Tenerife Sea

II. books and boys

The afternoon proceeding that strange meeting of two minds or three shall I say because Rho always likes to be involved, was just as it always was. English was more delightful than history in that I was writing a piece on the analysis of Orwell's 1984 and The Picture of Dorian Grey and there was not a Mr Millar casting a dark shadow over my soul and all that it consisted of. My mind remained fixed on the blonde, his hair like a lemon meringue pie that Nana cooked for special occasions like my 16th birthday and the way he spoke, his accent like a Lennon-McCartney song to my ears, filling my brain with serotonin. I wasn't obsessed with him, but simply intrigued. I wanted to know what went on in that head of his, he definitely didn't seem like many of the other airhead football players.

The rest of the second week back seemed to drag on its usual way and I'd kept the same routine from year 10. Classes till 3, sometimes finishing at 1 if it was a good day and catch up with Rho as we mused about the day and ate crumbly biscuits and drank from cheap ivory disposable cups as we laughed. Still no sign of the male I'd met previously and I began to think he was just one of the mythical ghosts of the old school or a vision of mine, which Rho debunked time and time again, 'it actually happened Si, do you need a stronger prescription?' I could hear her upbeat voice as it vibrated through my ears as I shuffled through the stone halls on my way to the library on the south side of the school. It felt so ancient, I felt like I was walking through an ancient Alexandrian library except it had Tolkien vibes, like an ancient elvan information centre in Doriath. As I walked through the oak doors, I immediately made my way to the classics section, taking out some books based on 1984 and getting a shabby copy of a book about Oscar Wilde for the project and my own personal interest. My eyes scanned the shelves, taking in the delightful company of all the characters that joined me today and I exhaled the scent of old books and the distant chatter of other students and it made my mind feel at ease.

With a quick stride, I found a seat by the window and sat down, setting the books on the table as put my tawny rucksack on the equally brown table. Time to do something right for once Simon, fix that essay. I took out the paper, not wanting to dwell over it and repeat the internal suffering of the day before. I got to work quickly, wanting to make the most of the time here before it closed. Plugging in my bulky earplugs and pressing the button on my MP3 player and the steady tune of 'Strawberry Fields Forever' by the Beatles enlightened my ears and allowed me to focus on the 16th and 17th Century essay. Reading of the essay I had written before, my biased mind started to make sense of Millar's comments. It was indeed crap, I was not following the objectives, nor was I focused on the question. Shit. I shouldn't let Peggy see this, or Uncle Richard who acted as my oppressive father figure who'd actually paid for me to go here after all. He was a human rights lawyer and he was an alright person if you got deeper than face value but he had Everest high expectations of me and he'd probably cut me off if I showed him my recent essays.

I was pulled away from my focus by a noise, a pleasant noise that sounded familiar over the melodies of George Harrison in 'While My Guitar Gently Weeps'. I lifted by soft brown mop to see not one but two blondes, a girl and a boy. They chatted together for a while and I noticed the one with The Doors t shirt on turned in my direction and I saw a better visage of the boy, Chris. He looked as great as he did the day I met him, with his floppy blonde hair that hung in curtains on his forehead and those eyes, with a heart of their own looked by way with a smile and a wave. Oh bananas, he must have noticed me staring. I recovered this successfully or unsuccessfully (you decide) with an equally gentle smile and a wave and he cascaded toward me with a spring in his step.

"There you are, Simon isn't it? I find I'm good with names, I was stopping to get a book for philosophy- wait is that Oscar Wilde? He was a great one that one, I read the picture of -um the other day.." Chris spoke clearly as he took my wave as an invitation to take a seat, which I had no objection to. I responded soon after, tapping the book with my finger, "The Picture of Dorian Grey, yes I'm doing a project for english on it. It's interesting how much looks play a role in the idea of self, he is destroyed by his narcissism.." I stopped, fearing I'd gone into a tangent but Chris' calm expression told me I had his full attention and he nodded, "Indeed, you're such a little bookworm Snow I love it. Oh this is Indigo, Indigo this is Simon." He introduced me to the other blonde, she was so beautiful, her eyes lit up her whole face. I almost thought the pair were related. Indigo shook my hand and smiled angelically, "nice to meet you Simon, now I can sleep at night with the idea that Chris finally has an intellectual friend," which earned a flushed faced Chris to nudge her as she began to chuckle, a belly chuckle on that reminded me of Peggy. Then they began to talk in quiet shouting voices to each other, mentioning a Jason who seemed to be her boyfriend, an all american football player, who had been a transfer from Brooklyn. I was lost in the conversation but when Chris spoke to me again, I could not take my eyes off his, "Say Simon, the welcome back party is happening tonight, just a small get together in the common room, say you'll come! And bring Rhosyn too, and anyone else really." The male spoke happily as he put his arm around Indigo and continued to tease her. I'd never been to those parties, I wasn't that kind of guy, even Nolan went but I always turned it down. The idea of being in a cramped sweaty room with everyone high and intoxicated did not seem like my kind of thing but something in Chris' smile told me I should take the chance, he left behind a trail of interest and enthusiasm that made everyone in the room immediately warm.