R46, R52, R6
Title: Waste, Waste Part II, Speak, Flying
Characters: Silver, Giovanni, Pearl, Lawrence III (Jirarudan)
POV: Silver
Notes: AHHH SO LONG
The views expressed by any characters in the following post are not necessarily views shared by me.
Waste: Part I
“Son, I must speak with you for a minute.”
The moment he steps into the room, I know that something is wrong. I quickly run through the list of anything I might have done recently. My grades are in good shape, no tardies to class, no absences, no cajoling Ma’m to sexually harass any of my classmates- oh no, he couldn’t have found out about the Petersons’ dog, could he?
“Dad, well, it wasn’t-“
I shut up as he pulls up a chair next to me and smiles nervously. “So, son, what do you know about propaganda?”
Oh. Great. The whole airbrushed-models talk. Someone must have given him a pamphlet on body image or something. “Like commercials? The models are never real, and you needa research your stuff before you buy it because the ads might be lying.”
He shakes his head. “No, I mean political propaganda. You see, son, when I was… In the Old Business, news reports liked to say that I would get up and just shoot someone because I didn’t like them. Now, son, that is a total straight-faced lie. Do you think I would do something like that? Cold-bloodedly shoot five men in a day just because I wanted to?”
I stifle a laugh. “Of course not!”
“Yes, son. So you see, that was slander. A political lie to make me look bad. I would never kill five people in one day unless if they were stealing from the Business.” He nods. “Same with public beatings. I would never had walked to another man and broken his arms and legs if that man hadn’t been looking at your mother inappropriately.”
I’m used to it. “Yes, Dad.”
He smiles. “So, you understand political propaganda, son?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
I expect him to end it there, but he looks troubled. “Well, son, you know that there is a man convicted of High Treason for assassination planning and political conspiracy?”
Heck, duh I know! You can’t not know when the poor sod’s face is plastered all over the news and on the school bulletin. Dangerous fellow. If you see him, call 911. I’ve tried to ignore it, but when it’s being shoved in my face any time I walk outside my house… “Yeah, I know. The school had to do a weird presentation on it and I threw a paper airplane at the speaker because he went over time.”
Dad beams. “Good job, son! Always assert your rights!” But he sobers again. “Well, those are all political lies too. The man in question has not done any of that. I would be very surprised if he even knew who the prime minister is right now. He is an eccentric but harmless soul, and he shouldn’t have this happening to him. You see, he is innocent of everything charged.” Dad spreads his hands. “Do you believe me?”
Hah! Ask me who I trust- a bunch of posters or my own father. “Sure, I guess!”
Dad smiles. “Good. Now, son, I assure you, he would not hurt a ladybug.”
“I get it, Dad. But… What’s this about?”
For a moment, Dad wrinkles his eyebrows. “Well, son, the man in question is hidden in the cellar.”
“DAD, THE GOVERNMENT’S GOING TO COME AND KILL US-“
“Don’t worry, son! They’ve been trying for fifty years! Do not worry. If they discover him, we have planned to make it look like he just snuck into an innocent family’s home. You are perfectly safe, son, and it is only for a week. I would never put us in danger, son!”
“No, I mean, what if anyone finds out? We already stick out around here as is!”
“I have been hiding people since I was seventeen,” Dad says pompously. “Besides, haven’t you always wanted to help a soul in need?” he asks piteously.
“…Have you, Dad?”
“Well, no. But that is beside the point.” He smiles sheepishly. “I thought you might like him. He is an interesting fellow and can help you with your homework. He designs aircrafts.”
Hey- way cool! I pretend to look apprehensive. “…I guess.”
“Would you like to speak with him? Since he will be staying with us until his fake papers expire so he can leave the country, you might get to know him?” Dad asks cheerfully.
Huh. Well, why not? I’m sort of wondering why the government’s so mad at the fellow. “Hmm.”
The first thing I notice is that he is young- or at least compared to Dad he is. I’d pin his age at around late thirties, early forties. I was expecting that he would be as old as Dad. So it’s obviously not one of his partners from his “Old Business.”
The second thing I notice is that he looks like an angel. Like the type of face that belongs in the Classical section of an art museum. Bloody beautiful. He certainly doesn’t look anything like the rough sketches pinned up on the news. I half expect him to sprout wings and flap away. I wonder if his name’s Gabriel.
He stands up and bows a little when Dad walks in with me, and Dad responds with a small nod.
“Son, this is Lawrence III. Lawrence, my son.”
The man, now with a name, brings his hand out. A few seconds pass before I remember I’m supposed to shake hands. “Oh- oops. Nice to meet you,” I say. His skin feels strangely cold.
“So you are the child I have heard about.” Lawrence smiles- it’s a funny little half-smile, like a twitch of one. “I would be glad to help with your schoolwork.”
“Remember, if he asks you to do an assignment for him, don’t,” Dad reminds him, then smiles at me. “Of course you wouldn’t, but just in case.”
“’Course not, Dad. Mister, why is the government after you?”
Dad freezes. “Son! That is not a very polite question!”
But Lawrence smiles again. He looks like he is about to laugh. “I have never killed a creature in my life, not even for food. I assure you, I would never kill the our good minister.”
I shake my head. “Dad told me.”
Lawrence looks surprised. “Ah! The great Mister defends my reputation.”
Dad shrugs. “It’s the truth. I’ve known you since you were in the university, Lawrence. You are harmless.”
“Thank you, Mister, I am sure that is a compliment.”
“So why are you in hiding?” I repeat. Geez. Why can’t anyone give me a straight answer.
“Do you mind, Sir?” Lawrence asks Dad. Dad waves his consent. Lawrence turns to me.
Dad clears his throat. “Well, son, in other parts of this country, people have… Different values, you see.”
Lawrence nods. “They seek to arrest me for being homosexual.”
Okay, so here, I’ll admit that I’ve never really thought about gay people before. It’s appeared on the news, what with court cases here and there and stuff. But still, for me, it has a certain ick-factor. I can’t help it. It just seems gross! I guess it’s the way that some people think that Casu Marzu is gross. It’s not something I can help. Gayness is just gross.
Evidently, Dad doesn’t think so, because he nods indignantly. “And people say that we are out of the nineteenth century! Even though you are not a citizen, I do not think that the government here can do that, if they so pride justice and liberty.”
"Well, with the recent backlash against people like me, they are. You keep your ear to the society, Mister, don't you see that now homosexuality is socially unacceptable? And with that fuel, the government stomps down too. A contact told me that enforcers are currently being much harder on gay bars than strip clubs."
"Injustice, because both types of bars are relatively simple to extort fees from," Dad says.
"Of course, they are also seeking me out for advocating a completely free market system. The fact that I am a homosexual just makes it easier."
I look down at my feet. I feel like a jerk, but I can’t help it. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mister Lawrence, but I have to go do homework now.” I turn to leave, but Dad stops me.
“I thought that you had a worksheet on meteorology that you needed help with?” he asks.
“No, I’ve figured it out, hah, and I can always ask my friends.” I slide out of the room.
52: Waste: Part II
I have no choice. The test is tomorrow, so I knock on the cellar door.
“Please, come in.” His voice is strangely melodic. I push the door open and enter.
Lawrence is sitting on a cot that Dad put a mattress on. He stands up and shakes his shoulders, flinging the wrinkles off of his coat.
“How are you?” I ask, talking to his collarbone.
“Thanks to your father’s generosity, very good,” he says, watching me.
I avoid his face. “Er… The teacher didn’t explain this part really well and I don’t know how to find the answer.” I thrust the paper to him.
“Won’t you sit down?” Lawrence asks courteously. “This is your house, after all.”
“I’m fine.”
Lawrence studies a paper for a bit, then starts speaking. “Basically, the barometer measure air pressure, and air pressure affects the weather because…”
I can’t really concentrate on his explanation. I feel a bit uncomfortable.
“…And that is the basic part of it. Do you understand?” He hands the paper back to me.
“…Yes.”
“No, you were not even listening.”
My head jerks up. “I-I was!”
Lawrence gives his funny half-smile. “I understand if my… Sexual orientation makes you uneasy.”
“Wait, so if you get married, are you the bride or the groom?”
Lawrence looks surprised. “The groom, I suppose. I am homosexual, not transgender.”
Huh. I always thought it was the same thing.
Lawrence waves a hand. “But it doesn’t matter. I came out saying that I preferred men, and look where it has gotten me.”
Yeah, thanks for making me feel like a total jerk. “But where are you going from now?” I hear myself asking.
He shrugs. “It is about time I got back to… My duties.” He nearly spits the word. “My inheritance back in Great Britain. They will need a lord back soon, won’t they?” He turns away. “So. Let us start from the beginning again. I suppose your teachers wants you to approximate air pressure by using hydrostatic pressure…”
Oh God. Here it goes again. I can’t concentrate. I don’t want to be in the same room as this man. It’s illogical, but I keep thinking, ‘Oh God, a gay, a gay, a gay.’ I know it’s bad. I know it’s unjust. I should be seeing him as a guy who designs aircrafts and studies the weather, not just a gay. It’s vaguely sickening.
“…So when you are in a higher altitude, the air pressure is lower than if you were at sea level.” He crosses his hands. “Do you understand now?”
I wonder if he likes to wear dresses.
“Excuse me? Do you understand that explanation?”
“Uh- well, I’ll just go for tutoring early tomorrow. Thanks, Mister Lawrence.” I pick up my paper and leave, closing the door behind me.
Dad can’t help me.
“Son, what does this word mean?”
“Barometer. It’s… Umm… You use it for measuring air pressure.
“Oh! A barometro! I see. So you take the… The… Son, I’m afraid that I’m not sure what this word is…”
“Hydrostatic… Well, I’m not sure either. Here’s the definition.”
Five minutes pass as Dad reads the entire section on hydrostatic pressure. “Ah! You are talking about pressione idrostatica. You obtain this value by dividing the…” A frown crosses his face. “The… Let me look it up in the English dictionary. Ah… This doesn’t have anything to do with taxonomy, does it?”
“Nope.”
“Nevermind. Son, I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue what many of these words are! Have you asked Lawrence for help? He knows what all these terms are in English.”
I hang my head.
“Son?” Dad touches my shoulder. “What is wrong?”
“He’s gay, okay? I don’t like it that he’s gay! I’m a jerk, okay?” I snarl, throwing the papers at him. “Stop shoving it in my face!”
Dad looks so bewildered and hurt that I instantly regret it.
“Sorry, Dad. It’s just that… Well… I never thought of myself as a bigot. I mean, I hate all those people who go around shoving their morals on other peoples and stuff. And now… Well, I can’t not think gays are gross! They’re gross! And so I’m one of those bigot people now! But I can’t help it! Okay? Okay?”
Outside, a few white birds flutter onto Dad’s birdfeeder. The clock ticks silently behind us. Then I realize that not only was I shouting very, very loud, but the cellar door isn’t all that thick. In my mind’s eye, I see Lawrence sitting on the mattress and listening to all the hate he must be running away from.
“When I first met your mother,” Dad says quietly, “The first thing I thought was that she wasn’t Sicilian or Italian. I thought she was Irish. I saw her, and immediately started assigning all sorts of negative things to her. Like, she wore a low-cut dress, so she must be a gold digger. She wore cheap perfume, so she must be trashy.” He shakes his head ruefully. “I am ashamed to have thought that way. I knew it was a bad thing, and bad for business, but I couldn’t help it. Son, you recognize that hating someone for being different is wrong. That is better than many adults can do. You aren’t a bad person, you know.”
46: Speak
I never see our houseguest, but I can feel his presence. So I made every excuse to head out- tutoring sessions in the morning, staying late after school for projects.
Naturally, Ma’m caught me after six days.
Literally, actually. She sinks her inch-long nails into my shoulder.
“Why don’t you go talk to your dad’s friend?” she asks.
“I have homework.”
“Good. He can help you.” It’s hard to argue with your mother when she’s not adverse to picking you up by your collar and marching you down the stairs. It’s interesting, how she only has one eye and can see things that no one else does.
Lawrence is sitting with his back to the door, but he turns around when the door opens. Ma’m never knocks, so anyone could tell who was coming in.
“Hey, Larry.” Ma’m grins as he flinches at his name. “Bought the kid here. He’d like to talk to you. Seeya.” She pushes me in and leaves.
That’s what Ma’m does. I’m left standing like a legless goat.
“I do not think your mother bought you here for a chat?” he asks smoothly.
“Actually she did. I’ve been avoiding you,” I say bluntly.
“I understand. You may want to sit on the opposite side of the room, if I make you that uncomfortable.” It’s not an accusation. But it is horrible in the way that Lawrence seems so casual about it, and I realize, he’s used to it.
“Dad says you hid away on an airplane for more than ten years.”
“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact.” He folds his hands. “However, it was not an airplane. I prefer to call it a floating palace. Much different from an airplane, you see.”
Oh great. It’s like when I told Dad that Sicily was a part of Italy. “I see.” A silence drags on. Once again, I see that Lawrence is used to it. “Why?”
“It is a long story.” I get the feeling that he has been expecting me to ask about it.
“Well, just tell me, I guess.”
“I like beautiful things. Beautiful art, beautiful architecture, beautiful pokemon. I grew up very privileged, and I could never stand ugliness.” Lawrence continues twisting his ring around. “I thought that since I understood people, they would understand me too, and they would see past one harmless trait of me and still understand me. I was wrong. When I announced my preferences, things became… Very ugly.”
“They didn’t lynch your or anything, did they?”
He shook his head. “No. Us upper-class citizens have much subtler ways or hurting each other.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I was young. I thought that I would be safe. I was young, I was young, and I wanted everyone to come to terms with who I was. Who I still am. As I said, I cannot stand ugliness. So one day, I… I just flew away from it all. I lived all alone and surrounded myself in beauty. But then I was confronted that it was an illusion. Just a trick of my own mind. The ugliness of people… It is too real, don’t you think?”
“I think.” I kick my feet. “It’s also contagious.”
“It is.” He pulls on one of his curls and his face gets a distant sort of look. “You see, I hated myself at first. I thought the same thing you are thinking right now.” His lip twitches a bit.
I duck my head in shame. “How did you get out of it?”
He shrugs. “I had to. It was either that or spend the rest of my life wallowing in self-hatred.”
I think I see. “Yeah. Like it was either learn to love my father or spend the rest of my life…”
“You’ve made that choice, haven’t you?” Lawrence tilts his head. “I can believe that you hated him initially.”
“Ah first,” I admit.
“To some degree, we cannot control our emotions. But wouldn’t you say that because you made an active effort to love your father, that has gotten you to where you are now?”
“I hated him at first. I mean, my friends and I fought against him. He was evil. Well, I guess a lot of what he did was pretty bad.”
“Yet you learned to love him.” Lawrence gives a little half-smile again.
I look away from him and scan the room carefully. The only thing that Lawrence had bought was a very large antique trunk. “What’s in that trunk?”
“The most important thing in the world,” he replies simply. I get the feeling that I won’t get any other answer than that. I nod to him and get up.
“I don’t get it.”
His lip twitches again.
“Nice talking to you,” I say. I don’t meet his eyes as I leave the cellar.
6: Flying
It took me hours of speech-making to convince Dad to let me walk home alone, but today it’s especially worth it. The air is slightly chilly and the sunlight is crisp through the trees.
Squish. I stop as something gives under my foot. I realize that I had walked off of the cement path while looking at the sky, and my foot is a centimeter sunken into the wet soil. Gingerly, I pull my shoe out.
“How sad.” It seems that I had crushed a dandelion sprout. Its soft green stalk and immature leaves are trodden down and half-ripped off from its roots. Just a moment ago, it was going to grow into a spring flower. Now it will just be more dirt. White sap bleeds out from the broken stem. I bend down and prod it with my finger. The soft plant gives a bit, and I pick it up in my hands.
Then it hits me. My eyes widen, and I clutch at the little dying plant and sprint all the way home.
I throw my backpack down in the kitchen and race to the cellar. Without knocking, I fling the door open.
“Mister Lawrence! I got it-“ I stop. The cellar is empty of any person. It has gone back to storing boxes and other supplies. “Mister…?”
The soft thumping of slippers echoes behind me. I turn around, expecting to see Mister Lawrence.
But it’s Ma’m. She gives me a questioning look. “What are you doing down here, kid?”
I wave the dandelion shoot I crushed in front of me. “Where’s Mister Lawrence? I have something important to tell him!”
Ma’m gives me a look. “Kiddo, he left this morning. He’s on a ship back to Great Britain. Why?”
My jaw drops. “But I have to tell him-“
Ma’m shrugs and heads up the stairs and out of the cellars, leaving me alone.
“I just got it!” I sigh. There is a sudden sadness, like air whooshing out of a balloon or rain dripping down a window. I spy the cot folded up and leaning against the wall and go over to it. There is a thin layer of dust motes gathering already. I wipe it off with my finger.
The cellar stairs creak behind me, and Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. “Son?”
“I had something important to say. About his trunk, and his airplane- err, flying thing, and running away, and ugliness and pretty things-“ I begin, but stop. “Will I ever be able to tell him?”
“I don’t think so. You can tell yourself, though.”
“I’m not ugly anymore,” I say. It’s strange how someone I had only known for a day is so significant. Dad takes my hand and leads me out of the cellar.
Outside, young plants poke out of the soil, and the air is as clear as glass. A few birds land on the birdfeeder, then fly away.
.
Characters: Silver, Giovanni, Pearl, Lawrence III (Jirarudan)
POV: Silver
Notes: AHHH SO LONG
The views expressed by any characters in the following post are not necessarily views shared by me.
Waste: Part I
“Son, I must speak with you for a minute.”
The moment he steps into the room, I know that something is wrong. I quickly run through the list of anything I might have done recently. My grades are in good shape, no tardies to class, no absences, no cajoling Ma’m to sexually harass any of my classmates- oh no, he couldn’t have found out about the Petersons’ dog, could he?
“Dad, well, it wasn’t-“
I shut up as he pulls up a chair next to me and smiles nervously. “So, son, what do you know about propaganda?”
Oh. Great. The whole airbrushed-models talk. Someone must have given him a pamphlet on body image or something. “Like commercials? The models are never real, and you needa research your stuff before you buy it because the ads might be lying.”
He shakes his head. “No, I mean political propaganda. You see, son, when I was… In the Old Business, news reports liked to say that I would get up and just shoot someone because I didn’t like them. Now, son, that is a total straight-faced lie. Do you think I would do something like that? Cold-bloodedly shoot five men in a day just because I wanted to?”
I stifle a laugh. “Of course not!”
“Yes, son. So you see, that was slander. A political lie to make me look bad. I would never kill five people in one day unless if they were stealing from the Business.” He nods. “Same with public beatings. I would never had walked to another man and broken his arms and legs if that man hadn’t been looking at your mother inappropriately.”
I’m used to it. “Yes, Dad.”
He smiles. “So, you understand political propaganda, son?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
I expect him to end it there, but he looks troubled. “Well, son, you know that there is a man convicted of High Treason for assassination planning and political conspiracy?”
Heck, duh I know! You can’t not know when the poor sod’s face is plastered all over the news and on the school bulletin. Dangerous fellow. If you see him, call 911. I’ve tried to ignore it, but when it’s being shoved in my face any time I walk outside my house… “Yeah, I know. The school had to do a weird presentation on it and I threw a paper airplane at the speaker because he went over time.”
Dad beams. “Good job, son! Always assert your rights!” But he sobers again. “Well, those are all political lies too. The man in question has not done any of that. I would be very surprised if he even knew who the prime minister is right now. He is an eccentric but harmless soul, and he shouldn’t have this happening to him. You see, he is innocent of everything charged.” Dad spreads his hands. “Do you believe me?”
Hah! Ask me who I trust- a bunch of posters or my own father. “Sure, I guess!”
Dad smiles. “Good. Now, son, I assure you, he would not hurt a ladybug.”
“I get it, Dad. But… What’s this about?”
For a moment, Dad wrinkles his eyebrows. “Well, son, the man in question is hidden in the cellar.”
“DAD, THE GOVERNMENT’S GOING TO COME AND KILL US-“
“Don’t worry, son! They’ve been trying for fifty years! Do not worry. If they discover him, we have planned to make it look like he just snuck into an innocent family’s home. You are perfectly safe, son, and it is only for a week. I would never put us in danger, son!”
“No, I mean, what if anyone finds out? We already stick out around here as is!”
“I have been hiding people since I was seventeen,” Dad says pompously. “Besides, haven’t you always wanted to help a soul in need?” he asks piteously.
“…Have you, Dad?”
“Well, no. But that is beside the point.” He smiles sheepishly. “I thought you might like him. He is an interesting fellow and can help you with your homework. He designs aircrafts.”
Hey- way cool! I pretend to look apprehensive. “…I guess.”
“Would you like to speak with him? Since he will be staying with us until his fake papers expire so he can leave the country, you might get to know him?” Dad asks cheerfully.
Huh. Well, why not? I’m sort of wondering why the government’s so mad at the fellow. “Hmm.”
The first thing I notice is that he is young- or at least compared to Dad he is. I’d pin his age at around late thirties, early forties. I was expecting that he would be as old as Dad. So it’s obviously not one of his partners from his “Old Business.”
The second thing I notice is that he looks like an angel. Like the type of face that belongs in the Classical section of an art museum. Bloody beautiful. He certainly doesn’t look anything like the rough sketches pinned up on the news. I half expect him to sprout wings and flap away. I wonder if his name’s Gabriel.
He stands up and bows a little when Dad walks in with me, and Dad responds with a small nod.
“Son, this is Lawrence III. Lawrence, my son.”
The man, now with a name, brings his hand out. A few seconds pass before I remember I’m supposed to shake hands. “Oh- oops. Nice to meet you,” I say. His skin feels strangely cold.
“So you are the child I have heard about.” Lawrence smiles- it’s a funny little half-smile, like a twitch of one. “I would be glad to help with your schoolwork.”
“Remember, if he asks you to do an assignment for him, don’t,” Dad reminds him, then smiles at me. “Of course you wouldn’t, but just in case.”
“’Course not, Dad. Mister, why is the government after you?”
Dad freezes. “Son! That is not a very polite question!”
But Lawrence smiles again. He looks like he is about to laugh. “I have never killed a creature in my life, not even for food. I assure you, I would never kill the our good minister.”
I shake my head. “Dad told me.”
Lawrence looks surprised. “Ah! The great Mister defends my reputation.”
Dad shrugs. “It’s the truth. I’ve known you since you were in the university, Lawrence. You are harmless.”
“Thank you, Mister, I am sure that is a compliment.”
“So why are you in hiding?” I repeat. Geez. Why can’t anyone give me a straight answer.
“Do you mind, Sir?” Lawrence asks Dad. Dad waves his consent. Lawrence turns to me.
Dad clears his throat. “Well, son, in other parts of this country, people have… Different values, you see.”
Lawrence nods. “They seek to arrest me for being homosexual.”
Okay, so here, I’ll admit that I’ve never really thought about gay people before. It’s appeared on the news, what with court cases here and there and stuff. But still, for me, it has a certain ick-factor. I can’t help it. It just seems gross! I guess it’s the way that some people think that Casu Marzu is gross. It’s not something I can help. Gayness is just gross.
Evidently, Dad doesn’t think so, because he nods indignantly. “And people say that we are out of the nineteenth century! Even though you are not a citizen, I do not think that the government here can do that, if they so pride justice and liberty.”
"Well, with the recent backlash against people like me, they are. You keep your ear to the society, Mister, don't you see that now homosexuality is socially unacceptable? And with that fuel, the government stomps down too. A contact told me that enforcers are currently being much harder on gay bars than strip clubs."
"Injustice, because both types of bars are relatively simple to extort fees from," Dad says.
"Of course, they are also seeking me out for advocating a completely free market system. The fact that I am a homosexual just makes it easier."
I look down at my feet. I feel like a jerk, but I can’t help it. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mister Lawrence, but I have to go do homework now.” I turn to leave, but Dad stops me.
“I thought that you had a worksheet on meteorology that you needed help with?” he asks.
“No, I’ve figured it out, hah, and I can always ask my friends.” I slide out of the room.
52: Waste: Part II
I have no choice. The test is tomorrow, so I knock on the cellar door.
“Please, come in.” His voice is strangely melodic. I push the door open and enter.
Lawrence is sitting on a cot that Dad put a mattress on. He stands up and shakes his shoulders, flinging the wrinkles off of his coat.
“How are you?” I ask, talking to his collarbone.
“Thanks to your father’s generosity, very good,” he says, watching me.
I avoid his face. “Er… The teacher didn’t explain this part really well and I don’t know how to find the answer.” I thrust the paper to him.
“Won’t you sit down?” Lawrence asks courteously. “This is your house, after all.”
“I’m fine.”
Lawrence studies a paper for a bit, then starts speaking. “Basically, the barometer measure air pressure, and air pressure affects the weather because…”
I can’t really concentrate on his explanation. I feel a bit uncomfortable.
“…And that is the basic part of it. Do you understand?” He hands the paper back to me.
“…Yes.”
“No, you were not even listening.”
My head jerks up. “I-I was!”
Lawrence gives his funny half-smile. “I understand if my… Sexual orientation makes you uneasy.”
“Wait, so if you get married, are you the bride or the groom?”
Lawrence looks surprised. “The groom, I suppose. I am homosexual, not transgender.”
Huh. I always thought it was the same thing.
Lawrence waves a hand. “But it doesn’t matter. I came out saying that I preferred men, and look where it has gotten me.”
Yeah, thanks for making me feel like a total jerk. “But where are you going from now?” I hear myself asking.
He shrugs. “It is about time I got back to… My duties.” He nearly spits the word. “My inheritance back in Great Britain. They will need a lord back soon, won’t they?” He turns away. “So. Let us start from the beginning again. I suppose your teachers wants you to approximate air pressure by using hydrostatic pressure…”
Oh God. Here it goes again. I can’t concentrate. I don’t want to be in the same room as this man. It’s illogical, but I keep thinking, ‘Oh God, a gay, a gay, a gay.’ I know it’s bad. I know it’s unjust. I should be seeing him as a guy who designs aircrafts and studies the weather, not just a gay. It’s vaguely sickening.
“…So when you are in a higher altitude, the air pressure is lower than if you were at sea level.” He crosses his hands. “Do you understand now?”
I wonder if he likes to wear dresses.
“Excuse me? Do you understand that explanation?”
“Uh- well, I’ll just go for tutoring early tomorrow. Thanks, Mister Lawrence.” I pick up my paper and leave, closing the door behind me.
Dad can’t help me.
“Son, what does this word mean?”
“Barometer. It’s… Umm… You use it for measuring air pressure.
“Oh! A barometro! I see. So you take the… The… Son, I’m afraid that I’m not sure what this word is…”
“Hydrostatic… Well, I’m not sure either. Here’s the definition.”
Five minutes pass as Dad reads the entire section on hydrostatic pressure. “Ah! You are talking about pressione idrostatica. You obtain this value by dividing the…” A frown crosses his face. “The… Let me look it up in the English dictionary. Ah… This doesn’t have anything to do with taxonomy, does it?”
“Nope.”
“Nevermind. Son, I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue what many of these words are! Have you asked Lawrence for help? He knows what all these terms are in English.”
I hang my head.
“Son?” Dad touches my shoulder. “What is wrong?”
“He’s gay, okay? I don’t like it that he’s gay! I’m a jerk, okay?” I snarl, throwing the papers at him. “Stop shoving it in my face!”
Dad looks so bewildered and hurt that I instantly regret it.
“Sorry, Dad. It’s just that… Well… I never thought of myself as a bigot. I mean, I hate all those people who go around shoving their morals on other peoples and stuff. And now… Well, I can’t not think gays are gross! They’re gross! And so I’m one of those bigot people now! But I can’t help it! Okay? Okay?”
Outside, a few white birds flutter onto Dad’s birdfeeder. The clock ticks silently behind us. Then I realize that not only was I shouting very, very loud, but the cellar door isn’t all that thick. In my mind’s eye, I see Lawrence sitting on the mattress and listening to all the hate he must be running away from.
“When I first met your mother,” Dad says quietly, “The first thing I thought was that she wasn’t Sicilian or Italian. I thought she was Irish. I saw her, and immediately started assigning all sorts of negative things to her. Like, she wore a low-cut dress, so she must be a gold digger. She wore cheap perfume, so she must be trashy.” He shakes his head ruefully. “I am ashamed to have thought that way. I knew it was a bad thing, and bad for business, but I couldn’t help it. Son, you recognize that hating someone for being different is wrong. That is better than many adults can do. You aren’t a bad person, you know.”
46: Speak
I never see our houseguest, but I can feel his presence. So I made every excuse to head out- tutoring sessions in the morning, staying late after school for projects.
Naturally, Ma’m caught me after six days.
Literally, actually. She sinks her inch-long nails into my shoulder.
“Why don’t you go talk to your dad’s friend?” she asks.
“I have homework.”
“Good. He can help you.” It’s hard to argue with your mother when she’s not adverse to picking you up by your collar and marching you down the stairs. It’s interesting, how she only has one eye and can see things that no one else does.
Lawrence is sitting with his back to the door, but he turns around when the door opens. Ma’m never knocks, so anyone could tell who was coming in.
“Hey, Larry.” Ma’m grins as he flinches at his name. “Bought the kid here. He’d like to talk to you. Seeya.” She pushes me in and leaves.
That’s what Ma’m does. I’m left standing like a legless goat.
“I do not think your mother bought you here for a chat?” he asks smoothly.
“Actually she did. I’ve been avoiding you,” I say bluntly.
“I understand. You may want to sit on the opposite side of the room, if I make you that uncomfortable.” It’s not an accusation. But it is horrible in the way that Lawrence seems so casual about it, and I realize, he’s used to it.
“Dad says you hid away on an airplane for more than ten years.”
“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact.” He folds his hands. “However, it was not an airplane. I prefer to call it a floating palace. Much different from an airplane, you see.”
Oh great. It’s like when I told Dad that Sicily was a part of Italy. “I see.” A silence drags on. Once again, I see that Lawrence is used to it. “Why?”
“It is a long story.” I get the feeling that he has been expecting me to ask about it.
“Well, just tell me, I guess.”
“I like beautiful things. Beautiful art, beautiful architecture, beautiful pokemon. I grew up very privileged, and I could never stand ugliness.” Lawrence continues twisting his ring around. “I thought that since I understood people, they would understand me too, and they would see past one harmless trait of me and still understand me. I was wrong. When I announced my preferences, things became… Very ugly.”
“They didn’t lynch your or anything, did they?”
He shook his head. “No. Us upper-class citizens have much subtler ways or hurting each other.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I was young. I thought that I would be safe. I was young, I was young, and I wanted everyone to come to terms with who I was. Who I still am. As I said, I cannot stand ugliness. So one day, I… I just flew away from it all. I lived all alone and surrounded myself in beauty. But then I was confronted that it was an illusion. Just a trick of my own mind. The ugliness of people… It is too real, don’t you think?”
“I think.” I kick my feet. “It’s also contagious.”
“It is.” He pulls on one of his curls and his face gets a distant sort of look. “You see, I hated myself at first. I thought the same thing you are thinking right now.” His lip twitches a bit.
I duck my head in shame. “How did you get out of it?”
He shrugs. “I had to. It was either that or spend the rest of my life wallowing in self-hatred.”
I think I see. “Yeah. Like it was either learn to love my father or spend the rest of my life…”
“You’ve made that choice, haven’t you?” Lawrence tilts his head. “I can believe that you hated him initially.”
“Ah first,” I admit.
“To some degree, we cannot control our emotions. But wouldn’t you say that because you made an active effort to love your father, that has gotten you to where you are now?”
“I hated him at first. I mean, my friends and I fought against him. He was evil. Well, I guess a lot of what he did was pretty bad.”
“Yet you learned to love him.” Lawrence gives a little half-smile again.
I look away from him and scan the room carefully. The only thing that Lawrence had bought was a very large antique trunk. “What’s in that trunk?”
“The most important thing in the world,” he replies simply. I get the feeling that I won’t get any other answer than that. I nod to him and get up.
“I don’t get it.”
His lip twitches again.
“Nice talking to you,” I say. I don’t meet his eyes as I leave the cellar.
6: Flying
It took me hours of speech-making to convince Dad to let me walk home alone, but today it’s especially worth it. The air is slightly chilly and the sunlight is crisp through the trees.
Squish. I stop as something gives under my foot. I realize that I had walked off of the cement path while looking at the sky, and my foot is a centimeter sunken into the wet soil. Gingerly, I pull my shoe out.
“How sad.” It seems that I had crushed a dandelion sprout. Its soft green stalk and immature leaves are trodden down and half-ripped off from its roots. Just a moment ago, it was going to grow into a spring flower. Now it will just be more dirt. White sap bleeds out from the broken stem. I bend down and prod it with my finger. The soft plant gives a bit, and I pick it up in my hands.
Then it hits me. My eyes widen, and I clutch at the little dying plant and sprint all the way home.
I throw my backpack down in the kitchen and race to the cellar. Without knocking, I fling the door open.
“Mister Lawrence! I got it-“ I stop. The cellar is empty of any person. It has gone back to storing boxes and other supplies. “Mister…?”
The soft thumping of slippers echoes behind me. I turn around, expecting to see Mister Lawrence.
But it’s Ma’m. She gives me a questioning look. “What are you doing down here, kid?”
I wave the dandelion shoot I crushed in front of me. “Where’s Mister Lawrence? I have something important to tell him!”
Ma’m gives me a look. “Kiddo, he left this morning. He’s on a ship back to Great Britain. Why?”
My jaw drops. “But I have to tell him-“
Ma’m shrugs and heads up the stairs and out of the cellars, leaving me alone.
“I just got it!” I sigh. There is a sudden sadness, like air whooshing out of a balloon or rain dripping down a window. I spy the cot folded up and leaning against the wall and go over to it. There is a thin layer of dust motes gathering already. I wipe it off with my finger.
The cellar stairs creak behind me, and Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. “Son?”
“I had something important to say. About his trunk, and his airplane- err, flying thing, and running away, and ugliness and pretty things-“ I begin, but stop. “Will I ever be able to tell him?”
“I don’t think so. You can tell yourself, though.”
“I’m not ugly anymore,” I say. It’s strange how someone I had only known for a day is so significant. Dad takes my hand and leads me out of the cellar.
Outside, young plants poke out of the soil, and the air is as clear as glass. A few birds land on the birdfeeder, then fly away.
.