L.T.'s Last Words

A boy with extradonary talent taken for granted in this place we know simply as 'the j'- which incidently, was the same place 'the state of nirvana' took place months after this one.

I HAVE THE RIGHT TO DESTROY MYSELF

“5 PEOPLE, 5 SITUATIONS, 1 ENDING- LIFE IN THE EYES OF AMERICAS MOST DANGEROUS SOURCE”

 

“Fear not the homicidal, for he fears death of his own life. His punishment will be rewarded in the present life and the life that is to come, but it is the suicidal, that I fear, for they fear nothing ; no life is sacred to them, not even their own, making them capable of taking masses to the grave before ultimately taking their own. It is the question that follows this theory that has plagued my mind for quite some time now. The question, ‘what if?’ " Author Unknown

 

Story 2: L.T.s Last Words

 

 

 

 

 

L.T. was one of those kids that was known to be a ‘screw’ up his entire life. According to his teachers, his friends, his siblings even his parents had given up hope for him. Nothing, however would have prepared them for what was too further come. Maybe several years in confinement perhaps, but this? L.T. was just one of those kids at Butler High school who happened to be a little slower but not so slow that he would fall into complete ‘retardation’ if that makes any sense. It started out early in his youth at first, he would always be the last one to finish a quiz or a test: Always. Peers would always laugh and snicker at his new seating position (which was right by the teacher’s desk: Literally). After just barely passing 8^th  grade, his last year in middle school, the teachers tried to set him up for success, (or so they thought they did, that’s what the intentions were, wasn’t it?). One of the teachers, Mrs. Long, had gone so far after a long and rigorous discussion with L.T.’s other teachers to talk to the student council at Butler High about L.T.’s academic performance.

“I just don’t see the problem with it. If we have a student who is obviously failing in his learning progress and more importantly, his attendance to even make it to his classes, then I don’t see why my idea is so controversial.” Mrs. Long had stated some of her ‘suggestions’ to the dean and the assistant principle at an open conference meeting for the new term semester. She couldn’t take it, she was only trying to help- and this idea wasn’t really a bad one either- yet they were persistent in refusing her request. Hell more then that honey. If these clowns weren’t in a professional environment and all dressed up, they’d probably laugh right in your face. And she knew they would too, and this infuriated her. L.T. couldn’t have been the slowest kid in class but he sure damn wasn’t the brightest either. Mrs. Long had first encountered L.T. when he had been in the 6^th grade in detention.

                She had just gotten done grading her 8^th grade students’ test sheets for English and had stayed over her usual time (on most days the usual was 3 p.m. and that was the latest). On her way out, walking down the many hallways she passed through one of the vacant classrooms off to the side, except it wasn’t vacant and she knew what it was: The detention room. As she passed the room she glanced briefly inside to see how many trouble makers there were and  the only person that was in there was L.T. A pretty muscular kid (for his age at least) with a sharp tan on him that appeared to separate him from the room itself. It was his eyes that had gotten her attention. As she glanced into the room, L.T. slowly lifted his head to meet his eyes with hers in what seemed to be one of those moments that last for a couple seconds but seem to be life altering as well. She couldn’t see exactly what color his eyes were from the distance but she could definitely feel that something was not right with those eyes. The way they stared blankly into hers were like a mixture between a small pup at the shelter and a bull having a red flag waved carelessly in front of it. That was the only way (at least according to her) she could describe what she had seen that day, and she didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit.

               

                L.T. sat in his room alone, for him, there was nothing really else he could do. He was going to be a freshman at Butler High this year and it was right around the corner, so it seemed. School didn’t start until the middle of August and it was already the 1^st. He could hardly believe how fast the summer had came and went. He began to think about how he should just play retarded full time and maybe get the benefit of the doubt about whether or not it would be decided if he should even go to school. But he seen them. Saw how mistreated the real retarded kids get in High School. He had walked past Butler High before " playing hooky- and had seen it with his own eyes. He couldn’t remember exactly who It was, but by the sounds the kid made when he had gotten pushed and harassed, he could definitely tell the kid wasn’t really all up there, either. From how L.T. saw it, the retarded boy was holding a brown paper bag, probably his homemade lunch, and trying to guard it as if it had something actually worth something in it. He couldn’t forget the sounds the kid was making as he walked past though- something like “nuh!!! Ugh agh Eeeek!”  The boys surrounded him, laughing and mocking him before one of them snatched the bag from the boys hands and shoved him hard unto the pavement.

He cried. They laughed. Most of the kids from the distance looked like a Hispanic bunch. All joined in at making this kids life a living hell. Something didn’t seem right with this scene (besides taking a defenseless kids lunch or whatever it was in that brown bag.) He thought he could see a female standing off to the side though, with her arms crossed staring at the chaos as if she was the ones calling the shots. Though the others had punched, kicked and grabbed this poor kid, for some reason or the other it was she that looked the most dangerous. Why that was was any bodies guess, all he knew was that girl gave him chills, so he decided to walk faster.

 None of It didn’t make sense to L.T. but he kept walking along, as if nothing was happening. None of my business he thought, and it pained him. It was apparent that the boy was helpless to defend himself, so why go around and make him feel less important then he had probably already felt since the day he would find out that he wouldn’t have a normal life? L.T. could still hear the boys frantic cries for help, and for a moment, he thought perhaps he had shed a single tear for the boy, though maybe it had been the wind blowing against his face.

 

L.T. stayed in his room upstairs, staring at his ceiling. He could hear laughter and the scrapings of silverware against plates but he didn’t really care. His Mother and Father would save something for him, he knew that much- and that’s all that really mattered. L.T. hadn’t felt the need to interact lately- and for what? Did he have that right too? No, of course you don’t. Dads just gonna call me and idiot again and moms just going to sit there and not say anything, like she always does. Typical b***h.

 

                While his parents and siblings sat downstairs, enjoying each others company, L.T. sat in his room, supposedly on ‘punishment’. His report card for last semester had came into the mail months ago. His father had the unfortunate experience in being the first to read it.

“We need to have a talk. NOW!” His father demanded that same evening. The card had come into the mail earlier in the day, but his father had said no words to him until L.T. felt ‘the time was right.’ Later that night, his father had a meeting in the house of pain- as L.T. sarcastically call it. His father screamed for him to open up his door, which the young man did, with sleet in his eyes, resembling somewhat of a 3^rd shift worker at Ford Company after a hard nights work.

 

“Are you sleeping?” His father had said to a very startled L.T. He made up an excuse  and claimed that school was overloaded with homework assignments and he had been studying. L.T.’s father looked at the young man like that was the dumbest thing a person could say- not knowing that he had already looked at his sons summary of progress- and yanked him out of his room. L.T. heard a snap in his left shoulder- the one his father had yanked on- and let out a moan of minor pain. “Shut the f**k up, boy!” His father screamed and pushed L.T. down the down the stairs.

“I cant believe this.” His father doubtly kept repeating to himself while L.T. walked downstairs into the living area of the house. He had seen to his surprise, his mother, sitting by the table in her own chair with her head casted off to the side- in shame perhaps. Actually at the table was his older brother, Markey and across from him was his youngest siblings: Marrylen and Marrell coloring in one of their Walt Disney coloring books in silence. Nevertheless, they looked pretty occupied but Markey had a look on his face like he hated life and had much rather go hanging out with his friends out on the court yard and pick up some ladies. He had hated that about Markey: Markey always walked around like a rooster with his chest poked out in arrogance, thinking he was too ‘cool’ to do anything with the family. But then again, L.T. hardly wanted anything to do with the family either, but his reasons for thinking so were different then his older brother- reasons like the one that’s about to happen in the next few minutes.

 

“Have a seat, boy.” His father said. He looked behind him and saw his finger pointed at the bottom half of the table, the seat at the very end right across from his mother, sitting on her eccentric black chair. His father walked to where his mother was sitting and pulled out the chair that belonged to the table, sat down, and kind of adjusted himself for his position of authority- he always did that, always had to play the ‘big man’ and every time he did, L.T. was always his downgrading tool: always. Whenever his father felt the need he had to make a point, L.T. was always his little example of Justice underlining his statement, and he had hated his father for that. Why not Markey? The twins, now that was understandable, they were only in kindergaden but Markey on the other hand would be a senior this year, and Markey has gotten into more trouble more then once. Why did L.T. always have to be singled and pointed out? Markey’s complexion matched that more like his fathers while L.T. looked more like his mother- the one that never stood up to anything the dad had to say. Even if it meant downgrading his kids, she would always agree with his father. As he thought about this, anger slowly began to rise inside of L.T. but he controlled it. Pushed it back down the hole in which it came, just like all the other emotions. Sadness. Pushed down. Frustration, pushed down. Fear, pushed down. The only feeling emotion L.T. really couldn’t push down the drain would be confusion, but then again, was confusion even considered an emotion. He didn’t think it was.

 

“L.T. would you mind explaining to us, what in sams hell is this about?” As he said this, his father threw a tarot card unto the table- his report card- with the grades facing upward so everybody could see how much of a ‘failure’ he was. One didn’t have to squint their eyes at the table to see that the card- laminated under the chandler- had been a nasty sight to look at. Everything below C was marked in red and circled and as far as the eye could configure, that was pretty much the whole damn thing. One class that stood out from the rest was his art class; with a B+. The next good looking grade on their was an average C-, which was his social studies class. Everything else was F, F, F, and again, more F’s. Nobody said anything at the table. The twins looked at the card briefly and turned their focus back into their Disney book, giggling with each other. His older brother Markey, looked off to the side, uninterested in the whole thing along with his Mother, who had her head down. L.T. and his father were the only ones looking at the card for now. He glanced up at his father for a brief moment to see his chest was heaving in and out, getting frustrated by the card. L.T. sat there, clueless to what to say.

 

“Well, boy? What do you got to say to yourself this damn time, huh?” L..T. remained silent, puzzled and confused.

“HUH!!!” His father banged the table with his fist, startling the twins and grabbing the attention of everybody sitting at the dining room table. His mother still had her head down, like a ventriloquist dummy waiting to have her strings pulled to life.

“Boy, I don’t know exactly who the hell you think you are”- He paused, wiping his noise slightly with the sleeve of his checkered button up shirt. “But in this house, if you don’t make the grades, then you don’t have to stay!” Everyone was silent still, the only hint of life coming from the twins, dazzled into their own little fantasy worlds. L.T. wished for a moment that he could join them.

 

“How could you be so goddamn stupid, boy? Answer me that. Now Markey, I can maybe understand him- becoming a man and all aint a easy thing to do- you got peer pressure, girls up the a*s trynna get em to have ya kids, a massive s**t ton of homework.” His father looked over to his son, Markey as if to get some kind of agreement nod. “Ya got that right dad. Girls just wont leave me alone nowadays.” Markey explained, while nodding his head slowly up and down. L.T. became disgusted with his brother and his fist clenched up tightly underneath the table. I’m going to knock that f*****g smirk off your face Markey, you prick. His father turned back to L.T.

“But you? Well hell, boy you don’t have any damn friends! And I know for damn sure that them little girlies aint beating down the door for you neither. And this!” His father reached over for the card , scanned through it for a second time and placed it back down on the table.

“You think your gonna be the next damn Van Gogh or something? What the hell is that all about? Social Studies, maybe I can see, but this art s**t? Sounds to me boy that you think school is all about fun, now huh?”  L.T. still remained silent, but now, both fist were clenched very tightly and beginning to tremble slightly. “Well?” His father exclaimed in a sarcastic voice. L.T. shifted his eyes towards his mother- the only one who possibly might take his side. When L.T. was in the 3^rd grade, he had brought home an art project he had completed with complete satisfaction to her as a gift for mother’s day. He had seen her eyes then, filled with joy and complete honesty towards her little boy. She had a loss of words back then, but he remembered the hug that she gave him, tears filling in both eyes. He had remembered Markey’s reaction to it also, except Markey only poked and teased him for his act of kindness- “Mommas boy” He said to him, before leaving the house to go hang out with his friends. His mother paid no attention to her eldest son, only concentrated on her youngest, and he had loved her for that. The gift he had given her was a tie dye picture of various abstract colors formulating into a heart, with clouds and little V shaped figures in the back representing the image of birds soaring in the sky.  She had even gone as far as too hang it up in her dressing room with tact’s of the various colors and sizes. He began to feel somewhat satisfied until while walking into his room, he could hear his father screaming at her. He paused slowly, poked his head around the corner to see if the door was closed- it was not. So he stood amongst the stairwell to ensure a sense of security and tried to listen as best as his young ears would allow.

 

“I cant believe you, Sharon! I just cant believe it! Your actually supporting that little s***s work? Just because he made you feel all tingly inside? Jesus Christ!”  He could hear his mother trying to argue back with his father, stating things like “He’s a good boy” and “He means well by his actions”  

 

Still trying to hear what the two were arguing about, he heard a more sinister yell from his father . This time his mother did not argue back. His father continued on- “He only got a f*****g C in this class, and look here! He got another one in math- and the boy is only in the 3^rd f*****g grade!”

“Harold….Hes your son…Your own flesh and blood! You are never this way with Mar-

“Don’t you say it! Markey isn’t the same as L.T. and you know it. I can see a future in our little Markey- hes athletic, smart, social  just like how I was when I was a kid and look at me now Sharon! No complaints except…” He paused for a minute “Except that damn L.T. I don’t know Sharon…I just look at me and Markey and I look at that boy with all sincerity and ask ‘Why?’ Why is he so damn different?”

His mother responded back this time. “Well you know Harold, You know that I wasn’t the most outgoing when we met. Or have you forgotten?”

“Yea…But its not suppose to be like that Sharon, it just aint…And you know that one too. All that boy does is stare into la la land. Doesn’t help around the house, doesnt ever wanna be around the family, and now these grades…Holy damn.”

 

L.T. could not hear anymore- or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t want to hear anymore- and proceeded to go downstairs. He felt disgust at his father. Just because he wasn’t an exact replica of Markey, did that make him so damn different? If anything, he thought that being different was what every person’s goal was supposed to be. He didn’t understand for the life of him. Soon after that little talk they had, he later snuck into his mothers room to see if she still had the painting up. What he saw was a blank wall with 4 little holes where the tact’s were fitted in, staring directly back into his swollen, teary eyes. His picture was gone- and so was his love for his mother.

 

And here he was yet again, looking at the same woman that had hugged him unconditionally. She only sat the same way, with her head facing the carpet. He saw no emotion in her eyes, not even sympathy. After that day, she began to let his father do all the talking. He would begin to commence punishment for L.T. and she would do nothing to stop it. Granted, the first couple of times she had put up somewhat of a fight for her youngest son, but his father’s anger would boil to the surface and that would be the end of it.  He didn’t know what kind of things they would discuss about him but he could picture a very descriptive image of some of the things he probably said to his mother.

 

“What you looking at L.T.?” His father told him. “You think she’s going to help you? Oh, Lord boy. You need to start manning up for your actions. You’re in High school now for Christ sake!” He looked over at his wife as if to provoke her to even dare say a thing- and she hadn’t.

 

After his father had made him look like the class idiot in front of the family, he would be sentenced to his punishment for ‘failure’ to maintain an average GPA. The punishment- his father would later explain- was supposedly set to maybe make him a little bit more social around the family, which in turn would let him know that he was part of a family, thus possibly boosting his moral and ultimately will increase his grades. “Youll be apart of the family- in everything- from mom going to church, to Markey in his football games, s**t even the twins’ nighttime bedtime stories if need be.” L.T. began to wonder if maybe it was his father that was perhaps the ‘slow’ one of the family. How one could even ‘comprehend’ the meaning of this intention was beyond reason of a doubt. How could involvement in Markey’s f*****g football games boost his moral? The twins’ bedtime stories? What the hell did that have anything to do with maintaining a grade point average. On top of this, his father included choirs. This included (but was not limited too) Cleaning the house- dusting, vacuuming, taking out the trash etc. Next was outside work. If fad was trying to fix the old Ford 150 in the driveway, L.T. would be required to watch and endure every moment of it. If Markey needed anything- and his father especially stressed this- and that meant ANYTHING, L.T. would have to attend to his needs. L.T. stared at his father cold heartedly as he said this. Everything made no sense but L.T. felt this as the biggest slap in the face. As his father had said that, he heard Markey chuckle slightly.

 

                “L.T.”- His father said at the table. Markey is in a time of need right now. Your older brother needs you more then anything. I don’t give a damn if its wiping his a*s on a kitchen stool all day, if he needs it YOU WILL DO IT, do we understand?”

                L.T. could only nod his head slightly, absent from any enthusiasm. The next couple of weeks would be hell, and to top it off school would be starting in the middle of the month. L.T. didn’t think he could do it, but he had too, didn’t he? He began to wonder if he did or not. Ernest Hemmingway had traveled the world didn’t he? Of course he did and looked how he turned out? A bullet through the head after he had finished a nice cold one he thought. L.T. doubted his father had even heard of the man, but L.T. had been reading some of his work with ease. “A Farewell To Arms” had been a favorite pass time for him. But then again, he wasn’t considered ‘normal’ now was he? No, he wasn’t. He was far from normal, according to the man at the head of the kitchen table, the man that had denied that L.T. was even his son, this was indeed the truth. But the truth was still far from uncovered.

 

 

II

A Moment Of Clarity

 

L.T. had certainly ‘expected’ hell week to end with him jumping off the roof of his 2 story house where he expected maybe a reporter would be accounted for at the scene to annotate every reaction his father would have made. L.T. imagined his father standing there, ‘posing’ his all too famous ‘well I’ll be damned, honey would you look at that!’ pose in front of the media. Only just a glimpse, nothing more, nothing less- Whoever commits suicide must really have a lot of balls he thought as he wiped away the sweat in his eyes. L.T. would be cleaning his fathers Ford 150 everyday, and by the looks of it, it looked like he had purposely drove it on gravel and muddy dirt roads on purpose- of course this was just a thought. Knowing him though, I can believe it- anything to make my life harder then what it really is. It was the third day of the ‘games’ his father would be playing with him for awhile, so he figured he might as well get used to it. If only he could have stood up and shouted at his father on that night he had his little pep talk, would that had made any difference? L.T. sat on the gravel concrete in front of his father pick-up truck, staring at his reflection, which looked right back into his dark, hazel eyes. His hands and fingers were beginning to shrivel up from the exposure of soupy water- it had been 2 hours and it still wasn’t done. L.T. had him look at it about an hour ago, this infuriated him.

“You call that cleanin a truck? Do I have to pull a Rodriquez out my a*s to demonstrate how to properly clean a simple 150 boy? Hell”

                L.T. let out an over exaggerated sigh of relief to himself, kicking his feet up and down on the pavement, obviously bored of this new life style. He looked at the house to see if his father was maybe watching him, but he could see nothing through the windows- time for a break. He stopped his legs after awhile and began to look deep into the mirror of himself again in the truck.

 

“Why cant you tell him? Huh? If only he would know, but how could he? Because I’m too much like my mother? She wont say anything to that son of a b***h, so why cant I?”

 

Because your scared, that’s why. You’ve always been scared Leon

 

He bagan to get angry and he felt his head begin to go off into that place it usually does when he has migraines and headaches that cannot be explained. His head felt numb and tired out, and he tried to think of something else. Maybe anime, or final fantasy, a land where he could make as he so chooses without the say of a b*****d father.

 

What makes HIM so perfect anyway? He drinks like a horse, IVE SEEN HIM! He goes out with his bum a*s friends and he drinks. He thinks I’m too stupid to know what a ‘drink’ is but I know! Why else would you be so protective of that magic drink, huh dad?

 

His fist began shaking violently  now, the headache in his head beginning to pulse on its own will, every thumping pound creating a short of wave of hate within L.T.’s body . Could he get away with murder? He didn’t know, but he has read about it being done in ‘Diaries Of A Hit man’ (or was that fake?). The thought of actually ‘murdering’ his own father uncomfortably amused him for a moment, yet frightened him all the same, if not more.

 

He keeps a gun somewhere around the house Leon. Remember when you saw it one day after school out in the backyard by the shed. He was out there doing something but the rifle was sitting on a table- he was doing something to it. Logical thinking indicates that it is obviously inside the shed…

 

He didn’t like the thoughts rampaging through his head like that, but it was true. L.T. had seen his father fiddling around with something outside after school. He would look out; see his dad cursing to himself and turn away to go back to his room, before reading “Farewell to Arms” or drawing up one of his favorite anime characters.  How hard would it be to find it, learn the basics of sighting and alignment and squeeze it into his father’s chest?  

 

If that b*****d can do it, then I know for a fact that I can do it.

 

L.T. looked at his reflection again- what he saw scared him: a boy filled with anger and sorrow with his fist shaking out of control, a boy that was contemplating murder. He started to try thinking of something else that would release his mind, and he thought of a mythical creature that he had really taken interest in for the past couple of years. A creature called Bahamut.

                In art class, in the 6^th grade, a teacher had a picture of Bahamut behind his desk, posted on the wall. It was autographed near the bottom and L.T. was fascinated by it. The teacher, Mr. Smith, noticed his interest in it and asked him if he knew anything about Final Fantasy- L.T. acknowledged he did, but hardly ever thought about playing it. He tried explaining to Mr. Smith that his father ‘hated’ fantasy in his household and admitted that he might not be smart enough to grasps the concepts of any kind of RPG (though this was a lie, L.T. wasn’t what he seemed to be on the outside). Mr. Smith told him if he thought like that, maybe he was right, but edged him on to try to play the game anyway, and let him burrow one of his games. Being a big fan himself, Mr. Smith challenged him to see where his progress was in the game until he unlocked a secret summon called ‘Bahamut’. L.T. wanted to explain that there was noway that his father would settle for that, but held it back and accepted the challenge. So for about a week after school, he played that game just as his teacher had intended until he unlocked Bahamut (L.T. could only play the game when Markey was out of the house, which ironically was every day during that time.)

                When he unlocked the beast, he fell in love with not just the game, but the whole concept of a retro reality altogether. Much like the Dungeons and Dragons era of his father, L.T. had been drawn into the electronically developed stage of ‘fantasy play’. Mr. Smith ended up giving the game to L.T., which he cherished up until this point. There was, at that time maybe 10 Final Fantasy games (though L.T. had only played 3 of them) and all of them had a Bahamut summon in them some way or the other. In each game, Bahamut appeared slightly different but the concept was the same: A winged dragon with two legs and two arms with claws that could obliterate all and every advisory that so dared to defy him with an attack called ‘mega flare’- and L.T. became fascinated.

                L.T. closed his eyes, and began to go deep into thought, taking himself far away from his driveway, his neighborhood, even the world itself. He imagined himself riding on the wings of this Bahamut creature, soaring through a bright sky with the sun beaming on his back and face. Flying through the city of Celestial, the dragon city in the world of Tera. He could almost envision this happening, the people in the villages looking up at amazement and astonishment. The people of Celestial waved at him, L.T. looked back unto them and waved back. Bahamut kept flying through the skies, faster then any G-6 plane could ever accomplish in this lifetime. L.T. told Bahamut he wanted to go to Lumia, a place where the night never ends. A city with different people with different backgrounds enjoying the night life for all the days to come. First he would have to pass through the kingdom of-

 

“L.T.! L.T.! What in the hell are you doing? Get your lazy a*s up!”

 

L.T. snapped awake as if he had awakened from a coma. The suns light shun in his eyes again, and everything was dark for a moment. He hadn’t known how long he had been ‘day dreaming.’

 

“You just cant do nothing right boy, good God! Get up!”

 

L.T. was beginning to have the symptoms of a headache. He got to his feet carefully, trying to recollect his balance. He felt a tug on his left shoulder- not his shirt- and was yanked to his feet.  If he could keep quiet, his body wouldn’t let him and he screamed.  “S**t, that hurts!”

 

His father flipped him around- a 180 spin from the truck- and he stared at his fathers chest. Looking up, he could see little bubbles of black and white dots floating randomly in his view, and he felt dizzy. He felt it sometimes when he would wake up in a hurry to catch the bus that was on its way to departing from school in a fearsome 3 minutes.  His father grabbed his chin with his ruff fingers, if anybody were to pass a scene like this one, it would look as if the two were about to kiss and make up, like some sort of sick version of Cinderella. However, this was far from the case- it was more vile and distorted in many other ways.

“What did you say, boy?” His father spoke to him temptingly, almost as if he were being sentimental about his son.

Nothing is all L.T. replied back to him. He began to feel scared, not because of his father, but becacuse he hated it when he would not expect something to happen. His father tried sounding nice, but was he really- or was this some sort of trick?

 

“No, it wasn’t nothing boy. I heard what you said.” His father lowered his head toward his in an affectionate and inappropriate manner. “Did I hurt you L.T.? Tell the truth now son.”

 

L.T. hesitated a moment, but gave in and slowly he started to shake his head up and down. His father let out a long sigh, and his breathe smelled like engine fuel and burnt cigarette butts- L.T. tried to hold his breathe.

“You think I’m being to hard on you don’t you, boy?” His father looked up over toward the street real quick and snapped back down to look at his son. “Just be honest boy, do you really think this is cruel and unusual punishment?”

 

At this time he felt the need to speak, but he couldn’t. He didn’t like the chances of it- If your going to hit me, then do it and stop wasting my time. L.T. couldn’t say it. He tried and opened his mouth as if going too, but he snapped it shut and shook his head. He could feel pressure on the shoulder he was dragged on- His father didn’t like his answer.  Sorry kid, now your gonna get it ten times worse- should have been honest.

 

His shoulder burned in pain and he was shoved back into the truck. The eyes in his fathers face were frightening and filled with anger.

 

“Just say the damn truth d****t!” His father shouted at him. L.T. stood, leaned up against his fathers truck and he was pulled by his arm and jerked away from that too, towards his father. His father looked behind L.T. at his truck and back at L.T. he had stepped back so they wasn’t uncomfortably close- close enough to smell each others breath but too close for L.T. for L.T.’s concern.

 

“ I’ll tell you why right now, boy! Its because of s**t like this!” His father mocked him, pretending he was asleep snoring. L.T. grew disgusted. His father reopened his eyes. “Its s**t like that, that’s what you do in class don’t you? That’s why your grades look like a monkeys aint it?”

                L.T. began to wonder how was that even fair? He had cleaned the damn truck, what else did you want? To grow his hair out and pick up dames like Markey? To have the whole school like you because you played football- a very primitive like occupation to L.T.’s concern- or to have brand new Mustang Coupe with a stick shift and be able to get locked up the same day you got the car? Markey did, and Markey never had to deal with this ignorant bullshit he was putting up with right now; right in front of him.

“Well that’s why your on punishment, because you love la la land too much. While you was in la la land might I add, I was doing some ‘spring’ cleaning in your room. “

 

L.T. didn’t like the sound of Spring and cleaning coming out of his fathers crusted, filthy mouth.

“Well say goodbye to Batmut or whatever the hell the name is, cause I took all your games in Markeys room, and all your little sketches of la la land out!- its gone! From now on your too do things like this until you earned the right to visit la la land again, which I hope will never be again. Do we got that, boy?”

 

His drawings? His games? Did he mean Final Fantasy and maybe Xenosaga? Or maybe some stupid board games he got when he was a wee ounce too ignorant? He didn’t, did he? Oh, but he did. Yes indeed.

 

                “But Why?” L.T. managed to shout to his father. He almost snapped back and recoiled back into his shell but no. Now he had done it. Those goofy video games that his father thought were futile and batteries with no use were his life. When he slept at night, he dreamt of those things. When he drew on paper, he imagined those things. When he was alone in his room, he had felt those things bring him to life. If he hasn’t already been dead yet, it was those ‘goofy’ things his father had so much hatred for that in fact, drawn and revived his son from endless nights of depression and loneliness. He could put up with the names, the neglecting from his family, the misunderstandings, the ‘games’ his father told him were only lessons in life- however lessons became another word for neglect " he could take all of that. He was used to it. But his only hope and encouragement being thrown in the trash? Now you just pulled the plug on the meter. L.T. felt dead inside, but first came the anger. And d****t, if he was going to die inside, he was going to let every ounce of anger out of him. His father widened his eyes slightly in disbelief, and smiled- the son of a b***h was actually smiling! Before his father could say anything, open his fat crusted mouth L.T. lunged forward and delivered a clean cut to his fathers chin. His father fell. L.T. screamed.

                “I never did a f*****g thing to you! I’m not another Markey and you can have him for all I care, Markey is just as a failure as you! You two really go together but leave me out of it!”

 

His father layed out on the ground still, his eyes moving left to right. He felt the tip of his chin- there was blood trickling down from it- and started to curse out loud. L.T. didn’t flinch or move- he would be damned if he backed down now. That punch would be just a welcome home for all the years of neglect and constant negative verbal abuse he had been forced to eat with a spoon. For almost 14 years he had to deal with his father putting him down, calling him names, insulting him " being an outsider.  He watched as his father slowly got unto his knees. Drops of blood decorated the dusted gravel with a fresh new look of red pok-a-dots. He raised his head, staring coldly at his son. L.T. stared right back into his eyes, fear beginning to take the angers place- anger decided to retreat for a minute…Fear is ready to go!

 

“Aw s**t boy….Now if you wanted to play a little dirty, why didn’t you just say so?”

Screams from within the house where being released out unto the streets, he thought it would be the younger of the twins. It wasn’t until he got shoved on the ground by something that happened so quick, something that looked so blurry- could that have been a skirt? That he realized; it wasn’t the twins screaming. If anything they were probably laughing, things like this never paid them any mind, and he liked that about the girls- they weren’t your average 4 year olds- they usually kept to themselves and looked the other way. Maybe they talked to each other through their baby language, who knew. L.T. didn’t know why he was thinking about the twins at a very disturbing time like this but it made him laugh thinking- The thought of them having their own baby language? Goo goo would mean ‘oh dads a complete prick sis, did you notice?’ and gaga would be the other twin replying with ‘duh you dummy! Its mom whos the one that needs to get punched! I believe I just shat myself’

 

                He felt a slap to his face-very quick. Painful. The feeling followed by the shock had some sense of sweetness to it. It was soft, quick and it was simple to figure out: Noway in hell could that have been his fathers hit, probably because he father wouldn’t  slap anything. Not even jokingly, his father would punch you but his mother….

 

                “What is wrong with you, Leon!” His mother screamed mom? She screeched out loud, holding his father upright. She had turn away from his father to slap L.T. in his face, that’s where it had came from. A slap for taking up to a slap all of his life. Her eyes swollen with tears, her eye liner began to make a dysfunctional line on both side of her cheeks. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why she was crying over him, the one who had said years ago that he was different, and on that day, she had taken up for her youngest son- to an extent. Maybe not as a fight the confederacy would have deemed appropriate but it was still a fight. As he continued staring blankly at his crying mother, she gave no more acknowledgment that he was even around- all her attention was on his father, now managing to get back on his two feet. He wanted to run away, or to cry- or both, but he just stood there watching, watching in disgust and hatred.

 

                After that day, Leon ignored everything from anybody in the house. If Markey would have said anything, hell, he could get it too. It doesn’t matter anymore, he felt he had a perfect justification for his actions and likewise, his father felt he had perfect justification to get one over on him. It was later that night after everyone calmed down. L.T. was sleeping in his room, or at least trying too. He hadn’t ate anything or said anything to anybody since what had happened earlier, and he didn’t care. He only hoped the Marrellyn and Marrell didn’t see it. They were too young to understand what had happened, but then again, L.T. didn’t think anybody understood anything in that house. He tossed over in his bed, repeating how his mother had said those words to him whats wrong with you Leon…Leon? Havent heard that one in awhile. I thought I didn’t have that right in this place. L.T. liked the fact that his real name was used other then in some book or some dream. He began to wonder why people started calling him L.T. in the first place wouldn’t Leon sound much better? More alive, more human?  Then again, they have been calling him L.T. since he could remember. He remembered before all of this, when he could still have some type of appreciation for his mother, that oneday she had shown him his birth certificate, it said Leon Terrance instead of L.T. Even in school, teachers referred him to L.T. but why would that be if his ‘legal’ name was Leon? It was all too much, and he was beginning to feel drowsy. To much bullshit today, maybe things would start looking better tomorrow. Deep down, he knew it wouldn’t though, it would only get worse. And when that happened, he was ready to make another strike towards his father, and after this strike, he would not be getting up again- Ever.

 

III

Speaking is not a gift, the comprehension of ones inner self without the use of words is

 

 

Mrs Long rushed through the hallways in Butler High as fast as she could. She thought maybe it was too late to catch him but she kept persisting. She looked frantically on the watch on her forearm, passing through the crowds of students in the hallways. “Locker 616” she kept repeating to herself as she hurried. She had some time before he would get into class, that is, if he even made it to class. After trying and pushing with the board of the school district, she had finally won- or at least maybe a small battle- over the case with L.T. She knew with some patience and some time, he could be a tremendous student, all he needed was some guidance, was all. She was willing to be that guide. Her whole career, she had only taught English, but her proposal to the board was she would be willing to do one on one with him for every subject that he academically failed under a C for. Which would be just about everything. She continued to walk high pace in her heals and long skirt. “600…603…605…607..” She was getting closer. She again flicked her wrist to see the time and it was 5 til class started for that morning-homeroom. At this time any normal kid would be headed for the class right now, a good 3 or 4 minute stride from where L.T.’s locker would be. This is L.T. though she thought as she came close to bum rushing a pair of Juniors in the school, she came close to nearly knocking one out of the way and when she looked back, the girl was gone. She turned her head back forward and collided head on with someone.

                “Oh my God, are you alright?” Books weren’t flying, so that was good. Several papers traveled though, and she reached down to pick it up- Stop! The young voice shouted at her, and before she picked it up, her hand flinched as if the voice were a fist or a weapon.

                She observed the picture for a minute, she squinted her eyes and saw it kind of looked like…a dragon? It was heaving something from its mouth and a hand quickly snatched it away before she could look any further.

                “I am so sorry young man, are you alright? She could not see the face of the boy, who had his head down, trying to put his papers "drawings- back into his folder nervously, his hands shook when he tried. She began to speak again before he broke her off

 

                “Its not me lady…” The young man said, his hair was gray and long. Black at its roots but it was gray for the most part. His bangs hung down his face so he couldn’t see into his eyes but then he spoke again. “Its you. Are you the one that’s alright?” He said this in a conservative way, not in an emotionally way and then his head went up to meet her eyes. She recognized who he was immediately.

                “L.T.?” She said. “That is your name isn’t it?” She had seen the same eyes the day she walked past the detention hall several months back. He had gotten skinnier and his hair was longer now, obviously, but it was his eyes that had never changed, the click to the light bulb per se.

He looked startled but started shaking his head up and down. He held his folder at his side but tightly against his leg like a dog and its bone. He held it defensively.

               

“How did you know my name?” He said in a soft tone, still defensive but clearly he was more at ease. She began to speak when the bell cut her off. L.T. looked around but she only watched him, wanted to see how he would react. First day at school and late for the first class, would he be upset? She wanted to know everything about him, so she could further help the boy. L.T. shrugged his shoulders and looked back at her. “Guess I’m late huh?” She nodded and smiled at him. “Technically that would be your fault, but I wont tell anybody miss.” Knowing he had his folder safely tucked underneath his arm, he began to walk in the direction of his home room. He walked right past her. She figured he would maybe get mad and have a temper about missing his first class, but she was forgetting: this wasn’t  your regular straight A whiz kid, this was plain ol regular one of a kind L.T.

 

“L.T.” She called out to him. As he stopped and turned to her again, she couldn’t believe how gray his hair was. Gray wasn’t even the word to describe it: the color of it shined almost like it was stainless steel but the texture of it was sensitive to every movement he made- she configured it was as soft as the wool of a lamb. What a rare and strange case, she thought.

 

                “Yes?” L.T. said irritably in that am I in trouble? Tone. She could only smile at his innocence, it was hard to believe she was face to face with the L.T. she had been briefed about from the board. In all the descriptions "there were no yearbook pictures of him, he was considered absent: for every one of them- she was only told he had brownish black hair that was kept very sort, almost to a buzz. Maybe his parants made him keep it short? Or could be a change of mind.

 

“I will write you a pass so you wont get in trouble, room 305 is your homeroom right?”

L.T. shook his head up once in agreement, still clenching his folder for dear life.

 

“First” She paused. L.T.s face grew curious now. She resumed on. “First, I want to talk to you, if that’s ok?” L.T.s face exasperated much thought into this question. She thought he would clearly say ‘of course, anything to get me out of class’ but he didn’t. Finally he looked at her and said ‘No thanks, I didn’t get much sleep last night, I was planning on getting plenty of that in class. Thanks though.”

 

And like that, L.T. was gone. Mrs. Long couldn’t believe it. He really doesn’t care about school  she thought, now alone in the empty hallway with bits of paper and school utensils everywhere. She knew that this definitely was the L.T. she had been briefed on. She let out a sigh for a moment. The board had told her the statistics of the school. They had told her how many were ‘expected’ to drop out. Had told her which ones were likely to go to college after graduation etc. etc. L.T. had been characterized as an unlikely student to even make it to sophomore year- that’s what she had been told, and that’s what she refused to believe. That picture that he had…Was that what he was doing in class all day besides sleeping?  She didn’t know and didn’t care. If that was the case, then that was even more reason for her to try and to do something. This was a day and age that instead of mocked or ridiculed, ones passion for something as simple as art could evolve and become something productive for society. Something like graphic arts, architecticture, or web design. She knew countless businesses and organizations that could use some more ‘life’ into their advertisements. “No” she repeated to herself. “This one is not going to fail” and she began to walk towards room 305 with confidence that she would do everything in her power as a teacher to prevent that from happening.

 

“So, late on the first day Mr???”

“Leon” the boy said “Leon Terry, but I prefer Leon.”

L.T.’s homeroom teacher let out a big sigh, with L.T. standing at the door to the class, his folder still tightly folded off against his torso. The man scanned through a roster for the students names and repeated his name again, to be sure.

“You said Leon, right?”

“Yes sir, that’s my name.”

He scanned over the papers again, before breaking the news that he was in the wrong class.

“Were missing a few students in here, but no one by the name of Leon.” He paused, leaning on his desk with his face to the class. He wore a blue button up with black khakis with a tie. L.T. knew what the problem was but didn’t bother to mention it. He simply shrugged his shoulders when the door behind him began to open. In came Mrs Long, in her long skirt and heals. She walked pass the boy and toward the teacher and had an exchange of words. Words being exchanged were ‘yes’,ok, ohhh, and ‘are you sure from what L.T. could hear.

When It was all said and done, both of the teachers looked at L.T. with his home room teacher speaking first.  He cleared his throat.

                “Mr. Leon, I believe I made a mistake with your name. So your L.T., is that correct?”

L.T. nodded back at the man. He seemed startled by this and asked him the dreadful question ‘why’.

 

“Because that’s not my name, my real name is Leon. Whoever put that name on that sheet must have been drunk on the job or something.” The teacher didn’t like that answer- it was easily defined by his face. Some kids in class started to laugh and snicker at L.T.’s response but Mrs Long saw that this bothered him the least bit, what bothered him was that name on that sheet. The teacher began to object to L.T.’s propostion but Mrs Long grabbed the paper from him, pretended to scan it and acknowledged L.T.’s answer.

 

“Leon, your right, there seems to have been a mistake on this. I will bring to the attention to the assistant principle and make sure all copies are reprinted in the name you requested.”

 

The class grew earily silent. L.T. stared at her for a moment and she stared back at the young man. His eyes gleamed a luminous color with brown and green as its predecessor. For some reason this put her at unease and she attempted to switch the subject in this time. “As much Mr. Loyd would love you to join his homeroom, you are to come with me. You are being transferred Leon.” She watched as kids bounced eyes between her and L.T. Paying them no mind, she began to hand the sheet back to Mr. Loyd and procede with out of the class. Please God She begged in her mind Please let this boy buy this. You know what is best for him, please God Please. She began to get closer to L.T., His eyes staring deeply into hers. She saw how he didn’t care what was going on, saw the hurt in his eyes. It spoke so clearly now, so why hasn’t anybody done anything until she came along? As she passed the boy reaching for the door knob, she turned around briefly towards the boy.

 

“Well L.T.? Shall we go?” Please, let him come with me, I promise I will not let you down. Give me a chance- her heart pounded a little harder waiting for his answer. She was relieved when he nodded and followed her out the door. She felt she had accomplished something more then anything in her 20 year career as a teacher. She could faint! Not now Susan, not now. The boy didn’t know how much she had sacrificed for this. She had given up her usual position at the middle school and had been granted access to a small temporary room over where the ‘special’ kids had been transferred. Most cases involved an individual, most likely suffering from some type of mental restraint, not being able to perform in a normal classroom environment. When the board insisted that she put him in with the handicapped students, she almost lost it at the conference. She argued with heart and soul that this was indeed not the case, that if L.T. really wanted and had a little inspiration and support, could probably top all the students in Butler high with ease. But you know this was pushing it altogether. It was a miracle that you could even get the boy transferred Susan. But that wasn’t enough. Maybe, just maybe it was more then academic progress. That on that day she looked into his eyes in the detention center, that feeling of unease and danger flooded her inner being. Maybe it was the fact that if she didn’t act now, something seriously unfortunate could happen, all dealing with L.T. Mrs Long listened to her emotions or ‘6^th sense’ when they surfaced and this one could not be ignored. Walking under a latter, breaking a glass mirror or even maybe having a feeling of using the Lords name in vein; none of it mattered, because this thing, this feeling with L.T. would have something that none of those others had- proof. And if something wasn’t done, then the whole school, a family, or even herself might become in dangers grasp, and she began to feel terrified within herself thinking about it.

 

They got to the little classroom and L.T. began observing the area. Miss Long took a glance at him and began observing with him. L.T. wasn’t the only one who would be ‘out of place’ to this kind of environment, Miss Long wasn’t new to this kind of thing necessarily either. The room was located behind the gym at the back of the school, where an emergency double door exit was located.  The school housed over 2,000 students and had met expectations for gradually being constructed to expand a little every year. The classroom looked as if it could hold about 15 students at max, the room was small, with old used desk with writing on them.  Obvisiouly these were the old desk the school used, and now some had found a home in this strange class. The room had lights, however they were dimmed out, it would take maybe a small desk lamp to clearly see a piece of paper hosting numeral equations at ease, other then that one would have trouble squinting and double checking just to make sure the numbers were correct. L.T. had a feeling what this classroom was. Every school had one of these he thought.

                “Is this a detention class?” He calmly said, looking now at a desk that had seen too many graduates in its time. Miss Long didn’t know how to explain what she was trying to do, but he had that right to know, it was going to be how she said it.

 

                “Well Leon” she trailed off, just in shock as the boy she had led here was, but she continued. “This wouldn’t be a detention class, its well too hidden. Detention is located near the front of the school, me and you are in the back.”

 

                “You don’t think I know that? I know were in the back, if this isn’t detention then what is it.” She saw in his face that he was growing inpatient with his answer. So she told him somewhat of her plan and how this room was going to be the key factor into making that plan happen. He has the right to know, anyways Sue.

                “This class Leon, is for you.  Its not that big because there wont be many kids in here accompanying you, which I’m sure wont be a problem for you.” She looked at him with a look of disappointment.

                “So this means…I’m not going to get any sleep.” He said like a child that had got denied the toy he so wanted for Christmas. Miss long just continued to look at this child with complete ignorance. Sleep? That wasn’t the reaction she expected but he continued. “Look, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not stupid and I know what your trying to do. Your trying to help me, aren’t you?” She shook her head yes. He shook his head back horizontally.

 

                “No. I don’t need any help. I don’t need to sit in this classroom and have one on one teaching. Everything they teach is easy-

                “Then why don’t you do it then Leon?” She asked, cutting him off. The boy hesitated a moment, shook his head again and looked back at her.

                “Because I’m done trying. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, that man is still going to…” She waited for him anxiously to finish his sentence.

                “Hes still going to… Hes still…”

                “What is it Leon?” She could feel that feeling again, that 6^th sense creeping on the back of her neck. The hairs began to rise and her heart pounded a little harder waiting for him to finish- to tell her, to let her know something wasn’t just a superstition- that her 6^th sense wasn’t just an imagination. But he didn’t. He stopped in mid sentence and shook his head again. He stood there and clenched his folder a little tighter with his hands, this time waiting for her to explain all of this. She wasn’t going to get anything that easily, but she could feel it. She knew he wasn’t ignorant, but surprised that a boy who slept and drew in class all day could be as intelligent as he claimed. How could he learn if he did not pay attention?

 

                “I’m here to help you.” She said. And he fired back at her “Well I don’t need your damn help!” He recoiled the hand not holding the folder holding the folder over his mouth in shock at himself. She opened her eyes a little wider at the reaction. Nothing was said for a moment. Just the two of them in an uncomfortable state together, in the room that was labled above its door as ‘happy class’ in big bubble like letters. Miss Long hadn’t expected him to refuse, and neither did L.T.

                She began to explain after the boy had calmed down a little about her concern for him, and this time he didn’t say anything back, only stared at her and occasionally around the windows to the outside of class whenever a bell rang. She told him how close he was to not even being accepted in the first place, how she wanted that to change. In between this, she would occasionally ask him a little about himself. She had found out that his passion was for drawing and animation, and she was marveled at how he would later explain it. She decided today would not be an easy one, but rather it would be a day for them to soul search together. In the end she asked him this time.

 

                “L.T.” Her eyes began to shake, almost get teary. She felt in such a short time she was getting acquainted with this ‘lost child’. “I did this not because I think you are below average, or because I think you are not capable, because I know you are, I can feel it”- and she pointed at the boys heart “right there. I feel it deep within you that oneday you will be so successful, so wonderful at what it is you want to do in this life. If all this sounds ridiculous then I truly apologize and I know its confusing- trust me, I am not uses to doing things like this either as a teacher- but if not for you, at least give it a chance for me. Can you do that?” L.T. had a smile on his face now. And she could cry, she hadn’t seen him smile practically all day. She felt she was actually doing something, making some kind of progress.

               

                “As long as I have time to draw, I’ll do it.”

                “Of course!” She said in an excited tone. “you have to get your work done though, ok?”

“Yea I know, and I will but one more thing.” She looked sidewise. The two of them sitting at used desks, one too small for her, the other twice as big for L.T.

                “Yea, and what is that Leon?” She thought maybe he would say something to further her trust in her senses, and she waited, feeling like she was about to go off the edge of her seat in anticipation. She felt silly feeling that way.

                “Whatever I draw in here, I want you to hold on to it in here.” He said with no sense of emotion or feeling. He said it cold heartedly. Before she could decide whether to ask ‘why’ or to tell him ‘sure’ he let his hands go off the folder he was holding on so tightly for throughout the whole day. He let it go slowly as if it was his life in his hands and he slid it to her.

                “That’s all I want out of here and I’ll do what you say.” He said. She looked at the black folder: It had stickers on it of the sort, made up of medieval knights and meteors. The top of the folder was written in white highlight, soliciting itself from everything else. It read: ‘My Last Words’ in a professional fashion, the words were all symmetrical to each other and appeared neatly on a line, however there was no line to place them.  She looked at him for approval and he motioned for her that it was ok to look. As she looked inside what she saw almost put her to tears. There were no words as the title had said, but the pictures all spoke for themselves. There had to be dozens of illustrations, some in black and white, others colored in color. There were charcoal paintings, water coloring, everything an artist could furnish to make his illustrations become that more real to the viewer. She scanned through many, and looked at him unbelievably.

                “L.T….” She muttered. “You did this?” The boy only shook his head sadly. “I just want it to become real.” He said. “But that’s not going to happen, not in this lifetime.” She looked through several more of his illustrations. Anything from landscapes to mythical beast " maybe from Greek ology- were in this black folder. Landscapes. Images comparable to the safari, down to its every detail, with animals roaming about the landscapes. It was like looking on the discovery channel in pencil. Pictures of waterfalls with flying animals hovering over them. Almost in all of the landscape pictures, there was always one thing that was the same: Some kind of dragon roaming the lands flying above everything else with a small child on its back.

                “Why is this in almost every one?” She asked. L.T. smiled slightly, his face getting red.

“Because that’s me riding the clouds with Bahamut.” Miss Long had nothing to say back, only tears to replace lost words.

 

 

IV

 

The first week was expected to be a long and painful process for Miss Long and L.T. but surprisingly that wasn’t the case. The first week would be her ‘evaluating’ process after she had seen that L.T. was willing to comply with her wishes and her plans. Each day he would take a test towards the end of the day. Each day would be a different subject- first it would begin with a study guide of the test overall. History would have questions ranging from the early 1800’s to the present date. Mathematics would be basic algebra including word problems and use of the conversions of metrics (sophomore level- she wanted to know just how ‘smart’ he claimed he was). English would be 10^th grade level also, mainly focusing around grammar, spelling, and paragraph reading. Science would be the easiest, according to her- chemistry would not be included- it would only be the basics and fundamentals. With these in mind, she had four days to work with the boy, and she was eager to see exactly where his overall GT would really be. She didn’t think he would even make it to average, but somewhere deep down inside of her wanted him to prove her wrong, maybe even proving himself even.

                She asked if he would do good and he only shook his head. “I just want this week to be over.” Is the only thing he said. She explained he would pretty much have all day to review the study guide and go through the books that were provided if needed.

 

“Anything you cant find in there or cant understand, please feel free to ask, L.T.” She said. Yesterday had been a good day, and she expected him to keep his end of the deal- and that was to just try to put an effort. She also comprehended that she wouldn’t be bored much- Hes probably going to ask you how to write his name on the paper, let alone a question about how to convert a fraction! And she hated herself for thinking that way, but it was true wasn’t it? Why would she be putting so much effort into this if it wasn’t so? L.T. asked if he could start. It was 9 a.m.- and she told him ‘fly away’. He smiled and began to study the first subject: English.

               

                The little voice in Miss Long’s head had to be malfunctioning. After about an hour, not a single question was asked. She sat at her desk observing him, how he was flipping through pages, doing something to the study guide followed by flipping through more pages through his textbook. She saw how dark his eyes were, hazal and cold. Saw how his hair moved when he did and smiled silently to herself. An another hour past by- nothing. Another half an hour and he raised his hand.

                “Yes L.T.” She said almost like she was anticipating his question.

                “Can I take my test early?” He calmly said. She was stunned. Take the test early? She figured out what he was doing- he wanted to take the test early and get it over with so he could do what he wanted, which wasn’t part of the deal at all- She wasn’t falling for it.

               

                “Now, L.T. I can tell you that I have several reasons to say no to that.”

“ You really feel your ready to take the test now? You’ve only studied for an hour and a half!” She said it almost comical. Maybe you should let him do it. If he thinks he can do it, then let him see on that red marker that he isn’t what he says. You know what they say Sue: They talk the talk but cant walk the walk.

                “Can I ask why L.T.?”

                “Cause I already know all of this, I was just trying to be nice and let you have your way, but its really boring!”  He exaggerated the word boring in a strung out kind of way, almost in a slur. She wanted to playfully slap him in the face, but restrained. Instead she grabbed his textbook, flipped it to a section about proper uses of semicolons and hyphens. “You mean to tell me you can put this- she showed him the semicolon in the book in front of his face- where it properly belongs if need be in any of these paragraphs on this test- she now pointed at his study guide, his eyes following where her finger was pointing too. L.T. just shook his head and told her he could ‘try’. She could roll her eyes at that, but instead she told him ‘fine’.  She began to hand out his test and she would let time do the rest. She asked if he wanted to wait until lunch, and he asked if he could skip it. Of course, she couldn’t but he urged her to let him stay back and take the test. Persistent as he was, she made him close the books to go to the cafeteria. Just get something to go, I can’t allow you to skip lunch in school- its policy.  He agreed, that it wasn’t her fault but made a remark about the policy should be changed or something like that. They walked through an endless crowd of many on the way towards the lunchroom. He walked besides her, like a loyal son to his mother. He didn’t care if the other kids saw him or not, which was alarming. She could only imagine what this boy was thinking inside that enigma of a brain that he had.

 

                L.T. saw many kids he knew the previous year, some in their little groups, others sitting along the ends and walks of the hallway, maybe reading. One thing about his school was that it was diversified, that loners weren’t picked on as much as what he had heard. Many kids here fought and picked on their own kind, from what he saw for the most part. But then there were some instances he noticed that it didn’t matter who or what you were, if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, you was going to have something happen to you. Like that retard kid and those Mexicans he thought as he strolled along with Miss Long. He didn’t really feel like playing this woman’s game of ‘help me help you’ but he went along anyway. He decided that she did have a good heart and that she did care to some extent but she was pretty much useless when it came to his situation back home. The only one that can fix that is me. He observed some students sitting along the wall line when his eyes couldn’t stop staring at this particular site. He didn’t think he seen anything, maybe imagination, but he definitely seen something- knew he seen something.

                A beautiful girl, long jet black hair sitting by herself alone against the wall. She was reading something. He couldn’t see her eyes but she had a type of aura that seemed to be attracting him to her. He felt his heart beat skip and the world began to collapse into tunnel vision. Her skin was pale white, knew she couldn’t have been ‘white’. He had a sense of these things in this school any school. As he passed by her, his head had spun almost backwards trying to convince himself if he had seen what he had seen. The girl had a black long sleeve shirt on one end and on the other it was cut off into a regular t-shirt.  He thought he had seen her lift her sleeve up slightly to his witness to see lines all over her arm. Cuts with red outlined over them- many of them. In only of that quarter inch of sleeve she had raised, it had to be more then 7 or 8 different slashes in her skin. He thought he saw an upside down cross but almost as if coming out of a trance like state, the tunnel vision stopped- and everything was back to normal.

                “Is something the matter Leon?” Miss Long said.

Did she not see it? How could she not have? Couldn’t feel it?  The only thing he wanted to do is get his lunch and try to see her. If he could maybe he would ask her, but he doubt he would have the courage for that. Mostly he wanted to feel that feeling again, he couldn’t describe it but it almost he thought it felt like death, if that was possible. Did she notice him? When he got his meal- a bag of ruffles originals and a chocolate chip cookie- he looked towards the same spot again to see if he could find her. But she was gone as if she had never existed.

 

                “I cant believe that’s all your going to get, Leon!” He didn’t see what was so hard to believe about it. A bag of chips and a chocolate chip cookie- one for fulfillment and the other loaded with sugar to keep him up.

                “I’m just not feeling that hungry, all I want to do is finish this test.” He told her. She put her hands on her side as if she was his mom and looked in disapproval at him. He wanted to smile at this but didn’t. He just tried to keep his serious face on to let her know he was dead serious on finishing this test.

 

 

IV