Status: In Progress

The Rose Epitaph

Alone in the Crowd

Dylan stared at the car- the off-gray hybrid he was expected to drive to his new school. The new morning sun reflecting off the windshield; and shining a spotlight on a little crack in the glass that has probably gone unnoticed by his distracted father and oblivious step-mother. But he saw it. And he can’t un-see it. With his luck, he figured, it will crack more and he’d be blamed for it.

He made a face at the vehicle and looked down on at the paper clutched in his hand.

Sorry, couldn’t drive you to school.
You can drive right? Take your step-mother’s car.
Directions are already in the GPS.


No goodbye. No “have fun at school.” Not even his signature. Nothing. Just words scribbled onto a sheet of computer paper last minute. Dylan looked at his father’s handwriting with his brown eyes; scoffing inwardly at how the curves and arches mimicked his own.

“You can drive right?” Jennifer asked, appearing next to him with a five subject notebook. “If you can’t, I can drive you!”

She smiled and handed Dylan the black notebook; which he took in slow, zombie movements, that he almost forgot she had asked him a question.

“Oh,” he said coolly, “I can drive.”

“Oh good! You can’t get anywhere on this island without a car. You can have this one- I don’t need it, really. I rarely drive because of the baby, and my friend’s usually pick me up anyway. Oh it’s a hybrid! It’s that cool? It is like we are helping the environment! You like that right?” He could smell her fear radiating off her pours, mixing with the obnoxious perfume. She was spitting out her words as fast as her mouth would allow her to, and asking these ridiculous questions- trying to impress him. He felt for her. She was making an effort. Lost effort, but an effort.

“I do.” Was his only answer, and from the smile that danced across her face, she was satisfied.

“Good! Oh,” she reached into her the pocket of the pink furry robe that adorned her slim body, and pulled out a twenty, “I know it isn’t cool to brown bag it anymore, so here is some money for lunch!” She slipped the crisp bill into his pale hand, and for the first time, Dylan realized what it felt like to be Aaron- to be rich, and have twenties fall into your hand like raindrops. He suppressed the childish giggle that threatened to erupt from his locked mouth, and kept his face cold as stone as he thanked her.

A sense of awkwardness past through the pair. What now? Do they hug? Do the “kiss on the cheek” goodbye? What was proper for a step-mother and step-son? Dylan had just assumed she would be a wicked brat who whined and shot him dirty looks from across the dinner table. The truth was, she was the opposite. She was attentive, caring, slightly smothering, however. She called the check on him ten times the night before, reminding him of the money she had left and the phone numbers. Asked him a million questions about the bed, the room, the house- was everything up to his standards as if he had any. He scrunched his nose- not even his mother was that fucking smothering.

“Good-bye,” he finally said, and Jennifer smiled wearily.

“Good-bye, if you need anything just call.” With that, she returned to the safety of the house.

Dylan didn’t waste time to ponder his relationship with his step-mother; he didn’t want a repeat of the night before, when the memories tugged on his heart like puppet strings, causing him to collapse on the obnoxious queen-size bed in his room, and hold his heart until the fleeting moment passed. Not again. He immediately got into the car, slipped in the key, hit power, and pulled out of the driveway with complete disregard for God’s creations.

-

After wasting a good thirty minutes trying to find parking in that god-forsaken ghetto- as Dylan dubbed the neighborhood his new school stood in- the blonde-haired boy was walking towards the castle like structure, wondering when the hell the damn thing was even built. He scoffed at the school from the moment he passed it in his car- it was big, with tall towers that seemed to graze the clouds just a bit. The stone was light, and the scaffolding that plagued the entrances alluded to some maintenance- he could only imagine what it looked like inside.

The student body faired no better in Dylan’s eyes. As he stood in front of the “student” entrance, he wasted no time passing judgment on any poor soul who past by. One thing he noticed first was the plethora of black- oops- African American’s that seemed to linger around the gates of the school. Dylan would have to admit, Utah wasn’t exactly known for its large black- sorry- African American population. Not that Dylan had a problem with them, Dylan just had a problem with everyone. The Hispanics speaking in their native tongues bothered him, the Asians with their impeccable smarts made him jealous, he was especially annoyed by the white kids who seemed to be stuck up and snooty. The homosexuals, however, were in a whole different category. He hated them. Most of them. The “fairy princesses” were the ones that found their way under his skin, where they crawled and festered and infected him with this stigma. There were plenty of those hanging around the stuck up girls, yapping about fashion and hot actors.

He hated them. He was one of them- no, he wasn’t. He was better. Dylan Ashford didn’t come out of the closet wearing a pink fluffy tutu and heels. He wasn’t a “flamer” a “faggot” a “fudge-packer” a “gay”- he was just a boy who happened to like other boys. That was all. And no one had to know that but him.

The students began to file in like sheep to a slaughter house, and Dylan was forced to follow suit. He half expected metal detectors or police scanning the faces for wanted perpetrators. He expected roaches crawling up his jean’s leg, and teachers with tired expressions hissing at the children. He was disappointed, when all he saw was a tall, broad, security guard dressed in plain clothes barking out orders with a classy smile on his face. Dylan scrunched up his nose at disgust, and continued walking.

“Program card out, kid,” the security guard shouted, nodding at Dylan.

“A what?”

The man laughed, “Newbie. Caroline, can you get this kid a program?”

Dylan raised an eyebrow and looked around for this “Caroline.” He spotted her sitting in a student desk, against one of the many doors, surrounded by students who also seemed to lack this “program card.” She was an old looking woman, which a long, large, nose and frizzy red hair that hadn’t seen a hair brush in God knows how long. She was sun damaged, and age spots littered her face like gum on a sidewalk-and frankly Dylan didn’t want to approach her. But the security guard took him- gently- by the shoulder and guided the blonde in front of the desk.

“Name.” Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

“Ashford. Dylan.”

“Good, an A, I won’t have to look far.” She pulled out a large black binder filled with pages and pages of laminated white sheets of paper. She opened the book and scanned quickly for Dylan’s last name; her eyebrows knitted together, making her face look more rigged and harsh looking. He noticed a wedding ring on her finger- he wondered who would want to even touch her.

“Found you,” she said suddenly, snapping Dylan out of his quiet judgment. “You missed orientation.”

“Sorry, I just moved from Utah- my plane came in yesterday.”

“Mhm.” She pulled out a small, rectangle, piece of paper. She signed Dylan’s name in the appropriate line, some random numbers in another, and then his schedule, “First period: Advance Placement English. Second Period: Italian. Third Period: Pre Calculus. Forth Period: Desktop Publishing. Fifth Period: Lunch. Sixth Period: Weight Lifting. Seventh Period: Guitar. And Eighth Period: Earth Science.” She handed him the paper; scribbled next to the classes, in unpleasant writing, were the room numbers.

“How did they know what classes to put?” Dylan asked.

She shrugged, “Your old school must have sent your transcript over. If you have any more questions, go see your guidance counselor in room 113. His name should be Mr. Potter.” She turned to the next student, leaving Dylan on his own. Frowning, the boy walked out of the doors, and found himself blinded by lights- he hadn’t realized how that dark that little corridor was. But before he could recover from the sudden burst of light, a loud humming noise echoed through the halls, and 3000 students mowed him down.

He whispered a fuck and started following the crowd- they seemed to know where they were going- but when he turned the corner he was met with the school; the overly large schools with too many entrances to stairwells and too many doors. It wasn’t a single building, with just long narrow hallways and a few hundred students, like his own school had been. No. There were large openings- at least on the first floor- with multitude of doors and hallways that snaked like a maze, and lead to the middle of no-where. There was no control. Mayhem covered the school as students were either running to their next class, or standing in the middle of the walk away to curse out their fellow peers. Deans with walkie-talkies screamed at anyone who seemed to look guilty, as the security guards dressed in blue stood around and laughed.

Dylan followed one student who seemed to know where she was going, but when she ducked into one of the stairwells he lost her. He kept on going until he found a large random opening with vending machines. Kids were congregated around the machines, talking to their friends and getting over processed food and beverages. This “room” was spacious enough to actually look at the “program card” as it was called- Advance Placement English, room 231. Where the hell was that? He looked around for anyone who not only looked his age, but looked smart enough to be taking Advance placement anything- sadly, no one fit either description and he wasn’t about to ask. A door swung open, revealing a few more staircases- success! He ran up the stairs, bumping into students going the opposite way- getting laughed out for his apparent eagerness.

Second floor. This looked familiar. Long narrow hallways with doors leading to classrooms- check. He was now able to focus on his surroundings. He walked down the hallway, taking notice of the bluish and gray hues, that seemed too dull to make anyone happy, and the bulletin boards littered with inspirational phrases and poems. Poems, writings, essays and a large sign that read “English is the Way!” signaled to Dylan that this must have been the English area. He was close. The numbers on the doors read “239” “237” and onward going down. Dylan was quite proud of himself, and allowed a sinister smile grace his face- he had figured out the mechanics of this god forsaken school in less than ten minutes. That had to have been a new record.

Dylan discovered his classroom, walking in with a smug aura around him that anyone with two eyes could see. He surveyed his new English classroom, loosing his smile when he saw the desks pushed into a u-formation; ensuring everyone was sitting next to someone they probably didn’t like, or who smelled bad. He frowned and walked to the back where broken metal lockers stood behind some desks, and took the seat farthest from the front.

This time, Dylan took notice of his new shoes instead of the students who filed into the classroom- expecting that he would be better than them anyway. Who were these slobs? The entire student body didn’t looked smart enough to open a door let alone take any form of advance placement classes. He smirked, this was going to be an easy senior year- easier than he originally speculated. Then, once those horrid nine months were up, he would be free from the chains of this despicable city and his equally ugly father.

Dylan relaxed into his seat and returned to the watching of the students who entered the classroom. No one was worthy enough to take notice. Clones. Clones that all looked different, but still unoriginal. He hated them all. He especially hated the three boys that took seats in the corner right next to him- not only because they had decided to sit near him, but because their conversation was loud and distracting. Dylan scrunched his nose up and took a chance to look over at the group. Three boys. Two sitting next to each other, and one sitting on the chair the wrong way to face them. Three. All wearing black shirts with band names, and ripped jeans, with black Chuck Taylor. There was the “big one” as he dubbed the boy, with scruffy black hair and weird teeth that seemed to bother Dylan a great deal because of their imperfection. The “small one” who sat next to the “big one” was…well small- in more ways than one. Height, weight- especially weight. And the “Mexican”, the last one, and was dubbed the Mexican for his tanned skin.

Dylan couldn’t care less if he was Mexican.

He watched them. Talk. Watched the way their mouths moved, they way their eyes would shine- but at the same time dart around the classroom to make sure no one noticed them. He noticed how every two seconds, the big one’s foot would graze against the small one’s leg in a sexual manner. And how every three seconds his hand would then find itself on the jeaned thigh of his neighbor- rubbing. Every time he did this, the small one would start a fit of giggles fit for a girl, and playfully look at the big one.

Homosexuals.

Open homosexuals.

And the Mexican didn’t seem to give two shits, but that was quickly explained. He would shift around uncomfortably, but with a certain need that Dylan knew all too well- though he wouldn’t admit it. And the way the boy turned in his seat and crossed his legs gave him away. Dylan snickered at the thought- unfortunately.

“Oh Matt, I think you have a secret admirer,” the big one said. Dylan immediately snapped his eyes away from…well… “Matt“ groin area..

“What?” Dylan asked with a hint of attitude.

“Nothing,” the big one smirked, “just you were looking at his package for a while. Like something you see?”

“Patrick, don’t,” Matt shook his head, but smiled none-the-less.

He was offended. They were all smiling and snickering. Crude jokes dancing around their heads. He clenched his fist. He tried to swallow the shame. The laughter. They all laughed at him. These bits of no bodies. Nothings. Not even worth names.

He scoffed, “As if I would touch that.”

The laughter stopped. All eyes focused on Dylan; the big one and the Mexican with anger, while the small one looked for a way out of the brewing tension between them.

“Oh? What makes you so much better than me?” Matt asked.

“Everything.” Dylan looked away from the trio, satisfied in his smugness, and looked at the empty blackboard with feign interest. There was smile on his face, especially because of the silence that emitted from the group next to him. He got them. First day of school and already he put some fairies in their place. And he was a better man for it….

But two hands slamming on his table shattered the wall of confidence around him. Dylan looked up only to be met with the two chocolate brown orbs filled with ire and kill.

“Listen, kid,” Matt sneered, “you have this little chip on your shoulder. I don’t like that- and that is a problem. Because when I don’t like something, my friend’s don’t like it, and you don’t want to fuck with me and my friends’ white-boy. So if you want to keep that pretty face of yours pretty, newbie, I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

That was it. Matt removed his hand from Dylan’s desk and returned to his own- the anger still emitting from his side. But Dylan spat on Matt’s words. He didn’t care what that kid thought about him, or what his friends would do…

At least he was pretty….
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