Mark's throat tightened as the door opened upon Jenny's form. As far as he could tell, his eyes were jutting out of their sockets like some bad excuse for a monster mask. Her sandy-blonde hair was untied and wild behind her head, her thick black-rimmed glasses were in the corner of the couch half-folded, and her feet were bare. He hocked a silent ball of gelatinous snot into the back of his mouth and swallowed. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" she said, her widened eyes slowly narrowing.
"Your mom said you were at the mall-"
"She did?"
"Yeah-"
"Stupid bitch." Jenny shrugged and walked over to the couch and sat down on her glasses. "I told her I was coming over here to study."
"Have you been studying?"
"No, asshole, just smokin' weed and watchin' TV." Jenny looked away, her face reddening, and giggled.
"Where's Irwin?"
"In the bathroom, I think-"
"You think?"
"Yes. Therefore I am-"
"Shut the fuck up-" Mark leaned back and stretched, then snapped his fists out, his elbows popping.
"I hate it when you do that-"
"I know." He looked down at his girlfriend's curled up legs under her short skirt as she turned on the TV and could see half her ass but not the slightest hint of panties. Something sounded behind him and he turned, only to catch the back half of Mr. Cook's emaciated, slouching, towel-wrapped body whisk its way down the hall. "I've got to pee."
The bathroom was humid, a film of antibacterial soap smeared on the walls and toilet, the mirror a refuge of manufactured fog. A triple-bladed shaving razor with a curly spring of a hair lay on the slippery sink. As he pissed, he leaned over and peered into the waste basket: empty. A zip and two deep breaths and he was in the hall again, a vein in the side of his forehead filling and emptying as fast as he could think.
Mr. Cook's bedroom door was shut. So he went into the other bedroom, where Mr. Cook kept his computer and where he and Jenny had spent many nights sleeping at nonexistent friends' houses. "Jenny," he called.
As she tiptoed into the room, Mark pushed her onto the day-bed and closed and locked the door behind him. He dropped to his knees and heaved his face between her legs, into her hairless labia, which were stiff and leathery and smelled, under the initial scent of shaving cream, of latex and chlorine. He stabbed four fingers in her, scraping with his nails against the walls of her vagina, digging flesh into his fingertips, until she pulled his hair and cried, "Stop, Mark, that hurts-"
"But you like it to hurt-" he panted.
"Not like that." She let out a breath as he pulled his hand out of her. "Just fuck me and get it over with-"
Mark got up on the bed and back on his knees but next to her head. He unzipped his pants. "Just suck it."
Fifteen or twenty vacuums of her lips and tongue and Mark pulled his penis from her mouth, jerked her head back with his blood-stained hand, and pumped semen into her face with the other. He quickly buttoned his jeans and wiped his hands on her skirt. "I've got to go."
At the door to the bedroom, he turned and watched for a moment as Jenny rubbed her eyes with a corner of blanket. He shut the door behind him without making a sound.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
The Life and Times of Phil Wii, Part I
Mark glanced at the watch he'd taken off a dead boy two months ago, then looked up at the end of his street. Sure fucking enough, there he was, a slight kid in a McDonald's uniform baby-stepping a straight line across the entrance to the avenue. He picked the last of the chicken out of his teeth with the slender X-acto knife he'd stolen from art class and took off.
He could see the back of the kid's bobbing body as he rounded the corner and began to pick up speed. Putting his his blade in his pocket, next to his straight razor, pliers, and a large, folded Zip-loc baggie, he yawned, keeping his eyes cheetah-like on the boy's slinky form. After several blocks of nondescript, aluminum-sided houses that looked exactly like his own, the boy turned onto the bike path that led directly to the back of their high school. Mark wiped his dry brow as he came within ten feet of the boy.
"Hey."
A small scream escaped from the boy's pale lips as he turned around.
"Where you going?"
"Home." The boy looked down and away as Mark stared into his eyes.
"Do you have to go home right now?"
"Yes."
"What's your favorite color?"
"Blue."
"Mine too. Do you like animals?"
"Yes."
"Which ones?"
"Umm, I like squirrels and frogs."
"Really? Me too." Mark rocked back and forth on his heels in his Nikes. The boy was not quite Asian, not quite white. His hair was a shiny, stereotypical black, his face a boring oval. But his eyes, from what Mark could see of them, were a deep dark brown, almost coal in color, and weren't quite almond-shaped. For all the good Asian qualities they exhibited, they were fortified with the best of Caucasoid characteristics. Same with the nose - it was no wide, formless bump with two holes; rather, it was a slick sliver of cartilage perfectly bordered at the tip, which was turned up just the slightest. "You know, there's a place in the woods over there where there's a lot of squirrels and frogs."
"Really?" The boy looked up, then straightaway looked back at his black sneakers.
"Yeah. Wanna go see?"
"I have to go home."
"No, you don't. I mean, there's, like, a million squirrels and frogs in this one place back there. It's amazing. You won't believe your eyes."
The boy turned the toe of his sneaker into the asphalt and finally looked up. "Where?"
"This way."
Fifty yards into the woods, Mark stopped and turned to face the boy. "How come you never told me you worked at McDonald's?"
The boy looked away. "I don't know-"
"You know, I fucking hate McDonald's-" And Mark buried his fist into the center of the boy's face, sending the kid onto the leaves and sticks of the woods' floor with a hushed plop!
He could see the back of the kid's bobbing body as he rounded the corner and began to pick up speed. Putting his his blade in his pocket, next to his straight razor, pliers, and a large, folded Zip-loc baggie, he yawned, keeping his eyes cheetah-like on the boy's slinky form. After several blocks of nondescript, aluminum-sided houses that looked exactly like his own, the boy turned onto the bike path that led directly to the back of their high school. Mark wiped his dry brow as he came within ten feet of the boy.
"Hey."
A small scream escaped from the boy's pale lips as he turned around.
"Where you going?"
"Home." The boy looked down and away as Mark stared into his eyes.
"Do you have to go home right now?"
"Yes."
"What's your favorite color?"
"Blue."
"Mine too. Do you like animals?"
"Yes."
"Which ones?"
"Umm, I like squirrels and frogs."
"Really? Me too." Mark rocked back and forth on his heels in his Nikes. The boy was not quite Asian, not quite white. His hair was a shiny, stereotypical black, his face a boring oval. But his eyes, from what Mark could see of them, were a deep dark brown, almost coal in color, and weren't quite almond-shaped. For all the good Asian qualities they exhibited, they were fortified with the best of Caucasoid characteristics. Same with the nose - it was no wide, formless bump with two holes; rather, it was a slick sliver of cartilage perfectly bordered at the tip, which was turned up just the slightest. "You know, there's a place in the woods over there where there's a lot of squirrels and frogs."
"Really?" The boy looked up, then straightaway looked back at his black sneakers.
"Yeah. Wanna go see?"
"I have to go home."
"No, you don't. I mean, there's, like, a million squirrels and frogs in this one place back there. It's amazing. You won't believe your eyes."
The boy turned the toe of his sneaker into the asphalt and finally looked up. "Where?"
"This way."
Fifty yards into the woods, Mark stopped and turned to face the boy. "How come you never told me you worked at McDonald's?"
The boy looked away. "I don't know-"
"You know, I fucking hate McDonald's-" And Mark buried his fist into the center of the boy's face, sending the kid onto the leaves and sticks of the woods' floor with a hushed plop!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Police Briefs
Police Confirm Remains Are Those of Missing Teen
By Mike Gribble
Evening Gazzette Staff Writer
Cedarville - The Cedarville Sheriff's Department confirmed Tuesday that the human remains found in the woods behind Cedarville High School last Saturday are those of fourteen year-old Phil Wii, a student at Cedarville High School who suffered from autism and had been missing for the last two months. The Sheriff's Department immediately ruled Wii's death a homicide - the fifth of a male teenager in Cedarville this year after a ten-year period in which the city had seen no murders and a decrease in all violent crimes.
Wii had been missing since June, when his parents contacted police and then the media in an effort to bring their son home. Community support for the Wiis was overwhelming, and a grassroots campaign to find the missing boy was undertaken, only to prove fruitless after several weeks of round-the-clock searching by hundreds of volunteers. The community was dispirited but refused to give up hope. "We thank everyone in Cedarville for their vigilance, support, charity, and prayers. Our son is home. May God bless you all," said the Wiis in a prepared statement read by family spokeswoman May Wii, the young teenager's paternal aunt.
Police say that Wii's body may never have been found if it had not been for a homeless man who decided that fateful Saturday to dig himself a makeshift latrine in the woods behind the high school, where he had migrated that morning after being asked to leave the forest around the city dump where he had been living for more than a month. While excavating mounds of earth with his bare hands, the man, Lorenzo Dundell, of no fixed address, came upon a gruesome sight: that of young Wii's dismembered corpse. Police say that Dundell is not a suspect and has been cleared of any involvement in the slaying.
Though the circumstances of the five cases are striking in their similarity - all five boys' bodies showed signs of torture and possibly rape and were missing all fingers, teeth, and eyes, as well as their genitals - the Sheriff's Department refuses to conjecture that the homicides are related or were even committed by the same person or persons. "While some things are the same, we need to have further evidence before we can objectively say that the last four murders aren't copycats of the first murder," said Stacey Lyman, spokeswoman for the Cedarville Sheriff's Department. Lyman added, "We want to assure the public that they are safe and that we have several strong leads we are pursuing."
However, officials close to the five investigations, speaking on condition of anonymity, informed the Evening Gazette that the Sheriff's Department does not, in fact, have any leads - or much evidence, for that matter. "They have nothing," said one source. "No suspects, no leads, no DNA evidence. They doubt they'll ever recover the boys' missing body parts, and I very much believe they are in over their heads and will not be able to solve any of the cases without help from the federal government." Lyman had no comment on these allegations.
Stephanie Adcock contributed to this report.
By Mike Gribble
Evening Gazzette Staff Writer
Cedarville - The Cedarville Sheriff's Department confirmed Tuesday that the human remains found in the woods behind Cedarville High School last Saturday are those of fourteen year-old Phil Wii, a student at Cedarville High School who suffered from autism and had been missing for the last two months. The Sheriff's Department immediately ruled Wii's death a homicide - the fifth of a male teenager in Cedarville this year after a ten-year period in which the city had seen no murders and a decrease in all violent crimes.
Wii had been missing since June, when his parents contacted police and then the media in an effort to bring their son home. Community support for the Wiis was overwhelming, and a grassroots campaign to find the missing boy was undertaken, only to prove fruitless after several weeks of round-the-clock searching by hundreds of volunteers. The community was dispirited but refused to give up hope. "We thank everyone in Cedarville for their vigilance, support, charity, and prayers. Our son is home. May God bless you all," said the Wiis in a prepared statement read by family spokeswoman May Wii, the young teenager's paternal aunt.
Police say that Wii's body may never have been found if it had not been for a homeless man who decided that fateful Saturday to dig himself a makeshift latrine in the woods behind the high school, where he had migrated that morning after being asked to leave the forest around the city dump where he had been living for more than a month. While excavating mounds of earth with his bare hands, the man, Lorenzo Dundell, of no fixed address, came upon a gruesome sight: that of young Wii's dismembered corpse. Police say that Dundell is not a suspect and has been cleared of any involvement in the slaying.
Though the circumstances of the five cases are striking in their similarity - all five boys' bodies showed signs of torture and possibly rape and were missing all fingers, teeth, and eyes, as well as their genitals - the Sheriff's Department refuses to conjecture that the homicides are related or were even committed by the same person or persons. "While some things are the same, we need to have further evidence before we can objectively say that the last four murders aren't copycats of the first murder," said Stacey Lyman, spokeswoman for the Cedarville Sheriff's Department. Lyman added, "We want to assure the public that they are safe and that we have several strong leads we are pursuing."
However, officials close to the five investigations, speaking on condition of anonymity, informed the Evening Gazette that the Sheriff's Department does not, in fact, have any leads - or much evidence, for that matter. "They have nothing," said one source. "No suspects, no leads, no DNA evidence. They doubt they'll ever recover the boys' missing body parts, and I very much believe they are in over their heads and will not be able to solve any of the cases without help from the federal government." Lyman had no comment on these allegations.
Stephanie Adcock contributed to this report.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Tie
His tongue wiggles against her clit in circles x's pluses minuses numbers letters he even spells his name in spittle-If he sucks on it long and hard enough it's an infant's cock in his mouth-Her moans alternate with screams unintelligible words names somebody's name his or his or his-A hand pulls his hair-
"Fuck me with that little dick of yours-"
Heart engorged veins a roadmap of anger on his forearms he slides a hand under the small of her back flips her over buries his face in her crack swabs her asshole with his tongue lips for what seems like an hour until she raises up-He pushes her face into the pillow grabs his belt off the floor binds her wrists together over her bumpy spine-
"What-"
He grabs a graying sock from the floor shovels it in her mouth his tiny dick smearing pre-cum all over her ass then uses another to secure it tightening the knot at the back of her head-A quick slap-
"Fucking take it bitch-"
And he inserts all 4 inches in her struggling cunt in one fell swoop batters her ass the back of her thighs with his pelvis a thumb on each side of her asshole stretching digging opening forcing looking closing one eye then the other a drop of sweat like an arrow to a bullseye nothing-He pulls out puts it there his pointy hips bruising her as he cums in her rectum pumping without control and a straight tight knuckled straining right to the back of her head he pulls out a second time collapses flattening them-
He reaches between the mattress and box spring pulls out his straight razor and with a flick of the wrist the belt gives-He crawls up her damp back slides the metal next to her ear the sock falls then the other her panting his-
"I love you-"
"I love you too-"
"Fuck me with that little dick of yours-"
Heart engorged veins a roadmap of anger on his forearms he slides a hand under the small of her back flips her over buries his face in her crack swabs her asshole with his tongue lips for what seems like an hour until she raises up-He pushes her face into the pillow grabs his belt off the floor binds her wrists together over her bumpy spine-
"What-"
He grabs a graying sock from the floor shovels it in her mouth his tiny dick smearing pre-cum all over her ass then uses another to secure it tightening the knot at the back of her head-A quick slap-
"Fucking take it bitch-"
And he inserts all 4 inches in her struggling cunt in one fell swoop batters her ass the back of her thighs with his pelvis a thumb on each side of her asshole stretching digging opening forcing looking closing one eye then the other a drop of sweat like an arrow to a bullseye nothing-He pulls out puts it there his pointy hips bruising her as he cums in her rectum pumping without control and a straight tight knuckled straining right to the back of her head he pulls out a second time collapses flattening them-
He reaches between the mattress and box spring pulls out his straight razor and with a flick of the wrist the belt gives-He crawls up her damp back slides the metal next to her ear the sock falls then the other her panting his-
"I love you-"
"I love you too-"
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Wrong!
Jenny Walters opened the door, smiling, her hair pulled back in a blonde ponytail, making her glasses look even larger on her small face than they actually were. "Hey."
Mark looked down, his brow furrowing without him asking it to. "Um, I was looking for Mr. Cook's house-"
"This is it!"
Mark looked up, his eyebrows two sandy blonde arches just under his spiky hair. "Really?"
"Yep, come on in."
Mr. Cook's house was small just like his car but it was cleaner and contained less books. The man himself walked out of the kitchen as Mark settled himself in an armchair across from the love seat on which Jenny propped herself on her curled legs, her tight jeans stretching to the point of tearing as she wiggled to make herself comfortable.
"Hey, Mark, make yourself at home-"
"Thanks." Mark looked around the living room as Mr. Cook disappeared down the hallway. Besides the two pieces of occupied furniture, there was a flat screen television, under which sat a Wii console and about 10 indistinct video games; a book case stacked full of DVDs, CDS, and VHS tapes; and a low-sitting glass coffee table, chipped on its corners, decorated with old copies of Time magazine and the NEA Newsletter. And everywhere were pictures of the same chubby woman, a brunette with a dimple in her left cheek, next to her shit-eating grin, and a soft pair of gray eyes that either said 'I love you' or 'Help me.' "Who's that?"
"Oh, that's Irwin's girlfriend-"
"Really?"
Jenny giggled. "Did you think he was gay too?"
Mark shrugged his shoulders.
"He's not." Jenny giggled again. "Believe me, he's not-"
Mark looked up at her eyes, which were squeezed tight with giggling above her small turned-up nose. "Oh, really?"
Jenny shrugged, cocking her head to the side, and stared at Mark from under her bangs until he looked away. He stood up. "Where's the bathroom?"
He shut the door behind him and locked it. He leaned over the sink, supporting his weight on his skinny arms, and looked into the mirror, short breaths coming and going furiously in and out of his lungs. He put a finger to his neck to make sure his blood was still flowing through his slight body. Finally, a deep sigh, a splash of water on his flushed cheeks, and a good thorough drying and he walked back out into the living room.
"Can you believe it?" said Jenny. She pointed to the TV. "And here in Cedarville."
Mark sat down on the love seat next to Jenny, their thighs rubbing together. He looked at the TV and saw the boy. "Yeah, that's fucking sick."
"Tell me about it." Jenny shook her head. "They cut off his genitals, the police can't find them." She picked up the remote. "Or his eyes. I hope he didn't suffer too much-"
"I'm sure he did-"
"You think? Wouldn't you just go into shock and pass out-"
"No. You'd be surprised what the human body can endure before it shuts down. Or fights back."
Jenny shivered and changed the channel. She loosened, then re-secured her ponytail. "My hair's such a mess-"
"I like your hair-"
"Aww, you're so sweet." Jenny put her hand on Mark's knee-
"So what are you kids doing?" Mr. Cook's bony ass fell back into the armchair.
Mark leaned back and stretched his arms along the top of the loveseat, his left brushing the back of Jenny's neck where he let it rest. "Nothing, Irwin," he laughed.
Mark looked down, his brow furrowing without him asking it to. "Um, I was looking for Mr. Cook's house-"
"This is it!"
Mark looked up, his eyebrows two sandy blonde arches just under his spiky hair. "Really?"
"Yep, come on in."
Mr. Cook's house was small just like his car but it was cleaner and contained less books. The man himself walked out of the kitchen as Mark settled himself in an armchair across from the love seat on which Jenny propped herself on her curled legs, her tight jeans stretching to the point of tearing as she wiggled to make herself comfortable.
"Hey, Mark, make yourself at home-"
"Thanks." Mark looked around the living room as Mr. Cook disappeared down the hallway. Besides the two pieces of occupied furniture, there was a flat screen television, under which sat a Wii console and about 10 indistinct video games; a book case stacked full of DVDs, CDS, and VHS tapes; and a low-sitting glass coffee table, chipped on its corners, decorated with old copies of Time magazine and the NEA Newsletter. And everywhere were pictures of the same chubby woman, a brunette with a dimple in her left cheek, next to her shit-eating grin, and a soft pair of gray eyes that either said 'I love you' or 'Help me.' "Who's that?"
"Oh, that's Irwin's girlfriend-"
"Really?"
Jenny giggled. "Did you think he was gay too?"
Mark shrugged his shoulders.
"He's not." Jenny giggled again. "Believe me, he's not-"
Mark looked up at her eyes, which were squeezed tight with giggling above her small turned-up nose. "Oh, really?"
Jenny shrugged, cocking her head to the side, and stared at Mark from under her bangs until he looked away. He stood up. "Where's the bathroom?"
He shut the door behind him and locked it. He leaned over the sink, supporting his weight on his skinny arms, and looked into the mirror, short breaths coming and going furiously in and out of his lungs. He put a finger to his neck to make sure his blood was still flowing through his slight body. Finally, a deep sigh, a splash of water on his flushed cheeks, and a good thorough drying and he walked back out into the living room.
"Can you believe it?" said Jenny. She pointed to the TV. "And here in Cedarville."
Mark sat down on the love seat next to Jenny, their thighs rubbing together. He looked at the TV and saw the boy. "Yeah, that's fucking sick."
"Tell me about it." Jenny shook her head. "They cut off his genitals, the police can't find them." She picked up the remote. "Or his eyes. I hope he didn't suffer too much-"
"I'm sure he did-"
"You think? Wouldn't you just go into shock and pass out-"
"No. You'd be surprised what the human body can endure before it shuts down. Or fights back."
Jenny shivered and changed the channel. She loosened, then re-secured her ponytail. "My hair's such a mess-"
"I like your hair-"
"Aww, you're so sweet." Jenny put her hand on Mark's knee-
"So what are you kids doing?" Mr. Cook's bony ass fell back into the armchair.
Mark leaned back and stretched his arms along the top of the loveseat, his left brushing the back of Jenny's neck where he let it rest. "Nothing, Irwin," he laughed.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Mama Mia
Mark opened the door and saw a blurry V of white ass jackrabbit-ing between his mother's legs. Jesus Christ, how can you even feel anything going that fast? Then again, Dan did everything at hyper-speed - walking, talking, writing, typing, even his eyes twitched so quickly you almost couldn't see the tiny blinks. Fuck, his turds probably came out of his ass like missiles leaving a silo. He closed the door.
It opened just as quickly behind him. "Mark-"
He turned around.
"You need to learn how to knock-"
"You need to learn how to lock the door-"
"Don't be smart-"
"Don't be careless-"
Sarah looked down as she finished fastening her robe and sighed. "What did you want?"
"I was just going to tell you that I was leaving-"
"Where are you going?"
"I told you - to Mr. Cook's house-"
"Who's Mr. Cook?"
"Geez, mom, I told you. He's my English teacher. We're going to watch a movie and talk about books and stuff-"
"Mark-"
"What?"
"Is he a homosexual?"
Mark could hear, above the blood sprinting to his brain, Dan smoothing the sheets in the room behind his mother. He looked her in the eyes, a mirror of himself but older and in female form. "I don't know-"
"Well, you better. You know what The Bible says about them-"
"I know what it says about fucking Flash when you're not married to him, too-"
Sarah's hand was cold, then warm against Mark's cheek and barely made a sound. "Don't use language like that in my house-"
"Don't throw stones in your house-"
"Don't use cliches in my house-"
"Touche-"
Sarah put her arms around Mark's shoulders and giggled. "I just worry about you, honey. I don't want you to go to Hell."
"Don't you worry about that. I don't." Mark kissed her cheek and walked out the front door.
It opened just as quickly behind him. "Mark-"
He turned around.
"You need to learn how to knock-"
"You need to learn how to lock the door-"
"Don't be smart-"
"Don't be careless-"
Sarah looked down as she finished fastening her robe and sighed. "What did you want?"
"I was just going to tell you that I was leaving-"
"Where are you going?"
"I told you - to Mr. Cook's house-"
"Who's Mr. Cook?"
"Geez, mom, I told you. He's my English teacher. We're going to watch a movie and talk about books and stuff-"
"Mark-"
"What?"
"Is he a homosexual?"
Mark could hear, above the blood sprinting to his brain, Dan smoothing the sheets in the room behind his mother. He looked her in the eyes, a mirror of himself but older and in female form. "I don't know-"
"Well, you better. You know what The Bible says about them-"
"I know what it says about fucking Flash when you're not married to him, too-"
Sarah's hand was cold, then warm against Mark's cheek and barely made a sound. "Don't use language like that in my house-"
"Don't throw stones in your house-"
"Don't use cliches in my house-"
"Touche-"
Sarah put her arms around Mark's shoulders and giggled. "I just worry about you, honey. I don't want you to go to Hell."
"Don't you worry about that. I don't." Mark kissed her cheek and walked out the front door.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Golden Rule Dayz
Mark stood up and looped his book bag over his left shoulder when the final bell of the day rang.
"Mark, can you come here for a second?"
He made his way over to Mr. Cook, whose first name was Irwin and who hated that fact and did everything to avoid its mention. Mr. Cook was in his thirties, a tall man with an anorexic build, who looked like he'd be much more comfortable on a runway in his Old Navy clothes than talking about books in front of a bunch of open-mouthed, bored kids, of which his youthful looks made him seem as one, so much so that many times he'd been mistaken for just another apathetic student, even by his own colleagues. Mark always felt under-dressed walking into Mr. Cook's classroom and now thought he was almost naked.
"So did you at least like Dorian Gray?"
"Oh, yeah, I liked it. It was very well-written and put together. I just, um, I'm just disappointed in Wilde-"
"How so?"
"Well, for all his philosophizing and arguing about art for art sake's and experiencing the soul through the senses and vice versa, in the end, he essentially says that's all crap and will just lead to a life of insanity and a not so very nice death-"
"You can't confuse an author with his work. His biography and his writing are two different things-"
"No, but you can expect more." Mark looked up at the clock on the wall above them. "Look, I understand that a work of the imagination is just that. But that's only good in theory. This is real life. And if you're going to make yourself a household name and live a certain way and pretty much support a specific way of living, then you shouldn't write a novel that says just opposite. It's just disingenuous and cynical and insecure and makes one question everything about you and your work." He looked up at the clock again. "I'm gonna miss my bus-"
"Where do you live?"
"In Cedarville. In the Westfield development."
"So do I. Burberry Court."
"I'm on Manson Ave. On the other side."
"I can give you a lift home-"
"Cool-"
Mr. Cook's Toyota was a small affair of chipped paint, dog-eared books, smashed insects, dust, and great gas mileage. "You know, you're the only student who gets it-"
"Really? Thanks-"
"I mean - and don't you repeat a word of this - the rest of these kids are just out of it. At least you read the books-"
"Actually, I read all of them years ago-"
"Wow. Really?"
"Yeah. A few times-"
"Jesus." Mr. Cook shook his head. Behind his words, the light, trembling guitars and moaning voice of an indistinct British band could be heard spitting from the speakers under the dashboard. "See, that's what I mean. Not only do the others not get it, they don't even give themselves the chance to get it." He cleared his throat. "So what do your parents say about you reading so much?"
"It's just my mom. I live with her and her boyfriend-"
"Oh. Divorced?"
"No. My father was murdered-"
"I'm so sorry. Forgive me-"
"It's okay. He was murdered by a serial killer in the state where we used to live-"
"Oh, my God-"
"Right before I was born-"
"Mark, I'm really sorry-"
"It's okay. It's not like I knew him or anything-"
Mr. Cook glanced at Mark and shifted in his seat. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
"No-"
"No? Why not?"
"I don't know-"
"A good-looking guy like you? You should be having to beat them off with a stick-"
Mark giggled. "That sounds interesting-"
Mr. Cook laughed and put his foot on the brake as he pulled in front of Mark's house. "There you go-"
Mark got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride-"
"Mark-"
"Yeah?" Mark leaned into the passenger side window.
"We'll have to hang out some time-"
"That's cool-"
"Do you like chocolate?"
"Yeah, I guess-"
A Hershey bar appeared in the palm of Mr. Cook's hand. "I got 3 for a dollar but could only eat 2-"
Mark grabbed it, his fingers scraping the back of his teacher's hand. He looked into Mr. Cook's bespectacled eyes from under his blond bangs and grinned. Mr. Cook looked away with a smile. "I'll see you in school tomorrow-"
"Cool-"
Mark slid the chocolate bar into his pocket and skipped up the driveway.
"Mark, can you come here for a second?"
He made his way over to Mr. Cook, whose first name was Irwin and who hated that fact and did everything to avoid its mention. Mr. Cook was in his thirties, a tall man with an anorexic build, who looked like he'd be much more comfortable on a runway in his Old Navy clothes than talking about books in front of a bunch of open-mouthed, bored kids, of which his youthful looks made him seem as one, so much so that many times he'd been mistaken for just another apathetic student, even by his own colleagues. Mark always felt under-dressed walking into Mr. Cook's classroom and now thought he was almost naked.
"So did you at least like Dorian Gray?"
"Oh, yeah, I liked it. It was very well-written and put together. I just, um, I'm just disappointed in Wilde-"
"How so?"
"Well, for all his philosophizing and arguing about art for art sake's and experiencing the soul through the senses and vice versa, in the end, he essentially says that's all crap and will just lead to a life of insanity and a not so very nice death-"
"You can't confuse an author with his work. His biography and his writing are two different things-"
"No, but you can expect more." Mark looked up at the clock on the wall above them. "Look, I understand that a work of the imagination is just that. But that's only good in theory. This is real life. And if you're going to make yourself a household name and live a certain way and pretty much support a specific way of living, then you shouldn't write a novel that says just opposite. It's just disingenuous and cynical and insecure and makes one question everything about you and your work." He looked up at the clock again. "I'm gonna miss my bus-"
"Where do you live?"
"In Cedarville. In the Westfield development."
"So do I. Burberry Court."
"I'm on Manson Ave. On the other side."
"I can give you a lift home-"
"Cool-"
Mr. Cook's Toyota was a small affair of chipped paint, dog-eared books, smashed insects, dust, and great gas mileage. "You know, you're the only student who gets it-"
"Really? Thanks-"
"I mean - and don't you repeat a word of this - the rest of these kids are just out of it. At least you read the books-"
"Actually, I read all of them years ago-"
"Wow. Really?"
"Yeah. A few times-"
"Jesus." Mr. Cook shook his head. Behind his words, the light, trembling guitars and moaning voice of an indistinct British band could be heard spitting from the speakers under the dashboard. "See, that's what I mean. Not only do the others not get it, they don't even give themselves the chance to get it." He cleared his throat. "So what do your parents say about you reading so much?"
"It's just my mom. I live with her and her boyfriend-"
"Oh. Divorced?"
"No. My father was murdered-"
"I'm so sorry. Forgive me-"
"It's okay. He was murdered by a serial killer in the state where we used to live-"
"Oh, my God-"
"Right before I was born-"
"Mark, I'm really sorry-"
"It's okay. It's not like I knew him or anything-"
Mr. Cook glanced at Mark and shifted in his seat. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
"No-"
"No? Why not?"
"I don't know-"
"A good-looking guy like you? You should be having to beat them off with a stick-"
Mark giggled. "That sounds interesting-"
Mr. Cook laughed and put his foot on the brake as he pulled in front of Mark's house. "There you go-"
Mark got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride-"
"Mark-"
"Yeah?" Mark leaned into the passenger side window.
"We'll have to hang out some time-"
"That's cool-"
"Do you like chocolate?"
"Yeah, I guess-"
A Hershey bar appeared in the palm of Mr. Cook's hand. "I got 3 for a dollar but could only eat 2-"
Mark grabbed it, his fingers scraping the back of his teacher's hand. He looked into Mr. Cook's bespectacled eyes from under his blond bangs and grinned. Mr. Cook looked away with a smile. "I'll see you in school tomorrow-"
"Cool-"
Mark slid the chocolate bar into his pocket and skipped up the driveway.
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