Contact

Spencer Beckett hated the winter. Fucking hated it, if he decided to add a descriptive verb here and there. He fucking hated winter shopping, fucking hated winter clothes, hated the fucking snow, and the ice could go fuck itself. He especially hated the holidays, but he could have dealt with them better if there wasn’t snow. But no, his parents insisted that being near the ocean would be good for his sister, Juliette, so they lived in Baltimore where it snowed every winter since God had decided to make Maryland. Fuck growing up by the ocean he thought as he trudged towards his house.

He’d had a bad day at work, the people on the streets were rude, and he’d almost gotten a citation when a passerby came within a few inches of bumping into him. Of course, the whole thing had been his fault. Just because he had pink hair and black fingernails and piercings in his face, the whole damn thing had been his fault. “Fuck ‘em.” Spencer growled as he reached a hand out from the safety of his pocket to grab the doorknob to his house. His mother, delightfully absent idiot that she was, always forgot to lock it when she went to work, so Spencer didn’t need a key.

The door pushed in when he turned the knob, and heat blasted Spencer as he stepped inside. “Sweet fucking Jesus.” He groaned appreciatively. That really was becoming his favorite word of the day, maybe the entire week. He was too tired to be more imaginative. Kicking off his boots and shedding his coat, Spencer stomped towards the staircase to go to his bedroom. The walls of the hallway just past the entryway were lined with family photos from throughout the years. The four of them- his mother, father, sister Juliette, and himself- always sat rigidly with composed, content looks on their faces. The only changes from these were the ones where Juliette had been an infant, when their parents had been allowed to hold her for the pictures.

Coming to the end of the hallway, Spencer gave the downstairs a cursory glance before turning left and trudging up the staircase. The house was a fairly nice one in a middle class neighborhood. On the ground floor there was a living room, dining area, fully stocked kitchen, a full bathroom, his father’s bedroom and a connecting office. Upstairs were three bedrooms and a second bathroom. His mother had the bedroom closest to the stairs, while Spencer was to the left and Juliette’s room was to the right. Everything was silent; Juliette wouldn’t be home from school for another hour and their parents would arrive home shortly before eight.

Spencer opened the door to his bedroom and closed it tightly behind him, peeling off his snow soaked socks and tossing them somewhere on the floor. The room was spacious, the walls painted white to match the cream colored carpet. A bed was in the corner surrounded by a sea of dirty and clean clothes. Opposite it was a large bay window with a padded bench and built in bookshelf underneath it.

The most remarkable thing about the bedroom were the posters taped to almost every inch of the walls. Spencer’s boss had introduced him to music two years before when he’d started working at Paradise Music, and he’d quickly become hooked. Most of the posters had come from the music store’s basement since no one has ever bought them. Bands that had been dead for decades watched the young man as he shed his hoodie and flopped back on the bed. There were even posters on the ceiling, and Spencer looked up at the one right over his head. The singer’s brown eyes looked back with silent expression. “Don’t judge me.” Spencer said, pulling a pillow over his face. “I had a shitty day.”

It probably wasn’t normal to talk to posters, but Spencer didn’t care. He needed some kind of outlet to get through the days, and mild insanity would do the trick. After laying in the silence for a few minutes he sat up and turned around, eyes scanning the shelves built into his headboard. He kept all of his music there, and he quickly found his newest CD. Taking it out and inserting it into his portable CD player, Spencer plugged in his black headphones and put them over his ears. He pressed Play, and sounds tickled his ears pleasantly. A few songs in and the young man was relaxed.

Marcus, his boss, always gave Spencer the CD’s that nobody bought, and he usually had a very good idea about what the boy would like. This band, Panic! at the Disco, was probably Spencer’s favorite so far. He twitched his foot to the beat as he slid the empty CD case next to the others on the shelf. Panic! went right next to his collection of CD’s by a band called Pierce the Veil, and Spencer tapped his fingertips over the plastic cases. The names of the bands made no sense most of the time, but he loved this old music. His parents hated the harsh sounds of the instruments and gritty vocals, but Spencer adored them.

He wished the musicians were still alive; still there to tell him about their music and what it felt like to live in a world where you could touch people. The only other person that Spencer had ever had contact with was his sister when he’d picked her up and cleaned her skinned knee when she was five. Their parents had lost it, Richard Beckett taking his son aside and telling him that it was never okay to touch another human. He had felt no guilt in it; old books and videos said contact was natural between humans. It had been common occurrence for millennia. Why was it so wrong to touch each other now when it hadn’t been in the past? Questions like these plagued the young man daily. His thoughts threatened to drown out the music coming from Spencer’s CD player, so he forced them back, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the music.

'Hey moon, please forget to go down. Hey moon, don’t you go down.' Spencer smiled at the lyrics, shaking his head a bit. Some of these musicians wrote things that made no sense but at the same time somehow did. 'I missed your skin when you were east, you clicked your heels and wished for me.' He wished he could miss someone’s skin. Miss the touch of somebody other than himself. And he was back around to thinking about things he couldn’t change. He sighed heavily; no rest for the mentally fried.

It didn’t help that he and Marcus had gotten into a debate over the laws during work that day. The president, some free thinker from Seattle, was thinking of changing the laws to allow at least limited contact. Only doctors were allowed to touch people, and he wanted to change that. They’d spent hours talking about it, and now it swam around his head like a fish that wouldn’t die. 'I know the world’s a broken bone, but melt your headaches, call it home.' The world was broken, at least America. At least those lyrics made sense. He just had to find a way to make a home out of the patches.
Spencer didn’t really feel himself falling asleep. He felt relaxation as turned up the volume. “Tell me about it.” he said to the man’s voice at the other end of the headphone wire.
…
Spencer woke abruptly from his unexpected nap to hear footsteps rushing up the stairs. He rubbed his eyes and pressed the Stop button on his CD player; the disc had played out and was skipping. Removing his headphones, the young man sat up just in time for his door to burst open and a small figure launch themselves at him. Spencer barely managed to slide out of the way in time for nine year old Juliette to land on the bed, the mattress bouncing wildly. She looked up at him with a wide grin on her face, looking a lot like her brother. Slender angular face, pale complexion, and a nose that turned up a bit at the end. But he never smiled like she did, and she had their mother’s bright blue eyes and blonde hair. She also had a lisp that other children teased her horribly for and he thought was adorable.

“Hi Spencer!” Juliette was vibrating with energy. “What’s up, kid?” he asked as he ran a hand through his hair to neaten the pink locks. “Mom and Dad are coming home early and we’re having extra family time tonight!”

Spencer groaned internally. Extra family time meant less time to himself and more time listening to his father preach about the importance of following laws. His mother would nod and smile demurely before taking her turn to talk about her job as a pediatrician and her sewing club, then politely asking the children about their day. It was the same every time they did this, and his parents would just end up criticizing his appearance or job choice or lifestyle or something else he did wrong in their eyes. Spencer thought he was just fine. “Are you okay, Spencer?” Juliette asked in that soft lisp. Spencer turned and looked at their reflections in the floor length mirror on his wall. Juliette was young and blonde and would be a stunning woman. Spencer was all awkward height and lanky angles, hot pink hair and a lip ring and everything his parents hated. “Yeah, Jules, I’m fine.” Oh well, he thought.

“C’mon, Spence, you need to help me with my homework!” Juliette, oblivious to her brother’s inner thoughts, got up and bounded out of his room before he’d even turned his head again. The young man sighed and shook his head. No one should be that energetic after school. He stood and followed her out of his room, leaving the door open and descending the stairs to the living room. Juliette was spreading her schoolwork out across the glass coffee table and blue suede couch, and Spencer sighed. He’d already graduated, testing out a year early, and just the sight of homework gave him a headache. He absently rubbed his temple before taking a seat next to his sister. Shoulders hunched, the young man looked over everything she had and sighed again. It was going to be a painfully long afternoon.
…
Four hours later, Juliette was finished with her homework and Spencer wished he could have an aneurism. At least if his brain blew something he could lie around in the hospital and watch cute nurses and doctors. Proper treatment for dealing with the outrageous amount of elementary school homework given. It was after eight o’clock and their parents weren’t home yet; so much for extra family time. Juliette was watching television mournfully while Spencer put her school things away and ambled into the kitchen to make dinner. Occasionally their parents would both stay late at work, and it could be anywhere between ten and two in the morning before they would arrive home and go straight to bed. Juliette always believed them when they said they’d be home early, and was always crushed when they weren’t. Spencer would have been completely indifferent except for the fact that he hated his little sister being upset.

He pulled a box of pasta out of the cupboard and filled a pot with water, setting the stove to high to boil it quickly. While it was heating up he grabbed a smaller pot, a spoon to stir with, and a can of sauce. Leaning a hip against the counter he examined his fingernails and decided to paint them again after dinner.

Juliette was flipping through the channels rapidly, discarding all of the shows with small huffs and a sour expression. She landed on a news station and was about to switch it again when Spencer looked up. “Leave it a second, Jules.” Juliette complied and Spencer stared at the screen. “President Garcia announced today that he will be holding a press conference tomorrow morning to address the issue of revoking the Contact laws that were enacted several decades ago. He says that it’s been more than enough time since they were put in place, and wants to make the entire country a free zone.” “Why do you wanna listen to this?” Juliette asked a bit impatiently. “It’s boring.” Spencer shook his head. “It’s important.” “We’re going to have full coverage on the live press conference, which will be held in front of the White House. This has been a topic of huge controversy between political parties and on the streets. Several people claim that we should keep our laws the way they are to keep the Runners from running rampant. Others are saying that if the laws change, the Runners will completely disappear.”

Spencer wanted to hear more, but at that moment the front door opened. He waved frantically at his sister and she changed the channel to a random cartoon just as their parents entered the room. “Good evening, kids.” Richard greeted tiredly. “Hi, Dad.” Juliette said absently. Spencer just grunted, turning away from them to pour the box of pasta into the pot.
He continued to cook while the adults shed their coats, shoes, and changed into more comfortable evening clothes. By the time they came out the food was almost done and Grace set the table in the dining area. Juliette turned off the television while Richard sat next to her to look over the homework that Spencer had already signed off on.

Dinner was always held together in the dining room, so when the food was done cooking and everyone had their plates they gathered around the table to eat. Richard sat at the head of the table with Grace to his right and Juliette to his left. Spencer sat across from his father and slurped up noodles as obnoxiously as he could. His sister muffled her laughter while their parents shot him disapproving looks. “How was school today Juliette?” Grace asked her daughter. “Good.” The little girl replied. “No one said anything about my lisp.” It was getting better now that the girl was in speech therapy classes. “That’s very good.” “And I got an A on my English test.” Grace and Richard smiled at their daughter. “Congratulations, Julie.” Richard said with a smile.

Eyes turned to Spencer then. “What about you, son?” Richard asked the young man. Spencer shrugged. “Eh. Just work. I’m thinking of dyeing my hair again.” He rain his fingers through his hair idly. Grace sighed. “Why do you have to dye it?” she asked. “You’re such a handsome boy, Spencer, you shouldn’t do these things to yourself.” By ‘these things’ she meant the piercings, hair dye, and tattoos he’d started getting at fifteen. Spencer leaned back in his seat and smirked faintly. “Yeah, well, I don’t wanna look too good. People might want to start touching me.” Silence fell over the table for several moments. “That’s not funny, Spencer.” Richard said in a firm voice. Spencer shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m serious. It’s time to be serious about things; you’re not in high school anymore. It’s time to get rid of those piercings and start being more decisive about your life.”
Spencer toyed with the ring in his lip and shrugged again. “I like them. And I’ve got a good enough job working for Marcus.” “Marcus doesn’t help you at all with these things.” His father said a bit heatedly. “All he does is give you this old music and puts ideas into your head.” Spencer’s expression darkened. “At least he gives a shit. I’m finished eating.” He stood from the table and grabbed his plate, placing it in the sink before stomping upstairs and closing his door with a muffled bang.
He grabbed a CD from his shelf and put it into his stereo, cranking the volume and making sure his door was locked before blasting it. 2000’s screamo rocketed out of the speakers and wound its way downstairs through the wood. Spencer knew that it was a childish thing to do after an even childish reaction to his father’s words, but it got under the old man’s skin like nothing else. He sat on the floor amidst all of his clothes and leaned against the bed, grabbing t shirts and pants and underwear and sorting them into neater piles. For some insane reason, he liked to clean when he was angry. It let him concentrate on something other than his father.

He sorted dirty clothes from clean, throwing what needed to be washed into the blue basket by the door and leaving the rest where it was. Socks and whites were separated from the rest, and it only took his ten minutes to finish everything. After that, Spencer grabbed a bottle of nail polish and filled in the cracks and chips in his black nail polish. He painted his toes as well, feeling productive.

No one knocked on his door to tell him to turn the music down or talk to him. His parents never bothered anymore and Juliette would have to stay at the table until dinner was over and then get ready for bed. Spencer didn’t work until noon the next day and planned on staying up late. He did get up to turn his music back down after about thirty minutes, knowing that his little sister wouldn’t be able to sleep through the sound. He swapped out the CD’s, putting on classical music. The strains of violin and piano would surely calm him down and maybe help him get drowsy enough to sleep.
Spencer spread his legs out and wiggled his toes to help the polish dry, absently turning his head to look at himself in the mirror. His head was leaned back against the mattress, posture slumped. He stuck his tongue out, the silver metal barbell in his tongue glinting. Pulling his tongue back in, he licked over the labret piercing dividing his bottom lip. The silver ring glittered also, as well as the metal studs in his ears. He had eight piercings in all. Tongue, lip, two in each earlobe, an industrial in the right ear, and a single cartilage piercing in the left. He’d gotten them done two at a time, and the ear piercings had been easy to hide when he’d had longer hair. His parents were painfully conservative, so he’d rebelled from a very young age without ever really thinking of what would happen when he reached adulthood.

Turning away from the mirror, Spencer shrugged to himself and dragged himself onto his bed. After stripping off his pants and t shirt, he reached up for the switch beside his bed and flicked the light off. Classical music still playing, he relaxed back against the cool sheets and sighed softly. He hated thinking about what his parents thought about him, so he wouldn’t even bother tonight. Let them stew in their own minds for awhile and leave his alone.