The Insatiable

Chapter 19: The Insatiable

He woke up the next morning satisfied with the amount of sleep he’d gotten. He wasn’t sure what to do on a Saturday morning. Remembering that next week was the class field trip, he recalled he never got the permission slip signed. Neither of his parents seemed to be home. He called his mother, tapping his foot on the floor while sitting on the couch waiting for the line to be connected. “Hey Trev, what’re you up to?” she asked. “Um, not much, I woke up a few minutes ago. I have a permission slip I need you to sign.”

            “I’m not there right now, so you know I can’t.” she said.. “I’ll leave it on the hall table. Please don’t forget when you get home.”

“Awesome.” Trevor thought as he hung up the phone. He placed his phone on the dresser and went to the computer. He turned it on and it whirred gallantly to its desktop screen. He immediately logged into his Myspace. From the events of last night, which were a blur in lieu of his tiredness. He did have a message back. As anticipated it was her. She had replied somewhere around nine a.m. “Yes, at some point. Let me know if you can ever come see me. :)” it read. He was insatiable. Now he knew he had something to do whenever he could find the means to do so. Now he had to figure out how to get ready for the field trip next week. He’d already turned in his report for the 20^th century literature assignment, so there was practically nothing left to do. It just struck him. High school, at least in the school sense of the term, was over. He wasn’t sure whether to revel in the fact, or be disappointed there was no more work to do or things to learn about, Trev concluded that this was silly, and there was plenty to know. So he got some clothes ready for the day he would go to the festival. Thinking it might be quite warm, yet unsure, he chose some baggier jeans and a fitting shirt. He never usually liked to wear one tighter piece of clothing or one loose. Always one or the other. With that out of the way, he left a note next to the form he’d left out and thought to say please and thank you for once in his life. Instead of contacting Jamie or David he chose to do neither. Instead he blasted some music. Some kind of death metal music that had to do with subjects such as love and relationships, or the lack there-of; oddly enough. So he could tell anyway. It wasn’t shabby, honestly. Loving every minute of it, he was then unsure of what to do. He opened his binder one last time and finding there wasn’t anything worth working on he started writing anyway.

           

Grabbing a class notebook that hadn’t been quite as filled; something like computer communications, and thought to write lyrics, however, what came out was a story. One about a boy and a girl that took time to go to the fair, but never rode any of the rides. Just walked and talked until their heels were sore. It started off and evolved into a showcase for a relationship in his mind. As he spun it into a tale about how the boy felt contained in his life as a salesmen; And the girl, well, she felt isolated from everyone she knew as she sacrificed all she knew for the boy she so dearly cared about. He was wondering just how this came to mind. After a few minutes break, he ceased to be concerned with that and got back at it. Liking the ease and complacent value of zero accountability that he could see from writing a made up version of a romance he wasn’t sure he would even want to actually have. In a revelation of sorts he realized this was the single most enjoyable moment of his life at this point. He could not think of a time he’d been more pleased with himself in any one experience in his very existence. Over the course of the next few hours, he had opened up some of his English assignments as he fancied some reference for awkward creative writing. He’d done a lot of that in “lit” class. None compared to what he was working on now. But, it was interesting all the same. Haphazardly, he flung the binder labeled journalism. It wasn’t lengthy. This kind of bothered him. “Oh well. Quality over quantity.” He shrugged it off. Trevor became bored after making considerable effort into his newly concocted fictional creation. Binging on Mt. Dew and chips like any red-blooded teenager. He booted up an old game system and had some fun with his almost ancient games, one about a repair man who battled characteristically flawed monsters in a world where a queen ruled a fantasy land for no explicable reason. Trevor laughed as he punched a tree-frog-like thing in the face and it blooped out of sight. He sighed as he shut it off. Afterword, going to retrieve some dinner his dad had made earlier. Trevor didn’t speak much to his parents. Mom had signed the permission slip and he was grateful for it. He contemplated if this had something to do with his fascination with outwardly imagining himself in some other type of lifestyle. He decided it didn’t matter. This was the way he wanted to be and that wasn’t going to change. So after a while of preparation he went to bed.

            He pained with hunger so he ate something. Then as a feeling of sustainment set in, he was wondering what he should do. On any other Sunday, he’d be sleeping in or figuring out what to do to prepare for the following Monday. But, this was no ordinary Sunday. He was unsure of his situation, responsibilities, and his love life. Anything in general really. So he took his books and looked through the pages of one portion of the English textbook. He wasn’t sure whether to analyze as something denoting the way he shouldn’t be or should. So he tried to see the outcome as both, to determine if he should focus on the present time or fighting Don’s enemies, or his own, he wasn’t really sure who anyone was. To fight or die. What were the reasons. What was their purpose, and what was his own. Never really something that occurred to Trevor before. He didn’t think anything was coming after him because of someone else. Of course, there was legitimacy in what he had and like any placement before now he had to wonder why he would have to do what he would do. But, that wasn’t the worst part of it.
Begging for answers he knew he couldn’t get by any traditional means. He wore the story out in the textbook till it had turned in to four-stories down. “Oh yeah, finished Romeo and Juliet.” He thought. Unsure as to how he’d forgotten that. The unopened window had to free the air from the occupied room. Though, he loosened the bolt too fast and jammed his hand in the latch. It hurt for an instance, but he held it like it had been slammed in a car door. The entirety of Sunday was the reading he’d done.