Too Much

Chapter 8

Too Much

I must've been really tired. A campus officer woke me up at 8:30 this morning. Curfew 12 has initiated. I had to step out of the dorm and head for the showers. The reason I don't take showers is because of the publicity.

Why almost everyone takes showers at 9a.m. is beyond me. I wish that it was as simple as get in and get out, but no. I took off my shirt and then there was silence.

"Hey Satteo... Is everything ok," Mark commented.

"Yeah, except for Curfew 12. Just started that," I replied.

"Oh...well..."

"He was asking about the scars," Timmy exclaimed.

"It's really nothing. All in the past."

"Not those."

"It won't happen again." It felt like everyone was watching me. I took a shower as fast as I could and got out.  I quickly threw on some clothes and I headed out.

I had a class this morning here on main campus at Jacob West. This building is  a five story block that sits squarely in place. I went there for my final English credit which happened to be literature. The professor that teaches this class is harshly strict. He only takes responses from lit majoring students. I took his class freshmen year and failed it, but I and fifteen other students slummed through out of the four hundred that started out.

I kept good notes back then, so I may actually pass this class. About three hundred students attended this year. It went silent when the professor got up to the podium.

"Attention all," he addressed, "My name is doctor Ritz Pavork. Here are my rules; the first five rows are for lit majors only, you do not talk unless told to, cell phones are prohibited, homework must be turned in before class, and all my grades are final. My assistants are not helpful and so if you are failing this class it is up to you to fix it. So, if you want to leave now, please do so." About twenty students left. The class went on with a lecture and then we got our first assignment. We had to write a three page analysis on the summary of the book Uncle Tom's Cabin that is due next week.

My next class was at Samule East. I have a consult with a real composer for an upcoming show for the end of the school year. It was a bit of a walk, but I was quickly accompanied by Nathan.

"So..." he started

"Well hello to you too."

"I heard that you're on probation. Are you ok? What's going on?"

"I'm surprised you're not on probation. The difference is that I have a history; a case file an inch thick. I'm on probation again. The first time I was on probation I started making my name here as a means not to cut myself. So, I'm not doing ok and I'm afraid of going back to being a s**t. It almost killed me."

"So..."

"I haven't had a relationship in five years. For all I know I could be the worst boyfriend. But Nat, I will try for you."

"I am scared, though."

"Of what."

"You know."

"No, I don't... When I opened up I was less fearful. When I lost it I never regretted it. Being me was no longer scary once I was honest."

"Admirable, but not everyone can be you." Nathan walked away at this point.

“Really?” I walked alone again to Samule East. I got there earlier than I’d expected. I sat in the foyer for a while. The foyer was filled with a wall of books on the history of music.  This old guy looked at me quizzically.

“Aren’t you the piano player at Hillard,” he asked.

“Hillard doesn’t have a piano.”

“No, no. I mean the piano player that lives in Hillard.”

“Yes. My name is Satteo Oswald.”

“Doctor Marshal P. Sullivan.”

“That name sounds familiar.”

“I am the Director of the Performing Arts here.”

“It’s an honor to be meeting you.”

“Well someone has to read these book.”

"Do you have a favorite?"

"Composer John Milton Cage Junior. Oh the things he did. Et toi?"

"...Igor Stravorsky...or...E.S. Posthumous."

"Twenty first century composers are a bit much for me. In my opinion, they overdo everything. Heck, some of the students do that on a regular basis."

"I love Epics from the twenty first century. They make everything grand."

"True, but it stereotyped music."

"That is what I am trying to achieve. Un-stereotyped Epics."

"Your almost there."

"Thanks." We both went to my consultation and they both liked my progress. There were some patching and suggestions tossed around, but Dr. Sullivan was debating its legibility. Apparently debating, even if it is not debatable, filters out bad ideas and boost your morale when getting critiqued.

The session ran a little late. It was time for lunch, but I wasn't hungry. Instead I went to doctor Saint's office. He was finishing up with another student and then hailed me in.

"How are you doing," he asked.

"Just fine."

"The argument with Nathan didn't rattle you?"

"No."

"I just thought..."

"We are different."

"Why did you feel that he needed to be enabled?"

"Talking would solve nothing. I had to get to his level to help him up."

"Why did you have sex with him?"

"He... It turned up like that. It started with a kiss and..."

 "Did you want it?"

"Not really."

"Then why did you put your hands on him like that?"

"Uh... Session's done!" I ran out like the building was on fire. He did bring up a good point, though. The cuts were starting to itch. I went back to Hillard and just sat on the couch. Sam and Timmy were playing video games, Mark and Hank were talking about classes, Dan and Sebastion were making out, Hershel and Clyde were studying, and Nathan was reading a book.

When Car broke up with me, I was already out of the closet. There were some guys who took advantage of that to hurt me. I stayed true to Car even though he ran away from me.

I lived in this one foster home full of teens. When they found out about me, they didn't bully me or hurt me. They wanted to know why. It soon went around that I was the only one willing to go to my knees for them to find out about themselves. Strange as it was, I started to like it. Rumors started spreading and I did not stop it. It was the worst mistake of my life, but sometimes I wanted to go back. And so, I went two years of college as the gay prostitute. I made more money than playing the piano.