Seth Unseen

Part 3: NASA

I wake up in a mood on Sunday, frustrated and unfulfilled. Things were going so well with Ken, and then everything just fell apart. Maybe I came on too strong, but we weren't talking about it and I couldn't take it any longer.

Whatever. It's not like we were actually friends. I just met him and not hanging out with him anymore wasn't the same thing as losing a long-time friend. I thought we had potential, but there are worse catastrophes in the world.

After breakfast, I log on to my computer and take myself away from my minuscule problem. The AOL dial-up sounds screech loudly at me like a bird with cracked vocal cords, but I'm immune to it at this point. Once I'm online, I read through my favorite comic book and video game websites, and then I join an RP chat room where we role-play characters from the DC Universe. I'm always Robin. Sundays don't tend to be as active in these rooms, so I simply chat with some friends about the most recent comic book stories. Batman was especially gratifying; a new writer and artist have joined and they've reinvigorated the title by throwing him into a brave new direction. Only time will tell how it plays out, but I have high hopes.

I spend most of the day on the computer and it's an effective tool that helps me forget about Ken. Monday morning, however, doesn't allow for such distractions. There's nowhere I can hide from my thoughts in the confines of this school. Every hallway I turn down, I fear running into him and being confronted with what happened. I keep telling myself that it's not a big deal, but the mind does as it pleases and I'm merely its vessel.

Fourth period is my algebra class and I've been mentally preparing for it all day. I'm one of the first students in the room and I immediately pull out my notebook and start sketching. I keep my head down and I focus on my work, but when I see someone's all-black Nikes coming, I know that it's Ken. Who only wears one pair of shoes? His footsteps are slow and measured and I can tell that he's looking at me as he takes his seat.

The class starts and Ken keeps glancing over my way, as if he wants to know what I'm feeling. I can see him in the corner of my eyes; it looks as if he's psychically pleading, wanting to ask me questions, but I won't let him have that information. He doesn't deserve it. I keep my attention focused on Ms. Heaton, as if I'm actually interested in her lesson. It's more about proving a point and I'm as stubborn as they come.

Lunchtime comes and I sit at my table with my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, completely expecting Ken to choose a table away from me. The cafeteria doesn't have assigned seating and it would only make sense for him to leave space between us. To my dismay, however, he sits in the exact same table as he always does and stares at me. I'm aggravated at this point. Downright furious. He's acting as if nothing has changed and something about this doesn't feel fair. He's playing some game that I don't wish to play anymore and I regret ever becoming visible.

This time I've had enough. I stuff the rest of my sandwich in my mouth and pick up my book bag to leave the cafeteria. On my way out, I throw away my trash in the trashcan so hard that the container nearly tips over, and I walk into the bathroom. It's like I'm a ninth-grader again, only I'm not running away from a whole cafeteria filled with loud and unlikable kids, I'm running away from one particular boy who won't let me be.

I turn on the faucet and lean over the sink splashing water on my face. I exhale loudly and grab a paper towel from the dispenser to my left and wipe my face with the cheap paper. Deep inside, I know that my emotions are much more complex than what they might appear, and I'm reminded why I don't let people in. When people see me, they assume that I'm cool, calm, and collected when I'm in fact I'm cagy, cryptic, and chaotic, I just hide it well.

My reflection shows me the reality of the situation because I can't hide from myself. Even at my young age I know the levels of my soul. It's all an act and I'm pretending to be okay when this life is torture for me. I'm lonely and I wish I had what so many other kids my age seem to have so easily. That connection with someone that can be expressed freely. Ken presented a gateway into that possibility and now it's forever gone. I like that I have so many interests: my music, video games, drawing, and comic books, but they can't replace the real bond with another person not made of ink or encrypted with code. But I guess that kind of life has to stay confined within the mind for people like me.

I turn and throw away the balled up paper towel into the trash and when I do I see him enter the bathroom. Ken. I inhale sharply and I can't control my immediate surprise as well as I normally can.

Ken walks up to me. He looks flushed as if he had run around the school before coming in, and he just stares. Yet again with the staring. No words. No apologies. No indication of any kind about how he's feeling, just this intolerable limbo and I'm over it.

"Good talk," I say, and walk around him, but he grabs my arm before I'm able to leave.

"Wait," Ken finally says.

"No," I say, turning around. "What do you want? I already asked you why you keep staring at me and you didn't answer. You just left. And today you've just been sneaking glances and staring at me just like before. It was endearing at first and now it's just annoying."

I turn to leave again, but this time he leans in and kisses me before I can. My eyes widen at first and then I close them, giving myself permission to enjoy the moment. My first kiss. And it's the best thing I've ever felt.

He leans away after a few seconds and stares back at me in fear; a blend of not knowing what he just did and not knowing how I'd react is written all over his face. I, on the other hand, look surprisingly pleased. I can see him realize this and relief washes over him. He smirks like there's an inner wolf wishing to escape and he looks behind me at the entrance. Once he confirms that it's clear, he grabs me by my shirt and pulls me into the bathroom stall, locking the door behind us. We start to make out with the intensity that can only come from the pent up frustrations of youth. His hands hold onto my face as he tenderly kisses me and I hold onto his broad shoulders like they're lifelines.

We don't say a word to each other and yet this is the most communicative we've ever been.