This is the next few scenes from my novel, in case anyone is actually keeping up. If anyone discovers this just now, the entire thing so far can be found in this blog. It is called "Idyll Plains"
Chapter Two
Friday morning. All should have been tinged with an air of satisfaction that he had survived another week. But Toby had not felt something as lightweight as satisfaction for quite some time. This morning was no different. Just over one year ago, his mother would have woken him by throwing open his bedroom door and allowing the light from the hallway to stream into the darkness around him, blinding him momentarily. She would offer no words of comfort or assurances for the day. She would, in fact, be rather brusque, usually jabbering into a cell phone and already dressed in some prim outfit for a PTA meeting she was going to attend or the luncheon or whatever other inane function she was prepping for that early in the morning. As if to compound the idea of his rousing as just another box to tick on her list of activities, his mother had Toby’s father long ago wire his boom box, which always sat perched on his bedside table waiting to be played, to the light switch. If he rolled over and went back to sleep after the first warning, she came and flicked the switch, flooding his room with light from the overhead and the sounds of whatever he had fallen asleep to the previous night. Several times he had faked her out, in a way, by having some quiet, soothing choral music cued up. She had laughed when Gaudete came over the speakers and he had put the pillow over his head in mock protest of the light. He shook his head, willing the memory away. Even when he tried to own up to the fact that his mother had never exactly been nurturing to him as he saw Will’s parents were, some humanity crept back in and he was reminded of her absence in the house, and he would miss her. The fact remained that whether or not she woke him with kind words, her very presence had comforted him. And the house had lacked her steady presence for more than seven months now. She would sometimes return home for brief periods, but even then she would be weak and ill-tempered, and eventually would be driven back to the hospital when her condition worsened. He realized suddenly that he was being incredibly selfish in thinking about how his mother’s illness affected him. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself that it had not been him who had gone through chemotherapy numerous times now.
He threw back his duvet and sat up, his legs falling limply to the floor, his blackened toe drawing his gaze as he rubbed tired hands through his ever-growing hair and then rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes. In his mother’s absence he had become accustomed to waking up himself, and in fact, didn’t need to set the alarm any longer. Even in November, with little sunlight still at six in the morning, he would often turn over at five before and glance at the clock, willing himself out of bed within the next several minutes. Today had been no different. It was five after, and though he could have slept another fifteen minutes or so, he found himself standing up and moving toward the window, the first rays of orange sunlight awash in the sky as he looked out toward the McNulty farm and Indian Point. It looked dirty and desolate out there, the snow from two nights earlier, or what was left of it after the rain, having turned black toward the street. It was no place to die, he thought, his mind bringing the image of the dead blonde girl front and center before he could will it away. She was out there. Alone. Half-naked. His brow furrowed, he lowered his head, placing it against the cold glass. Who was she? And how did she end up half-naked and dead only 200 yards from his back door? The decision to leave her there weighed on him heavily. It was in no way a fitting end to someone’s life, no matter who they were or how they had lived. He strained his eyes to try and locate her position, but from the 2nd floor, with numerous trees in his way, she remained hidden, and the glass began to fog up as he furrowed his brow. He turned, heading for his bedroom doorway, and the bathroom two doors down. Callie would already be out with Sean at this point, and his Dad would have left for work long ago, so he thought very little about the fact that he was dressed only in his Calvin Klein’s with a massive bout of morning wood tenting them outward. There was no way his aim would be true in this state, though, so he merely opened the standing shower door and emptied his bladder, afterward turning the water on as far as it would go and waiting till a steady bit of steam began to rise before he pulled off his underwear and stepped inside, letting out a yelp as the hot water hit him but closing the door behind him as he slowly became accustomed. Fifteen minutes later he had dried himself off and thrown on a pair of jeans and his favorite Jansen Feathers t-shirt, despite the fact that it was short-sleeved and it was freezing outside. He could hear his mother’s protests but decided against listening to them. He had never been a fashion plate, that was Callie’s department, so he opted for things that made him feel comfortable in his own skin. The outfit did that for him. He pulled on a pair of gray Vans to complete it, then sat down on his bed and glanced fleetingly at the clock. He had a small stretch of time to kill before Will arrived, so he leaned over and looked beneath his bed where he had last thrown his yearbook . It was just underneath and out of sight, nestled amongst the dust bunnies along with a Victoria’s Secret catalogue that he had been using to jack off since stealing it out of Callie’s room one morning several weeks ago. He wiped his hand through the veneer of dust that had formed on The Patriot and began flipping through it, passing his own grade to look through what had been the freshman class last year, where he thought he might find the dark-haired girl who had spied him in the woods yesterday. Why hadn’t she reported him? Or at least reported the girl? He found her several pages in, under the “D”’s. Her name was Alyssa Delmonico. She seemed rather straight arrow in the little photo, her hair several shades lighter than it had been yesterday with no streaks of pink to be found. But he recognized the faraway sadness in her eyes from the previous morning. He examined the photo closely for a few moments, trying to figure out what might be on this girl’s mind. Eventually, after leaning back and exhaling quietly, he caught sight of the clock and realized that Will was running late. “Fuck!” he shouted, running a hand through his still wet mop of dirty-blonde curls and quickly standing up and throwing his winter coat on.
The remnant odor’s of the previous night’s cookie baking greeted him in the kitchen doorway, though his mother had more recently prepared eggs and toast for his father. A bowl of Frosted Frizzies sat in Will’s place at the table, and he plopped down in his chair and regarded it quietly as his mother hurried about the room cleaning and storing dishes while his father read the stock market tallies. Neither offered him more than a cursory glance, though his mother did bring him a carton of milk as he hadn’t touched his cereal yet. He wasn’t really hungry to begin with, but decided to forego an argument and silently began filling his bowl with milk. “Mom, can’t we get Frosted Flakes next time?” he asked, referring to the no-name brands she always insisted on buying to save a few pennies.
“Billy, these taste exactly the same.” not bothering to turn around from her dishes.
“Will.“ he replied quickly, to which his mother brushed away with her hand. He smiled a little. It wasn’t really an argument per se, but he knew the issue made her neck hairs bristle so he delighted in pushing it just a little. “They do not!” he told her, a slight laugh escaping toward the end.
She turned to face him, smiling a little herself despite the tiny hint of anger in her tone. “When you get older and live on your own you’ll see how expensive it is to buy Frosted Flakes and you’ll see that these taste just as good.”
His mother returned to emptying the dishwasher as he quickly emptied the bowl of cereal. He was just about to sip the last bit of sugary milk up when his father looked above his paper and gave him a serious glance. “You won’t forget about the math team today? We have a deal.” he told his son sternly.
Will let out a long sigh. “Dad….”
“Its not up for discussion.”
“Why doesn’t anyone ever ask me what I want to do? I hate math.”
His mother turned back around. “But you’re so good at it. It comes easy to you. You might as well take advantage of that and get some stuff on your school record to help with college.”
“That’s three years away!”
His father’s tone said the issue was closed no matter what points he raised. “What would you like to be doing?”
He struggled to think of a good answer. One that would satisfy his father since the first thing that came to his mind, playing video games and jerking off, certainly would not. He desperately wanted to tell them both that he simply needed the freedom of choice. But all that would come out of his mouth was a meek “I don’t know.”
His father nodded. “Math team. Today!” he told Will firmly, in response to which his son quickly got up, threw his bowl in the sink and ran for the front door with his book bag and winter coat in tow. His parents merely exchanged worried glances as the front door slammed shut.
A blast of cool air struck his cheeks as Toby stepped down onto the front walk of his house headed for the street. He could see Will in the distance, a little speck half jogging toward him from the other side of town. Will actually walked double the distance just so he could accompany his best friend to school. The devotion therein sometimes troubled Toby, but he put it out of his mind. Soon, Will was beside him at the edge of Emperor Drive and they both exited the complex and began the long walk down Sullivan toward Main Street. Will was out of breath at first, but he soon settled into their easygoing pace and resumed normal breathing. Will dug a pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket and lit one up, offering the pack to his friend. “Are you fucking kidding me? They kill your voice. Mr. Townsend’s already on my case. You want me to be a bass in six months? I thought you were just trying them out.” he told his friend, referring to the excuse Will had given him two weeks earlier after a pack of Camels had fallen out of his winter jacket pocket.
“I like them now.” Will told him, a goofy grin across his face.
“Probably cause you’re not inhaling.” he shot back, smirking.
“Fuck you!” Will shot back with a laugh, taking a big puff deep into his lungs then stopping for a moment to exhale and blow a small smoke ring out of his mouth.
“Bravo! Finally something your Mom and Dad can be proud of.” At that they both chuckled and continued walking. “They’ll kill you if they find out.”
“That’s something we can agree on.”
“You seen Miller yet?” Toby asked suddenly, realizing he’d forgotten to check.
“They were ahead of me when I left. I waited until I couldn’t see ‘em anymore. S’why I was late.” Toby nodded in understanding. A brief silence overcame them during which Will glanced over curiously at his friend. Finally, he decided to ask what had been gnawing at him since the previous day. “Are you ever gonna tell me what happened?”
Toby took a deep breath. He wanted to lie, and not be honest about what had happened, even to his best friend. But the thoughts welling up inside him needed to be voiced more than the fear and shame he felt. “I…uh…I took some pills.”
“Sleeping pills?” Toby nodded confirmation. “I didn’t know you weren’t sleeping.”
“I have been sleeping.” he answered calmly. Will stopped walking and looked up at his friend with concern. Toby wouldn’t meet his friend’s gaze at first, but eventually looked at his friend with sheepish acceptance. “I took two boxes of them.” he said, his eyes averting from Will once more as the morning traffic on Sullivan Street continued on its way all around them.
Will’s frame seemed to crumple, though he was still standing and watching his friend with mounting concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.
“Because I didn’t want help.“
Before Will could answer, a look of realization spread across his face. “That’s what you bought that gun for. Not target practice!” he said, referencing the gun he had been cleaning two nights before which his friend had given him a week earlier, saying he’d become bored with it.
In truth, Toby had spent many nights lying in bed holding the handgun cocked and ready to his temple. But something inside of him simply refused to allow him to pull the trigger and after a close call with the cleaning lady nearly discovering it in his bedroom closet he’d decided to get rid of it. “Yes.” he responded, nodding.
Now Will began to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continued. “Toby…man…I can’t do this without you. You can’t leave me alone.”
He seemed perturbed more than anything by this show of emotion but tried to be even-handed with his response. “C’mon, we gotta keep moving.” he said, taking his friend by the arm and starting them in motion again as Will hurriedly wiped his eyes. “It didn’t work anyway. Obviously. I woke up under a pile of leaves with a killer fuckin headache. But I woke up.” Will finished wiping his eyes and held his book bag in front of him almost as a defense, still sniffling every now and then as they rounded Sullivan and stepped onto Main Street for the last mile of their trek. “This is why Miller and those other dicks pick on you and call you queer. You shouldn’t be crying.”
There was a long pause, then Will replied without looking at his friend. “Maybe they’re right.”
“Don’t talk like that!” Toby demanded.
“Dude, we kissed!”
Toby reacted violently, grabbing the collar of Will’s jacket and pulling him to within inches of his face. “Don’t ever mention that again! Fuckin pot was so strong I woulda kissed a tree.” he said, quickly adding “I ain’t a fag.” He released him and they resumed walking once more.
“Maybe I am.” Will responded firmly.
“Then I don’t know if we can stay friend, man.”
“What?” he asked, alarmed.
Toby smirked. “That’s why Miller picks on me and calls me a faggot. Cause we hang out. “
Now a long period of silence ensued as their school became visible in the distance. “Do you still wanna…you know.”
“It doesn’t go away overnight.” he shot back, then added a comforting “But not right now.” and offered his friend a quick smile. “Besides…” he started, but stopped himself.
“What?”
Toby shrugged. “You’ll think its stupid.”
Will shook his head. “I promise.”
“I think God was giving me a sign, man.”
“What?” Will asked incredulously. His friend had never been particularly religious.
“How else could I take 2 boxes of pills and still wake up?”
“Cause they’re over the counter baby shit?”
Toby dismissed this. “He didn’t want me to do it. He wanted me to be strong.”
“You really think he cares?”
“He must. I was saved for a purpose, man.”
“And what’s that?”
“I have no idea.” he replied, and they both shared a chuckle. “Know how Mr. Townsend’s always been telling me I should try my hand at writing music? I think I’m gonna start there. I’ve been wanting to do something about my family.”
“Death metal, then?” he asked, and they both laughed again, coming to the front of their school where countless kids were heading inside after being dropped off in the side lot. Thankfully, no sign of Miller and his cronies. “See ya later, Chosen One.” Will shot, which Toby tried to playfully punch him in the arm for but he was off an running toward his homeroom class, leaving Toby to ponder the fact that his friend had never asked him why. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to verbalize an answer anyway.
