Peter Pan and the Spiders From Mars

The following day at school seemed relatively normal. My absence hadn’t been all that noticed because I had only spent one day on the campus before the accident, but the gimpy leg did draw some attention. I managed to suffer through Algebra II and English (with a clenched jaw, mind you) before storming my way to Chemistry. At least, I tried to look angry, but dragging my leg around put sort of a damper on my hurricane of hate. However, when I strode past Mrs. Rochioli and through the part of the Red Sea that was the wary group of students, I saw Thomas and was reminded of his utter adorableness.

And how much I was going to throttle his ass.

Even his candy goodness could not quench my burning desire to figure out the oddity that was slowly naming itself after me. I slipped onto the stool next to him with some difficulty and got situated enough so that I could argue in comfort.

“Okay,” I laid my hands on the table, feeling the coolness contrast with my flushed skin, “now it starts.” Mrs. Rochioli shut the door to the classroom and walked resolutely to the front. Thomas never looked at me, except through the corner of his eyes. He was donned in a red shirt that reflected on his smooth skin and his hair was casually tossed to the side. There was a strip of fabric wrapped around his wrist that I hadn’t noticed before which only made him seem more chic. The only problem with the picture was that there was no smile on his face and he wasn’t turned towards me in an interested manner. His presence was that of any other student’s: dispensable. He was genuinely trying to ignore me which only meant that he did not want to talk about the mark. Well, too bad. Mrs. Rochioli began to lecture, but my anger rose with each word that squeaked its way through her lips. I leaned towards Thomas to grab his attention, but he only leaned farther away. He glanced at me quickly and grunted with disapproval.

“Shh…” He put a finger to his mouth when I opened my own to speak before turning back away from me. I bit my lip to prevent myself from yelling in the middle of class. My birthmark seemed to burn now that I realized its importance.

I admitted verbal defeat and tore a bit of paper off of my notes and scribbled my message:

Tell me what it means. I passed it towards him, nudging Thomas’ elbow. He read it and wrote his own.

What are you talking about? I fumed and jerked words across the paper.

Please tell me about my mark. I passed it to him again, but he refused to look at it. There was a tug of rejection as I took back the piece of paper. I know about Antimony. When I passed this bit towards him, he seemed unable to ignore me.

“Please, Kjell, I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Thomas whispered hurriedly.

“Why not?”

“It’s just-“ Thomas ran a hand through his hair and instead of being mesmerized, I was more disgusted. He was so pretty. Mrs. Rochioli continued bleating her theory of relativity, an obvious attempt at distracting her form the real subject as I waited patiently for Thomas to end his sentence. But he never did throughout the rest of class. When the bell rang, my paper of notes blank of information, Thomas finally turned towards me with genuine worry etched into his face.

“Come to my family’s restaurant tonight. I’ll try to explain there.” I nodded and he got up from the desk.

“Wait, what time?”

“Around eight.” Thomas crept away from the lab table as if I was a disease. I watched him walk out the door and once I found myself alone in the room, I got up and moved quickly. I didn’t want to be in the lab any longer than I was supposed to be. The remaining classes passed by rather slowly, my thoughts were consumed by my confusion. Not only was I thinking about the Antimony mark, but at my sudden emotionally tie to Thomas. I had been so irrevocably in need of him the time in the bathroom stall, but now each time I looked at him I got angry. There was something so absolutely perfect about Thomas that made me attracted to him, but I was also in the need to puke with each moment he was near. It was as if my body was telling me not to be with Thomas. I shook my head as I walked in-between classes. I was being stupid. Thomas was great and he liked me. Right? I mean, not at the moment it seemed, but he was interested before. Maybe once he gave me some answers I would return to normal, but for now I felt like I was forcing myself to be attracted to him.

Once the final bell rang, signaling the end of school, I had to wait for Brent to come and pick me up because I wasn’t able to ride my bike with my stupid, fucking, leg. Another problem with Middlesex, besides its lack of prestige, was the weather that was predictably fickle. The weather had changed from a lovely summer to icy cold during my stay in the hospital. I pulled my jacket closer and even took my hair out of its ponytail in hopes that it would warm my neck. It didn’t. There was another girl waiting for a ride. A funny, velvet, curtain of hair covered her face and her scrawny knees knocked together in the cold. I recognized her from my English class and immediately felt strong dislike which I guess only came from her association with my least favorite subject. I watched her out of curiosity and her very peculiar resemblance to a mouse until Brent finally showed up.

“You’re late.” I muttered as I hoped in.

“Well, you can walk home next time.” Again, Frank Zappa was wafting throughout the car. I glanced out of the window and back to the girl from my class. She stared back. “How’s your leg?”

“Huh?”

“Your leg?” Brent nodded towards the wrapped limb while “Jewish Princess” started playing its first few bars. “How is it?”

“Um, fine, I guess.” I murmured. It was silent for a while, but then I remembered the topic of conversation the last time Brent and I had talked. “Brent? What did your sister do?”

Brent’s sour face seemed to falter even more with my question. Obviously it was a touchy subject.

“My sister?”

“Yeah, you mentioned her at the hospital.” Brent readjusted his hands on the steering wheel and gulped. It didn’t look like he was going to give up the information easily and the stress of communication was taking its toll on his ruddy complexion. I’m sure that thirty years ago Brent was a stud. I mean, I’ve seen photos from his and Debbie’s wedding and even I was mildly intrigued by the figure in the tux. He was at least twenty pounds lighter and a healthy layer of stubble caressed his jawbone. His hair had been a thick thatch of black, about the same exact shade as mine. But now he seemed to sag everywhere and his personality almost mirrored Uncle Vernon’s, except less dickish. Brent turned one dull green eye towards me.

“My sister was a royal fuck-up.” I could feel my eyes widen at Brent’s word choice. “Lorraine never asked our family how they felt about her decisions. She just did what she wanted.” Brent clutched the wheel tighter. I didn’t want to speak up during his bout of anger. “Lorraine married this Italian and had a child, but I never got to meet them.”

I gulped. I didn’t think Brent’s story was entirely emotional or informative for that matter, but his anger was so palatable that I couldn’t help but be pissed at Lorraine. Silence grew heavy between us.

“What was his name?”

“What?” Brent snapped out of a reverie.

“The name of the guy that she married. What was it?”

“I’ll never forget it. It’s all his fault, anyway.” Brent exhaled sharply and turned into the driveway. He quickly shut off the engine and started to open his door, but I was waiting. “Trovatelli. Trovatelli was his name.”

My breath hitched. Oh fuck.

“You okay?”

“Ahhh,” I slipped out of the car, being careful of my mummified leg, “yeah, I’ll be okay.” My head swarmed with confusion. Brent’s sister married a Trovatelli? How was I going to survive associating with them when my foster father clearly hated just the name? I stumbled to the door, Brent leading the way.

“What was your sister like before she married him?” The bit of information only brought more intrigue to the story.

“Before that scumbag?” My stomach dropped. Brent took my backpack from me and walked into the living room towards the kitchen. I followed, waiting for his answer. He opened the fridge, brought out a loaf of bread and a bottle of beer. Brent looked down at the bottle, nodded towards me in offering. Now, this was weird. Brent hardly ever let me buy soda at the grocery store, let alone allowed me to have one of his beers. Grasping the opportunity, I accepted the offer. Brent popped open another bottle and handed it to me. The glass was chilly and the liquid iced my already cold throat. It was sticky and smooth. Brent took one huge swig and sighed.

“Well, Lorraine was my younger sister, so I immediately was the designated hero. I didn’t really get that job until we were both in high school. When she was in elementary school, a lot of people didn’t talk to her because she was a bit too…” Brent’s face cringed in thought, “hardcore, I guess I would say, for the other twelve year olds. Lorraine was the first person to climb on top of the monkey bars, and to break her shin bone for that matter. I think, even one time, “ Brent gave a chuckle, “she slapped another girl because she said ‘damn’.” I laughed, taking another small sip of the beer. Brent looked up and smirked. “Lorraine was just that type of person.”

“It was the same in high school. People generally stayed away from her. I had my own friends and we hardly interacted except at home. It wasn’t until Sophomore year when things started getting out of hand. I noticed it first, probably because we were close in age. Lorraine started wearing dresses and make up. She had never done that before. What was most obvious was that she was cleaning her room, everything was dust-free. And, I mean, I didn’t say anything about it. What’s so incriminating about keeping things tidy? It wasn’t until a couple months afterward when I caught them: Lorraine and Hanson.” Brent swallowed another chug. “He was this prim Italian guy that I hated when I first met him. But that was probably because he was busy ‘getting busy’ with my sister. So, after I chucked him out of the house, Lorraine wouldn’t talk to me.

“It was him, Hanson that had been changing Lorraine. She was trying to impress him by being proper and it was just disgusting. She had even stopped eating meat because of him. It drove me insane to see my sister morph to fit him and I couldn’t believe that they actually loved each other. I just didn’t think it was possible. Our parents didn’t mind it, they figured it was a good change because there were less emergency parent-teacher meeting and late night detentions.” Brent heaved another sigh. “Once they graduated high school, Lorraine and Hanson got married. She drifted far off from our family and communication between us grew even more fragile until it stopped all together. Then, a year later, it happened.” Brent hung his head, the beer empty.

“What happened?” I whispered, my fingers clenched around the beer bottle, still full. Brent’s chest hitched and he looked back up, his eyes brimming.

“They were both found dead. Lorraine slumped over the baby crib, but the babe was…” A tear slipped past and dripped down to his chin.

“Gone.”