Status: Discontinued.
Sleeping Beauty: A Modern Retelling
Part Four
Jonne smoked twice as fast as he normally did as he sat on the same hill where he and Ville had come to . . . what had they come to do? It was more than watching Ville’s newest conquest. Whatever it was, Ville hadn’t shared with Jonne. And Jonne hadn’t shared with Ville that he wasn’t going to wait for him after school.
Jonne smirked, an expression befitting to his delicate features, as he took another drag on his cigarette and watching Bam and his court flying about on their chariots. He couldn’t see the appeal in a board with wheels anymore than he could see the appeal of going home with a skater boy who’s deodorant had long since worn off.
Ville apparently could, but Ville had come home with worse. Being born to privilege, the boy with the blood of Finnish Socialites felt it was his privilege to fuck any person he wanted. Most of them lived in the trailer park.
If his parents could see him now . . . Jonne lit another cigarette, his smirk disappearing as a face he recognized made his way up the hill.
“Where’s Ville?” Ryan asked.
Jonne shrugged. “Not here.” he muttered after he exhaled. He offered his cigarette to Ryan, who took a drag before handing it back. “Why?”
“I need to ask you some questions.” Ryan, Jonne had discovered through observation, generally only spoke facts. He knew all the gossip somehow and knew the answer to any question he was asked. But other than that he normally spoke nothing, at least not in front of Jonne and Ville. The fact that Ryan didn’t know something that Jonne did gave the other boy a sense of power he rarely felt.
“Yes?” Jonne pulled his hair out of his face as the wind blew it again.
“Is Ville serious about Bam?”
“Ville’s serious about everything.” Jonne answered. “In his own way.”
Ryan’s expression tightened. “Listen, you fucking drag queen, Bam’s one of my best friends—“
“And Ville’s my only friend.” Jonne snapped back, features equally taut. “So if you want me to answer your questions, you vitun narttu, don’t ever call me that again.”
Ryan stared at a spot in the sky behind Jonne for a moment, then shifted his eyes back to the other boy. “All right. Does Ville have feelings for Bam?”
“Ville doesn’t date.” Jonne traced a finger over a star on his jeans. “He doesn’t believe in mono . . . mona . . . only two people.”
“Monogamy.” Ryan supplied.
“Yes.” Jonne nodded and took another drag, wishing he had something stronger than a cigarette. Ryan seemed to agree and a few minutes later they were passing a joint back and forth while Jonne began Ville’s story.
_____________________
Ville’s mother was a Finnish Socialite who had, once upon a time, been a fashion model. His father had never worked, inheriting money from his parents. Ville ended his mother’s career and she never forgave him. Ville’s sister, Kati, looked just like her mother and also couldn’t be forgiven. When Kati was ten she climbed a tree and broke her arm. When it healed the fashion model mother sent her to boarding school.
Ville’s mother hired a woman named Raakel to become herself so she didn’t have to see her son. Raakel planned every moment of the fashion model mother’s day, then waited by the phone in case something went wrong. In the afternoons she would teach Ville how to make drinks that she only let him sip. Before she left at five ‘o clock, she would always pat Ville on the head before she put on her jacket.
After she left, Ville’s parents did not return home. The housekeeper who lived in the attic only emerged if Ville broke a vase or screamed at the top of his lungs. He was twelve and alone. He was twelve and an adult. He was twelve and smoking his mother’s marijuana.
The he turned thirteen.
His parents were in Switzerland and the schools were closed for the day. Raakel’s husband had work. That was the day that Jonne met Ville.
“He came in.” Jonne smiled, remembering. “He came in, grabbed my hand, pulled me to his room. We spent the rest of the day watching television and eating stale potato chips.”
Raakel asked Ville not to tell his parents, but Ville never talked to them anymore. Everyday Jonne would come see Ville, either catching the bus after school or having Raakel bring him on weekends. They would spend the entire day doing nothing. Ville hadn’t been happy again since those days.
“When we were—“
Thunder cut off the rest of Jonne’s sentence as both he and Ryan looked upward. The sky was dark. The skate park was deserted. Ryan put what was left of the burnt out joint in his pocket. “I have more at my house.” he said. “And beer. My parents are visiting my aunt. Come on.” He stood, holding out his hands for Jonne to take.
Which he did. Trembling. “All right.” he said quietly. “But I need to call Ville.”
“I have a phone.”
_____________________
They smoked another joint before Jonne picked up the phone, dialing McKinley and asking for Ville. “You fucking stupid slut.” Ville said before Jonne could speak. “Does your lip gloss affect your fucking ability to think?”
“I’m calling now.” Jonne said.
“Yeah, three hours later.” Ville snapped. “And I was thinking that you were getting raped in the guys’ locker room. But never mind that. Jonne Aaron can do whatever the fuck he wants. Vittu, Jonne.”
“I’m sorry.” Jonne muttered. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
“That really helps now.” Ville said. “You’re okay, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“Then come home.”
“I’ll be there tonight.” Jonne hung up, giving Ryan a smile he didn’t feel. “Such a dick.”
Ryan nodded. “Why did you and Ville really run away?”
Jonne and Ville were bored with watching television and stealing money from the Finnish Socialites’ dresser drawers. One Saturday they caught the bus and went to a party at an American Socialite teenager’s summer home. Ville and Jonne, somewhere in the flashing lights and mating bodies, ended up trying acid in the basement.
Jonne’s body convulsed as he saw the body of Ville’s sister in a coffin. Three days later Kati drowned. Four days after the funeral Jonne and Ville ran away.
“There was nothing left for him anymore.” Jonne said. “And Ville was all I had.”
“Do you love him?” Ryan asked.
“Not . . . romantically. More than . . . patonic, yes?”
“Platonic.” Ryan leaned across the bed and pressed his lips against Jonne’s. His eyes were bright from the marijuana.
_____________________
“Bam, phone.” April Margera informed her son, holding the receiver out.
“’Lo?”
“Let’s work on that history project.” Ville said.
“Why?”
“Because I want to fuck you again.” The line went dead.
Bam didn’t know whether to be flattered or vexed.
Jonne smirked, an expression befitting to his delicate features, as he took another drag on his cigarette and watching Bam and his court flying about on their chariots. He couldn’t see the appeal in a board with wheels anymore than he could see the appeal of going home with a skater boy who’s deodorant had long since worn off.
Ville apparently could, but Ville had come home with worse. Being born to privilege, the boy with the blood of Finnish Socialites felt it was his privilege to fuck any person he wanted. Most of them lived in the trailer park.
If his parents could see him now . . . Jonne lit another cigarette, his smirk disappearing as a face he recognized made his way up the hill.
“Where’s Ville?” Ryan asked.
Jonne shrugged. “Not here.” he muttered after he exhaled. He offered his cigarette to Ryan, who took a drag before handing it back. “Why?”
“I need to ask you some questions.” Ryan, Jonne had discovered through observation, generally only spoke facts. He knew all the gossip somehow and knew the answer to any question he was asked. But other than that he normally spoke nothing, at least not in front of Jonne and Ville. The fact that Ryan didn’t know something that Jonne did gave the other boy a sense of power he rarely felt.
“Yes?” Jonne pulled his hair out of his face as the wind blew it again.
“Is Ville serious about Bam?”
“Ville’s serious about everything.” Jonne answered. “In his own way.”
Ryan’s expression tightened. “Listen, you fucking drag queen, Bam’s one of my best friends—“
“And Ville’s my only friend.” Jonne snapped back, features equally taut. “So if you want me to answer your questions, you vitun narttu, don’t ever call me that again.”
Ryan stared at a spot in the sky behind Jonne for a moment, then shifted his eyes back to the other boy. “All right. Does Ville have feelings for Bam?”
“Ville doesn’t date.” Jonne traced a finger over a star on his jeans. “He doesn’t believe in mono . . . mona . . . only two people.”
“Monogamy.” Ryan supplied.
“Yes.” Jonne nodded and took another drag, wishing he had something stronger than a cigarette. Ryan seemed to agree and a few minutes later they were passing a joint back and forth while Jonne began Ville’s story.
_____________________
Ville’s mother was a Finnish Socialite who had, once upon a time, been a fashion model. His father had never worked, inheriting money from his parents. Ville ended his mother’s career and she never forgave him. Ville’s sister, Kati, looked just like her mother and also couldn’t be forgiven. When Kati was ten she climbed a tree and broke her arm. When it healed the fashion model mother sent her to boarding school.
Ville’s mother hired a woman named Raakel to become herself so she didn’t have to see her son. Raakel planned every moment of the fashion model mother’s day, then waited by the phone in case something went wrong. In the afternoons she would teach Ville how to make drinks that she only let him sip. Before she left at five ‘o clock, she would always pat Ville on the head before she put on her jacket.
After she left, Ville’s parents did not return home. The housekeeper who lived in the attic only emerged if Ville broke a vase or screamed at the top of his lungs. He was twelve and alone. He was twelve and an adult. He was twelve and smoking his mother’s marijuana.
The he turned thirteen.
His parents were in Switzerland and the schools were closed for the day. Raakel’s husband had work. That was the day that Jonne met Ville.
“He came in.” Jonne smiled, remembering. “He came in, grabbed my hand, pulled me to his room. We spent the rest of the day watching television and eating stale potato chips.”
Raakel asked Ville not to tell his parents, but Ville never talked to them anymore. Everyday Jonne would come see Ville, either catching the bus after school or having Raakel bring him on weekends. They would spend the entire day doing nothing. Ville hadn’t been happy again since those days.
“When we were—“
Thunder cut off the rest of Jonne’s sentence as both he and Ryan looked upward. The sky was dark. The skate park was deserted. Ryan put what was left of the burnt out joint in his pocket. “I have more at my house.” he said. “And beer. My parents are visiting my aunt. Come on.” He stood, holding out his hands for Jonne to take.
Which he did. Trembling. “All right.” he said quietly. “But I need to call Ville.”
“I have a phone.”
_____________________
They smoked another joint before Jonne picked up the phone, dialing McKinley and asking for Ville. “You fucking stupid slut.” Ville said before Jonne could speak. “Does your lip gloss affect your fucking ability to think?”
“I’m calling now.” Jonne said.
“Yeah, three hours later.” Ville snapped. “And I was thinking that you were getting raped in the guys’ locker room. But never mind that. Jonne Aaron can do whatever the fuck he wants. Vittu, Jonne.”
“I’m sorry.” Jonne muttered. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
“That really helps now.” Ville said. “You’re okay, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“Then come home.”
“I’ll be there tonight.” Jonne hung up, giving Ryan a smile he didn’t feel. “Such a dick.”
Ryan nodded. “Why did you and Ville really run away?”
Jonne and Ville were bored with watching television and stealing money from the Finnish Socialites’ dresser drawers. One Saturday they caught the bus and went to a party at an American Socialite teenager’s summer home. Ville and Jonne, somewhere in the flashing lights and mating bodies, ended up trying acid in the basement.
Jonne’s body convulsed as he saw the body of Ville’s sister in a coffin. Three days later Kati drowned. Four days after the funeral Jonne and Ville ran away.
“There was nothing left for him anymore.” Jonne said. “And Ville was all I had.”
“Do you love him?” Ryan asked.
“Not . . . romantically. More than . . . patonic, yes?”
“Platonic.” Ryan leaned across the bed and pressed his lips against Jonne’s. His eyes were bright from the marijuana.
_____________________
“Bam, phone.” April Margera informed her son, holding the receiver out.
“’Lo?”
“Let’s work on that history project.” Ville said.
“Why?”
“Because I want to fuck you again.” The line went dead.
Bam didn’t know whether to be flattered or vexed.