think so." And his eyes light up, lifting the autumn leaves into a tornado of wonder.

"Good." He falls back on his legs, "I can trust you. My name is Dan."

"Phil."

"They're unhappy." He points towards my group of foster friends, "many people don't talk to me. I think that might be why."

"You're right." I agree, "but I don't care."

"You should care." Intensity rises in his voice, "because if you don't you'll end up a machine. Caring is important. Creative caring is so important. The reason I don't get along with them is because they're machines and they don't like that I'm alive. I know I can trust you because you're alive as well. Your heartbeat is real and not full of gasoline. Oh gasoline makes me sick. All full of black sludge that hisses at you when heated." He shifts his eyes away from the people and back at me, "they think they can transmit their heart with gasoline and get away with it."

His words seem to fall straight out of a poem. They're strung together with precision and care. I'm fascinated with the way he moves his body, all twisty and jumpy. He seems a bit off but that's no excuse to exile him. He's just a bit different, "when did you figure this out?"

"I've always know, haven't you?"  And he grabs my shoulder, pulling me close.  He brushes up close against my ear whispering, "I think they want to make you a machine."

He lets go of me and I tumble back a bit, taken back by the sudden change of balance, "maybe."

"Oh for sure."  Dan nods, "look." 

But as I'm about to see what Dan is referring to the bell rings interrupting our chat.  I stand up to go and join the others again but Dan grabs my sleeve. 

"Hey, Phil?"  His eyes are wide and the leaves seem unsure, twisting around slightly like they're being watched. 

"Yeah?"

"Will you come back tomorrow? No one understands what I mean.  You got what I was saying."   Dan seems like he's begging and I try to understand what it's like to be him.  For everyone to misunderstand me, no one to get the way I think or talk.  Writing me off because I'm different.

"Yeah, no problem." I smile and he mirrors me.  He has a tooth that's slightly crooked on the top left and he lifts up his lip in just the right way to highlight it.

"Good."

I wave him off and crawl out of the small clearing.  My friends are looking at me with confusion, "what the hell?" Boyd laughs, clapping my back, "he's insane.  Why'd you go over there?"

"He just wants someone to listen." I shrug off his hand. 

"Just try and pretend to be cool, alright?" Boyd asks, furring his dark eyebrows. 

"Yeah, sure."  I say half listening because my eyes are trained on the shadow of Dan packing up his things.

An: this'll be part 1 I guess.  Ayeayeaye