Boarding School, Chapter 2

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

It's Saturday morning, and time for auditions over at St Excolo's. These are held in the Great Hall, which is used for assemblies, plays and concerts. There is a dais at the head of the hall which can be used as a stage; behind it is a curtained off area. There are rows of chairs with a central aisle. After auditions, students can return to school for lunch, but are also allowed out for the afternoon. The sixth formers are allowed to return at 8pm on Saturday; everyone else needs to be back for 6! There'll be teachers on the gates waiting for tardy students, so if you're late... You're gonna need to sneak in, and make sure you don't miss roll call! You do not have to wear school uniform on a Saturday. Some brief notes on 50s fashion and British teen wear.

"I think about your hands."

Lips on the palm of my hand.

"Al."

I give myself a mental shake as I climb up the stairs after breakfast. The last two days have been extraordinary and hideous altogether. After Tez and I - What do I even call it? It doesn't seem exactly like sex, at least not like the dry details in a biology textbook. But it doesn't seem enough to say we wanked each other off. That makes it sound like nothing. There aren't words. The unmentionable vice. After Tez and I ... shared what we did, I fell into an exhausted sleep. The morning bell woke me, and for a strange, frightening moment I had no idea where I was. Then it came back to me I was at school, and it seemed like everything of the night before had been a dream. I turned onto my side, and saw Tez looking over from his bed, and I knew it was not. But Wilkes banged open the door - you'd better be up within five minutes of the bell or catch it - and there was no time to say anything. I could hardly look at Tez, but I wasn't ashamed. I just didn't know how to look at him without grinning or bursting into tears or something equally absurd. The whole day I felt wretched and joyous altogether, which is a very strange combination of things to feel. In classes he is always behind me, though where he sits varies. I am Head Boy, so I am at the head of the class. I feel fixed like a star; I used to think it an honour, but now I am not sure. I always have to look around to see anything, and I can't do that. We passed on the stairs once, that day, and that was enough to make me dizzy.

At night I felt afraid, suddenly. We'd not spoken of it - of anything - all day, and I feared he wouldn't want - That this had been a mistake. We were silent in the dark, and I choked out his name at last, ready to be angry so as not to grieve, and instead I felt his weight settle on my mattress, his breath on my cheek. I felt relieved enough to weep. But I didn't cry, because I must be a man, even if I am a monster - perhaps even more so if I am a monster. I have more to prove.

I've been in a fever with my duties these last two days because of that. Everything must be perfect. I have looked calm - it's a skill long honed, thank God - and I have been strict. Strict but fair. I've had no stomach for cruelty.

Our bedroom's empty when I go in, and I'm foolishly disappointed even though I knew I left the table before he did. I knot my thin tie and straighten my jacket, and pick up my copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream. I want to give the reading of my life today, though I could not say why it matters. I look in the mirror and recomb my hair, preparing to go down to the Great Hall.