Leis Larsson

I knew I was staring, but it was damn near impossible to stop. I wanted to stare and stare until I somehow came to understand some part of him in a way that somehow made us intimate. He was staring too, but not at me. Unfortunately for me, he was far more intent on the contents of his locker. He'd been staring for about two minutes at something within that unknown void as though something ethereal had sprouted wings in there. He looked so completely confounded so as to ignite intense curiosity on my part. Then he slammed the locker and disappeared down the hall all too quickly for me to agree with. He was in a hurry.
 
I leaned back against my locker and thought of him. His aery height. His feather-light raven hair. His deep green eyes. His lean and beautiful body. It was entirely unfair of him to be so beautiful. And his face... I never thought I could glance at a face pierced so determinedly as his and not cringe. It was not the five years in a catholic school where the nuns and pastors were so resolute in indoctrinating their students with their own skewed version of the bible, which asserted that any metal in the face (ears included) was satanic, but a kind of horror at the very thought of something sharp and metallic like that tearing through thick tissue to emerge on the other side. I was always caught on this feeling where my legs tingled and my face scrunched up in pain. But with him it was different, I loved the shiny black and silver metallic embellishments sprawled over his face. They were numerous enough to count on more than two hands. They were mostly studs, six dark ones around his lower and upper lips and two on either eyebrow, one under the eye, at least four on either ear and one he sometimes wore on his nose, and two on either cheek. The rest were were tiny rings and rounded out his collection of facial jewellery. Every now and again I entertained my imagination, mentally running my fingers over the jewellery he may or may not have through other parts of his body.
 
The first time I'd seen him was when I was a sophomore, last year. He was a freshman. I'd been out of the catholic system for nearly a year now, and I was half used to seeing the bare navels and miniskirts, the dishevelled outfits and borderline rude t-shirts. But this I was not ready for. There were kids in the school who wore black and had a lip ring or a nose ring, but never everything all at once. He looked like something out of a book that my old school would have made the center of a bonfire. I was immediately attracted. I spontaneously thought of just how beautiful he was with no precedent whatsoever. I just felt it. After that I had to deal with the small issue of whether or not he was the devil or had something to do with him. I could just see Sister Catherine's scowl burning through my skull, reprimanding me for falling into temptation (what I found funny was that I never allowed her to be pissed at me for being gay, even though it was so central to what constituted being hell bound). I decided that he smiled way too sincerely to be Satan on Earth. And he was picked on. I'm sure if The Devil himself decided to visit up here he'd smite any human that dared fuck with him.
 
All that was quite far removed from reality. He was always so heavy on my mind you'd be forgiven for thinking I saw him every day. I didn't. And it was incredibly cruel. But I made up for that by making him my every waking thought. Pretending there was some kind of a chance he was gay. The only thing I had to go on was that the jocks and bullies called him a fag, but that was obviously stupid from the base. They called everything a fag. If their locker combination was dead to their minds, the locker was officially a fag from that moment on. Every now and then you'd hear mumbled references to a faggy car, faggy weekend, faggy streetlights. The list was painfully endless. They called me a fag too, but I got used to it. I knew they weren't reffering to my secret. Because only my mother knew, and she kept secrets. Although the initial time I did truly panic and made up some convoluted plot that included the Vatican and going to hell, but suffering on earth first. I realised soon enough that they were just being stupid.
 
When they made fun of me I basically shrank and tried not to look offended. I tried to kind of laugh along with them, I thought it would deter them. It did. They didn't stop entirely, but they got bored.
One day I had been walking past that coveted locker. The locker belonging to God's perfect freshman. I'd been walking past all cool and totally not breathing like I was on the edge of an asthma attack, when a bully had become between me and Anonymous Deliriously Gorgeous Freshman, and shoved him into the locker. The metallic bang stopped me dead cold. My senses pricked, but I was too scared to turn around.
'Faggy Leis,' I heard the bully slur. Was that his name? Leis. Inspite of the fact that MY Leis might have been facing serious injury, some part of me was overcome with sugary happiness. Now I knew what to scrawl carelessly, lightly across the back of my notebooks. But Leis didn't sound right. It sounded girly. It may have been a nickname. Regardless, I had something. Leis. It was a step in the right direction. Now I knew all of two things about him. His name was Leis, and he was beautiful. I turned around after what felt like eternity and stared at him. He was facing the Bully who was smirking cruelly, and, though it took me as second to realise this, Leis was smiling back.
'Was that English or you're native Neanderthal,' he said so cheerfully that it took a second to sink in as an insult.
'Do you want me to fuck you up,' the bully growled.
'And I thought I was the faggot.' Leis laughed lightly.
The bully's face contorted. He reached down and knelt infront of Leis's face.
'I'll meet you after school faggot,' He spoke through gritted teeth. I was scared of how far Leis was going to push him. I didn't want him to be beaten into an unrecognisable pulp before I even knew his last name. I glanced at the sky, begging silently for God's help.
'Can't,' Leis ran his finger's through his hair. 'I'm washing my hair today.'
The bully seethed. He stood to full height, growling like an untethered beast. He drew his foot back. I shut my eyes.
'Is anything the matter here,' A deep, baritone voice interrupted the impending horror. For a second I really thought it was God. But when I opened my eyes, it was plain old Mr. Kerryakis, our Gym teacher of Greek decent. He was definately not God, but clearly someone God had sent to keep Leis's face intact. He had his hand on the bully's shoulder, whose face was caught in surprised guilt.
'No,' Leis smiled.
'Then pray tell what you're doing on the ground, young man.'
'I'm admiring the fine floormanship. Some good work went into this building, sir. It's inspiring.'
'And Krazinski here was doing what exactly,' Kerryakis raised an eyebrow.
'He's a fellow floor enthusiast. His knowledge on the subject matter is extensive. You should hear him go on about linoleum.'
Kerryakis rolled his eyes and left, but not before giving 'Krazinski' a 'I'm keeping an eye on you,' look.
When Kerryyakis was gone Krazinski seemed to have forgotten about his previous anger, and only scowled before heaving off. And when Leis got up he just shoved right past like I wasn't there. Our shoulder's brushed. And I died.
 
That was the day I learned his first name. I learnt his last name the day he entered our calculus class. It took my breath away to watch him saunter in there like it was nothing. I had no idea what was going on, but could in great conviction assure myself that it was devine intervention for my benefit. His black form fitting uniform outfit hugged him close, the way I wished to. He wore a studded belt with two sections atop a spiky one. He was wearing a thin choker, and a pair of spiky bracelets. His hoody was open to reveal a skull and a menagerie of roses and bleeding corpses. You must understand that coming from four years in uniform, where everything was a certain color and tucked in at all times, I couldn't help marvelling. So this is what individuality looked like. It was the most beautiful thing in the world. I, in stark contrast was wearing a button up shirt untucked (as far as I ventured to spiral out of complete properness). And my hair was in a neat new haircut, slightly messy, but not enough to actually be like everyone else's. I was still stuck on what I wassupposed to look like. Even my mom couldn't jolt me out of it. My closet was full of the same basic thing, and every time I was asked if I wanted a nice t-shirt with flames on it, I just pictured Satan and his pitchfork and promptly shook my head.
 
Anyway, Leis took as seat at the opposite end of the room, on the row farthest from me, and basically as far apart as we could be. I was crushed. But I brightened up immediately when our teacher announced his name.
 
Leis Larsson
 
The rest of that class was a blur.
 
When I got to my room that day I reached under my bed for my personal notebook, and laid it out ceremoniously on my bed. I delicately fluttered the words across the page in my neatest handwriting. This sense of lightness had taken me all over, and only grew as I slowly re-read my brief declaration.
 
Leis Larsson, I love you.
 
That was all. It was everything and everything inside my mind drawn across the page in a single pronouncement. I couldn't say it any other way. The way I lived every day hoping I'd see his utter perfection, the way I repeated his name in my head over and over and over. The fact that I had memorised every second of his body, to every hour of his voice.
 
Leis Larsson, I love you.
 
MOVING SWIFTLY FORWARD.
 
Something happened. And no, to you or that guy in the bus it might not be much, but to me it was earth shattering. It was in the hallway one unsuspecting afternoon, I looked at him. I didn't expect that second to transpire as it so unexpectadlty did. He stared back. He just did. And we shared eye contact. Then he squinted at me, I'm not sure if it was friendly or not but it was something. If he gave me eye contact, it meant he saw me. He knew I existed. Or something like that. I didn't know.
 
But before I had a chance to muse this profound step up in our relationship, summer fell like a lump from the sky. I wasn't looking forward to it like everyone else. Summer meant I had to leave my mom. And go live with my dad. It shook me with sadness. I couldn't say I hated him, that was a sin. But he was not the same as me. He was completely apathetic to me. I didn't want to go, but I couldn't disrespect him. I knew kids who loved their dads didn't wait with baited breath for them to leave, and pray guiltily that while they were gone they had some kind of car accident, which while not fatal, rendered them bedridden for months, maybe years. It was a nasty thought, and I repented every time. But it always stayed there. My dad didn't care about me. He cared what people thought of me as a reflection on him. That's why he tried to keep me so pious, that's why he insisted on church every other day, and telling me at every turn that I was hell bound, convinced I was indulging in sin every chance I got. Every day, every hour every minute I was being an abomination to God. When I started to live with my mother -against his wishes obviously- I learned what a real parent was.
 
I'd only been living with her for a year now and I was already closer to her than anyone in my entire life, ever.
The proof was that I'd told her I was gay so easily it confounded me.
And so one day, with the T.V going on in the background we were having one of those heart to hearts and she was like. 'Okay, my secret is that once, when I was ten, I to make my lizard have sex with my hamster because a-I was a perv and b-I wanted a lizard hamster.'
 
I spat out my laughter, and was completely incapacitated with a feverish giggle-fit. I struggled to breathe again.
 
Mom laughed too. She was red in the face. She was laughing at how I laughed. When caught the sight of her scrunched up face and I started up again. Then she started up again. We went on like this for quite a while, till finally, the laughter ebbed. She breathed heavily, and I panted, exhausted.
 
'And you?'
 
'I'm gay,' the words slipped out without any restraints. I only realised what I said only after the fact. She was staring at me, she turned her head slightly sideways.
 
'Are you?' She asked slowly.
 
All the laughter was so gone from me I could feel the pain in my stomach muscles and the scratching in my throat. I couldn't lie to her. But this was all happening so unexpectadly, I didn't have time to be scared.
I nodded.
'Oh sweetie,' she smiled. 'I sure as hell didn't see that coming.'
'Are you upset?' I asked shakily.
'Duncan. You are my baby. If you knew how hard I fought to regain custody, how much went through and built just so I could have my angel with me again, you wouldn't ask such a silly question.'
Her big mommy arms folded me into a sweet hug. I'd never felt so wanted in my entire life. It was the first time I cried from happiness.
She held me for the longest time, both of us crying, helplessly happy. Consumed by the warmth of true family.
 
'Now get off me,' she eventually pulled away wiping her tears, 'There's like a trail across my back of your snot.'
 
'Sorry,' I said quietly, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve.
 
'Hmm.' She nodded. 'I'm just glad your dad didn't rub off on you.'
 
I stared up at her. As much as my dad was the last person on Earth I would want to spend a passing second with, the sound of her saying something bad about him set my heart racing. God was listening.
 
'I'm just glad you can cry.' And she kissed the top of my head, before meandering to the small kitchen of her apartment.
 
But this was a whole half a year later and I was returning from whence I came. My dad's place. It seemed so difficult to have to return to the stifling, cold house where everything was all set perfect and clean, compared to the warm vaguely cluttered loving embrace of my mom's place. I tried not to cry about it. I was convinced that if I thought about it, I'd end up rendering it worse than it actually was. Maybe if I saw it through the lens I used to it would be fine again. Maybe through this new light I was making it disproportionally bad. Besides thoughts of Leis Larsson would no doubt keep me sane.
 
Long Story short.-- Chores, Church, Feeling Guilty About Sins I Had Yet To Commit, and Sleep. Sleep was the best part. Being away from Leis for so long created this need to compensate. And sleep provided that—sub consciously. I had my first wet dream. And it was so real, I expected him there when I shot up from sleep in the throes of a climax.
 
It went like this: My room, in the dead of night. I was awake and bored as always. Staring helplessly at the wall in the hopes that someone or something of even the vaguest interest would pop up, I almost didn't hear my door open. When I looked up I saw Leis, in trademark black, and thought nothing of it. I stared at him expectantly.
 
'Oh you'd like that wouldn't you,' He smiled.
'Would I?' I frowned looking down. 'You should know better than to put thoughts in my head.'
'Hmm. Yes. I wasn't paying attention Duncan. Tell me what you want.'
'I want you to fuck me.'
 
And he sat beside me, running his fingers across my thigh. At this interval we were both miraculously naked. His fingers played across my groin the way I was sometimes tempted to when I thought of him.
And he cupped my balls, squeezing gently. And pressed our lips together.
 
That was pretty much it. After I woke I repented. Then I conspired to get the soiled sheets down to the laundry room. I knew that if my dad caught me his 'suspicions' would be confirmed. But I tried to keep a cool demeanor, tried to convince myself that he was too far into sleep to be woken up by the hum of the washing machine. I sat there, apprehensive, but as the night wore on I grew calmer. I dried the sheets and made it back up to bed as night slowly filtered into morning. I prayed again that God forgave me. I was going about the whole thing less panicky than I might have if I hadn't been to public school. At St. Mary's even thinking about fornicating was a sin. But Health Class earlier this year had assured me it was a normal reaction to hormones, something that happened to everyone and nothing to be ashamed of. All the same, I couldn't help but feel I'd crossed some line, and for that reason, prayed to God. He had to know it wasn't intentional. Then I begged Him to never let it happen again.
 
He didn't listen. The dreams became pretty regular. But on a hotness yardstick they never got all that far, partly because I had no idea how two boys were supposed to have sex, and also because it never took much to send me over the edge. I started praying less and less because clearly God wasn't being a very good listener. All the same I felt I owed Him an apology and needed to repent.
 
During that summer, the dreams were the only thing that broke the monotony. That's no to to say I had them anywhere near as often as I thought I did, or that they did all that much to take the edge off. But they helped. When there was nothing to do I sat there and thought through them.
 
Halfway through the persistent boredom, Aunt Anne came to visit. I cannot begin to describe to you how much I loved my Aunt Anne. Since I was a child she always seemed so smart and amazing to me. And even though my father seemed to dislike her fairly intensely she visited me as often as she could.
 
One very particular incident when I was seven just summed up the totality of all that woman meant to me. She'd been watching me while dad was at work. I'd been bored delirious. The instant she'd walked through the door I'd fallen absolutely into a fit of hysterical happiness. And then she'd made me popcorn she'd brought with her and told me to keep it a secret (I wasn't allowed any snacks at my dad's place). And then we sat in the living room and talked. And we'd somehow moved onto the subject of marriage. I asked her why no one I knew, including her and dad weren't married. I was confused because I knew it was mandatory, yet no adults in my life weren't attached.
 
'I just haven't found the right person yet,' Aunt Anne smiled.
'Where is she?'
'She?'
'Hmm yes.' I nodded enthusiatically.
'Why do you think I'll marry a girl?'
'Because girl's can't marry boys.'
 
At this point I really did think marriage was like being assigned a best friend for life. And in my second grade class boys never made friends with girls.
 
'Why?' Anne laughed.
'Because, because girls are yuck.' I looked up at her for aprooval. That's what all the boys said. Although I quite liked girls, I thought they had nice hair and looked pretty in their skirt uniforms. I knew I had to be like the boys, because I was clearly a boy myself.
 
'Astounding logic,' she laughed. I had no idea what she had said, but I could tell she wasn't laughing at me.
 
'And I,' I boldly declared. 'Have to be married to Georgie Fastpants.'
 
Aunt Anne laughed harder, I was pleased with this. I loved making her happy.
 
'Who's Georgie Fastpants and why do you have to marry him,' she eventually asked.

'Because he is a Fastpants, that's why.'

She gave me a lopsided smile. 'What's a fastpants.'

'It is when you are very good at running fast like a rabbit,' I explained. 'Georgie is a Fastpants and we can have this many'- I made my arms go as wide as they could stretch- 'Fastpants babies.'

I also had my own basic theory about where babies came from.

That part floored her. She was wobbly with laughter.

'Oh you are precious,' she eventually stuttered.

I nodded proudly.

Somehow I never forgot that conversation, I noticed that she made not remarks about eternal damnation for homosexuals and fornicating and the like. It stood out to me. And when I eventually reconciled with myself that I was gay, I could at least be certain that Aunt Anne wouldn't mind. I could feel that she would love me no matter what.

This time she visited me bearing a wide, thinly spread smile. Her chocolate-vanilla hair in a loose messy bun over her head. Her eyes were animated and alive.

She asked me about mom, about school, and playfully prodded me about a new boyfriend. I flatly refused, but made it clear I wasn't offended. I was pretty sure she could tell I was gay, but I'd never officially told her. I felt tempted to that afternoon, but cowered out. And regretted it as I waved goodbye at the end of the driveway. Only God knew when I'd see her again. Her visits had become more and more scant over the years.

Aside from that my only other past time during that summer was avoiding my dad. After a while the sun began to set over Summer Vacation, and at dusk I returned to my mother. I was so relieved to walk through those doors, I felt lighter. My hair had grown over the vacation and I'd somehow resisted my father's insistence that I cut it. It was up to my neck now. That was the longest it had ever been and was about the average length of hair at school.

When my mom saw me she smiled.
'Aww look at you,' she laughed. 'You're starting to look just a little less like an accountant with a ruler up his ass.'
Her profanity hit me with a soft jolt, I'd been away from a single solitary swear word for a while now. But I was already pretty much adjusted, it had been a million times harder the first time I met her.
She punched my arm lightly.
'Good to have you back kid,' she smiled. I could detect the emotion she tried so hard to keep from shattering her voice, her eyes were misting up. I leaned in and hugged her.
'I missed you mom,' I said honestly.
'Oh,' she gently pushed me away. A tear fell. 'Don't do that.' She screwed up her mouth. 'You've barely been here ten minutes, don't reduce me to a blubbering mess please.' She wiped her face with the back of her hand. She seemed to think for a moment before disappearing to the kitchen. I took my luggage to my tiny bedroom.

The first time I'd seen my mother was in a court room. I hadn't picked her out while we were in the hall waiting for our case to be called in. I just saw a medium height, chubby black haired woman casting occasional glances in my direction. I tried to ignore her. I was sure at that point that my mother looked at least a little like me. I'd expected a blonde lady with a sharpish nose and thin limbs. When we all went into court, it immediately became clear to me that my mother actually looked nothing like I'd assumed for all of fifteen years. Physically, Iwas mostly an incarnation of my dad.

After mum and dad had their case heard the judge decided on a trial period wherein I'd live with my mother. It was a month unlike any other I'd ever had to sit through. For several reasons, when the judge asked me afterwaeds if I would prefer living with both my mom and dad throughout the year, the answer slipped from between my lips without hesitation. I was scared of so many things in this new world, but excited for them too.

I was junior now, by the way. And walking through those halls again was something of a non-event. Over the past year I'd gotten so used to the place it hardly grazed me at all to consider another two years. I could dodge the bullies, and live without being in a clique. I'd been lonely all my life so it barely made much of an impact here. Besides I had my mother now, who was like a permanent Aunt Anne.

I made my way across the hall, remembering distinctly where my old locker was like it was reflexive. I remembered the combination without breaking a sweat and dumped my bag inside. When I looked up, I was so profoundly shocked I couldn't act it. Leis was looking at me.

'Hey,' he smiled. 'You don't look like a bureaucrat with a broom up his ass this year.'
'That's what my mom said,' I marvelled.
'Your mom's a smart lady.' he nodded solemnly.