The Book of Strings

1

Like  any normal notebook, the Book of Strings had many front-and-back college-ruled pages. These pages had blue horizontal lines accompanied by a vertical red one marking the margin. The spine was stitched with black thread and concealed by a matching fabric. The cover was the same color as the thread and fabric, save for a white patch on the front for the owner to write her name. Written in thin blue ink on this patch was the name "October Alvarez." No one called her October aside from herself.

She was fascinating. Her every breath was as unique as her name and as sharp as it sounded on her tongue. She was loved widely and became involved in every opportunity she could get her hands on -- whether it was volunteering at the local homeless shelter or captaining the cheer-leading squad. She did both and everything in between. October had friends from her hometown in suburban New Jersey, she had friends here in Arizona, she had online friends and pen pals and friends from her foreign exchange year in Mongolia. Socializing was an annoying habit of hers, as it attracted all sorts of abstract and obnoxious personalities to our secluded little friend group. None lasted, naturally. The two of us were odd enough as it was. From the moment she set foot in Tucson, October "Toby" Alvarez and I were instantly inseparable.

"Pomp and Circumstance," a traditional headache. The weather had been looking up for graduation and the two hundred-ish seniors filed into lawn chairs arranged on the football field under a clear sky. The chairs were hot from the sun and I quickly came to pity the group that had worn nothing under their gowns with the intention to streak. I heard my name shouted from a distance and looked up from my feet to see my family filing into the bleachers.

I was the oldest of four, the younger three being all girls. Sam was the second oldest at sixteen; followed by Meredith, fourteen; and Charlotte, seven. Our mom, Denise, had me when she was seventeen. My dad found out about the pregnancy and disappeared off the face of the Earth. As collateral of a teenage pregnancy, Denise dropped out of high school with one year to go. Regardless of the fact that she had a newborn son an incomplete high school education, she managed to have a perfect track record at her high school. This led her to art school, which gave her the chance to start her own pottery studio. About a year after I was born, she met Byron. Another year later, Sam was born. Then Meredith, then Charlotte. Denise and Byron never married, but they were often mistaken for newlyweds by anyone who didn't know them well enough to understand that it was just the way they were. Our family of six lived in the house that served as a gallery in the winter. Byron was a real estate agent. Between him, Denise, and myself, the family stayed fed.

Sam brought her girlfriend along to graduation, Kirsten. Kirsten practically lived with us, and she was more than welcome. She brought out a strange side in Denise which typically resulted in the both of them dragging everyone else into a giant card game — typically Bullshit. On one said occasion, Charlotte had walked in at the opportune moment to witness all of us cussing — at full volume, I might add — at one another. Regrettably, Charlotte's vocabulary has expanded since.

Charlotte sat on Kirsten's lap, even though she was getting too old to do so. Meredith wore a white sundress that made her appear older than she was; a stranger could've forgotten she was only fourteen. But Sam, everyone adored. Sam, with her perfect auburn hair and vibrant green eyes, her straight A's in school, her bubbly personality. Meredith got the rotten end of the deal. She was constantly striving to aspire to the popularity levels Sam had. Her admiration was confused with jealousy, which paved the way for some struggle throughout high school.

I craned my neck over my shoulder in search of Kip. I found him sitting with his chair backwards, straddling the backrest so he had something to lean on. He was bored already. I caught his eye and his vacant expression turned up into a goofy grin. Kip and I had been best friends since before Toby had shown up, and Denise had referred to him as a bad influence on more than one occasion. I didn't have the heart to tell her it was a combined effort.

"Pomp and Circumstance" came to an end and the principal took his place on the makeshift stage. As he greeted his students and our families, I heard a rustling behind me. I knew what it was, but it seemed pointless to turn around. Sure enough, seconds later, the bare ass of my best friend came hurdling down the aisles. He uttered a battle cry and sprinted up to the stage, crossed it once, and ran into the woods on the other side. An entourage pursued after him; pale, naked flesh and nervous screeches ensued. The audience exploded in an uproar of hysterical laughter, save for the embarrassed expressions of the boys' parents. The discarded gowns lay draped over their seats; the snakes had shed their skins.

Our school had an ongoing tolerance for streakers. No punishment was issued, even at a graduation ceremony. Administration must've accepted it as a lost cause. So, once the guys had done their thing, they simply returned to the steps of the stage, hands extended for their well-deserved diplomas. As nontraditional as it was, our principal recognized there was no purpose in forcing these twenty or so nude teenage boys to sit through an entire ceremony. He was at their mercy. Diplomas were awarded -- much to the fascination of the audience -- and the guys ran in the opposite direction towards the parking lot. Kip looked over his shoulder and blew his family a kiss, leaving the football field with a salute, followed by an eruption of cheers. The principal calmly returned to the ceremony, a small grin masked by his bountiful mustache.

Alphabetically, students were called to receive their diplomas as the excitement slowly simmered to a low boil, then eventually stood still.

"Beckett, Oliver."

I rose and made my way to the stage. My khakis rubbed against the inside of my thighs under the gown, itching and irritating. My palms were coated in sweat, and I wiped them against the blue fabric.

I'd been a long distance runner on our track team since freshman year, all the result of bribery. I'm certain it was Kip who had said, "Oliver, if you do track this year, I'll tell Amy Galin to go on a date with you." I did track, and Amy did go on a date with me. That lasted about a month. Maybe less. Where the relationship with Amy "Jugs" had been cut short, track stuck. One year of the sport turned into two, and two years turned into a full-time commitment. The principal -- who was also coach -- and I had gotten to be close acquaintances during this time period.

He shook my hand as he handed me the diploma.

"Good luck, Oliver," he said quietly and with a subtle wink. I gave a halfhearted smile in return and proceeded to leave the stage.

My heart raced and my throat constricted. I hated this place. Hated it. But leaving didn't feel right. I'd met Kip  here, Toby and I had smoked in the woods behind the school during football games, I'd had my first kiss in the gym, I'd broken my ankle on the track only two years earlier. I owed my life's worth of experiences to this place.

Hours passed. Names were called. Speeches were given. Awards were handed out. Parents cried. Teachers cried. Students cheered. Food was served. Music was played. Then it was over. Just like that.

Every senior had made themselves present that afternoon. Every senior made it a priority. October Alvarez, however, had skipped her own graduation. Her family was there, but had left after she hadn't showed. It wasn't a disappointment, however it appeared. No one had expected her to show up. She had better places to be.

I was walking along the pavement to the parking lot. Two more steps and I would be gone.

The weather had been looking up for graduation, and the two hundred-ish seniors filed into their cars and left under clear skies.