Let's Give This Town Something to Talk About
1/1
Some days are a little too bland in the small town of Rockston, Iowa. I wish only something exciting would happen, for once in my life. Every day I come home to a plumber and a housewife, the first reading the paper and the latter either cooking or cleaning. Sometimes I wonder if I should remind them it's not the fifties anymore. Women are allowed to do more than cook and clean, but I suppose they were aware, she just chose to do nothing else.
School is always the same boring place. I go to school and all of the farmers make fun of my outfits and the music that I like. They'll throw things at me and call me a stupid fag.
How I wish I lived in the city.
I read over the journal entry and sighed. Rockston, Iowa had to be the worst place in the world.
I shoved the journal underneath my bedskirt and went into the kitchen, where my mother was cooking some sort of meat that my father would scarf down and I would refuse to force down my throat. I disliked meat, greatly. I was not against killing animals or anything, because I was raised with the whole "kill a deer and get a trophy" belief, so I was used to it, but the taste was just dreadful.
"Ian, dear, where are you going?"
"For a walk."
My mother sighed and shook her head as if asking herself where she went wrong.
I slipped on my shoes and walked out the door, making my way to downtown Rockston, in other words, a gas station with a fruit market attached.
As I walked down the shoulder of the road, I watched rusty old trucks and rusty nineties edition minivans pass by. It seemed in this small town, that was all you ever saw. The nearest car dealership was fifty miles and I suppose nobody ever felt the need to go more than ten miles outside of Rockston. I never understood that. I had to order all of my clothes through our slow dialup Internet to get what I wanted since my parents wouldn't drive the sixty miles to Omaha, Nebraska.
I reached the gas station and saw a large, sleek-looking bus. Sometimes they passed through, but they were never quite this nice.
Interested in who the owner was, I walked to the pump it was next to. Nobody was there.
Casually walking inside of the gas station, I looked around for people other than locals. I peered at the register, down several aisles, and finally, the snack aisle. There stood someone that looked like those perfect guys you see all over television, but this one I swear I had seen on television. He wore the same star tattoo, the same hair, the same body, even the same eyes.
But it couldn't be.
"Yo Max!"
He turned to face the person speaking, who was someone who just appeared out of the bathroom. I quickly tried to make it look like I was looking for something.
"Yeah?"
"The guy said we're going to have to fix the thing ourselves. Fucking closest mechanic is seventy miles away. Can you believe that shit?"
"What the hell? We can't fix it ourselves."
Max sighed and turned around. He made his way closer to me, grabbing a handful of candy bars, his hand inches from mine.
"Excuse me," he said with a smile. I moved over a little and he grabbed the candy bar I was blocking. I blushed a little bit and he winked at me and then turned back around, "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Uh, yeah, I am."
He furrowed his brow, "Don't look like any of the fucking rednecks we've been seeing around here."
I smiled a little, "Y-yeah, I guess I'm the minority. A-and not to eavesdrop but m-my dad knows a lot about RVs and stuff and I-I picked a few things up if y-you need help."
I wasn't entirely lying. I could change an RV tire, tighten bolts, and fix certain parts of the motor. I just hoped one of those things was their problem.
"Really? Hey, Craig! We got someone that's gonna help us fix that mother fucker."
"Good," Craig said, and continued dialing a number on his cell phone.
Max paid for his candy bars and I followed him outside to the gargantuan bus. He started it and I heard a strange noise. He showed me the hatch to get to the motor, and I opened it, coughing a little, I looked at it and stared at the disgusting amount of engine sludge.
"What the fuck did you to it?"
"Drove about ten thousand miles in two months."
"I guess that'd do it," I mumbled, sopping up the engine sludge with a rag, "This is the only problem you're having. It can't start with this much crap in it."
"Well obviously you're smarter than us, so please fix it."
As I continued sopping up the grotesque mess with rags, Max and I talked about touring and things, which really was fascinating, and I was glad I was doing better at hiding my uneasiness than I usually do. It wasn't every day you met a rock star from your favorite band.
"So why do you act so differently than all the other kids around here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for one thing, your teeth aren't rotted from tobacco. And you dress completely differently. Why?"
"Because I'm a stupid fag?" I asked uneasily.
He laughed, "Well stupid fag is definitely better than ignorant hick."
I laughed a little, "Thanks."
He leaned down to help me clean up some of the sludge, "To be honest, I like stupid fags a lot."
I furrowed my brow and blushed, continuing to scrub away the sludge.
"You're something else, you know that, Ian?"
"Thanks, so are you," I said, trying to hide my blushing.
"We have a show in Omaha, and I was wondering if you wanted to go? Free of charge? We can spare you the ride." He winked at me.
"Why?"
"Payment for fixing our RV."
"Well that's a really nice payment," I said, laughing a little.
"Then that's a yes?"
"Uhh, yeah. It's a yes." I smiled.
"And when you say 'stupid fag', do you mean literally?"
I cocked my head to the side and looked at him, "Homophobic?"
"No, quite the opposite. I was just curious."
"Well, yeah, literally, I think, anyway."
"Want to know for sure?"
I looked at him strangely but then he leaned in and kissed me. My eyes got really wide and then he pulled away and smiled, "How about I take you somewhere tonight? We're ending up in Omaha and we're just going to take a break, but does dinner sound good?"
I blushed, "Dinner sounds great."
"Do you need to tell your folks?"
"No."
That was the night I ran away with Max Green, not only the love of my life, but complete perfection, and I've never been happier.
School is always the same boring place. I go to school and all of the farmers make fun of my outfits and the music that I like. They'll throw things at me and call me a stupid fag.
How I wish I lived in the city.
I read over the journal entry and sighed. Rockston, Iowa had to be the worst place in the world.
I shoved the journal underneath my bedskirt and went into the kitchen, where my mother was cooking some sort of meat that my father would scarf down and I would refuse to force down my throat. I disliked meat, greatly. I was not against killing animals or anything, because I was raised with the whole "kill a deer and get a trophy" belief, so I was used to it, but the taste was just dreadful.
"Ian, dear, where are you going?"
"For a walk."
My mother sighed and shook her head as if asking herself where she went wrong.
I slipped on my shoes and walked out the door, making my way to downtown Rockston, in other words, a gas station with a fruit market attached.
As I walked down the shoulder of the road, I watched rusty old trucks and rusty nineties edition minivans pass by. It seemed in this small town, that was all you ever saw. The nearest car dealership was fifty miles and I suppose nobody ever felt the need to go more than ten miles outside of Rockston. I never understood that. I had to order all of my clothes through our slow dialup Internet to get what I wanted since my parents wouldn't drive the sixty miles to Omaha, Nebraska.
I reached the gas station and saw a large, sleek-looking bus. Sometimes they passed through, but they were never quite this nice.
Interested in who the owner was, I walked to the pump it was next to. Nobody was there.
Casually walking inside of the gas station, I looked around for people other than locals. I peered at the register, down several aisles, and finally, the snack aisle. There stood someone that looked like those perfect guys you see all over television, but this one I swear I had seen on television. He wore the same star tattoo, the same hair, the same body, even the same eyes.
But it couldn't be.
"Yo Max!"
He turned to face the person speaking, who was someone who just appeared out of the bathroom. I quickly tried to make it look like I was looking for something.
"Yeah?"
"The guy said we're going to have to fix the thing ourselves. Fucking closest mechanic is seventy miles away. Can you believe that shit?"
"What the hell? We can't fix it ourselves."
Max sighed and turned around. He made his way closer to me, grabbing a handful of candy bars, his hand inches from mine.
"Excuse me," he said with a smile. I moved over a little and he grabbed the candy bar I was blocking. I blushed a little bit and he winked at me and then turned back around, "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Uh, yeah, I am."
He furrowed his brow, "Don't look like any of the fucking rednecks we've been seeing around here."
I smiled a little, "Y-yeah, I guess I'm the minority. A-and not to eavesdrop but m-my dad knows a lot about RVs and stuff and I-I picked a few things up if y-you need help."
I wasn't entirely lying. I could change an RV tire, tighten bolts, and fix certain parts of the motor. I just hoped one of those things was their problem.
"Really? Hey, Craig! We got someone that's gonna help us fix that mother fucker."
"Good," Craig said, and continued dialing a number on his cell phone.
Max paid for his candy bars and I followed him outside to the gargantuan bus. He started it and I heard a strange noise. He showed me the hatch to get to the motor, and I opened it, coughing a little, I looked at it and stared at the disgusting amount of engine sludge.
"What the fuck did you to it?"
"Drove about ten thousand miles in two months."
"I guess that'd do it," I mumbled, sopping up the engine sludge with a rag, "This is the only problem you're having. It can't start with this much crap in it."
"Well obviously you're smarter than us, so please fix it."
As I continued sopping up the grotesque mess with rags, Max and I talked about touring and things, which really was fascinating, and I was glad I was doing better at hiding my uneasiness than I usually do. It wasn't every day you met a rock star from your favorite band.
"So why do you act so differently than all the other kids around here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for one thing, your teeth aren't rotted from tobacco. And you dress completely differently. Why?"
"Because I'm a stupid fag?" I asked uneasily.
He laughed, "Well stupid fag is definitely better than ignorant hick."
I laughed a little, "Thanks."
He leaned down to help me clean up some of the sludge, "To be honest, I like stupid fags a lot."
I furrowed my brow and blushed, continuing to scrub away the sludge.
"You're something else, you know that, Ian?"
"Thanks, so are you," I said, trying to hide my blushing.
"We have a show in Omaha, and I was wondering if you wanted to go? Free of charge? We can spare you the ride." He winked at me.
"Why?"
"Payment for fixing our RV."
"Well that's a really nice payment," I said, laughing a little.
"Then that's a yes?"
"Uhh, yeah. It's a yes." I smiled.
"And when you say 'stupid fag', do you mean literally?"
I cocked my head to the side and looked at him, "Homophobic?"
"No, quite the opposite. I was just curious."
"Well, yeah, literally, I think, anyway."
"Want to know for sure?"
I looked at him strangely but then he leaned in and kissed me. My eyes got really wide and then he pulled away and smiled, "How about I take you somewhere tonight? We're ending up in Omaha and we're just going to take a break, but does dinner sound good?"
I blushed, "Dinner sounds great."
"Do you need to tell your folks?"
"No."
That was the night I ran away with Max Green, not only the love of my life, but complete perfection, and I've never been happier.