Genius that Didn't Care

I met him in the most unlikely of places, all things considered. They were the big fields underneath the power lines that were littered with boulders. They were good for climbing up on for a bit of drinking and getting high with the neighborhood kids. Derek brought his lighter and rolled a joint passing it around until each of us got stoned. I sat back letting the feeling just wash over me. I let myself forget about life for a moment. The others laughed at their own jokes and came up with these groundbreaking ideas that made so much sense at the time.

He sat at the back of the boulder, out of our established circle. I barely even noticed his presence. He was mumbling to himself.

“The bramble said ‘Neither do I wish to take the clothes, merely tear them.’ to the willow,” he leant back onto his elbows going on. His eyebrows raised when he quoted the supposed bramble.

I whispered to Derek beside me, “Who’s that one?”

“Theo?” he questions. “He’s that new busboy down at Higgins. Weird as f**k isn’t he?”

I nodded absently watching him through glazed eyes. Derek laughed his dying hyena laugh picking at the broken glass in the rock’s crevices. Theo was gazing skyward now, his elbows evidently had failed him and he succumbed to sloth. He had a dark birthmark on his neck, under his chin. It moved when he spoke. I could still faintly hear him.

“...you have no decorations except your polish, what a pity,” he said in such a dogged tone I thought his voice would have puttered out before he finished.

I noticed then what he was wearing. Everyone had at least one or two extra layers on tonight, but he had only a white t-shirt and jeans on. There were holes at the knees that were from wear and tear. His shoes used to be white, you could just barely tell since they were caked in dirt. Trailing back up to his face I noticed his hair. It was a dusty brown color that reminded me of an old attic’s floorboards. This dusty brown hair covered his whole head in a shaggy fuzz. He still gazed up at the sky, mumbling. The moonlight cast shadows across his face that left one half in darkness.

In short, he was that haunting sort of strange. I wanted to know more about him than just the mark under his chin.

“He was Mitch’s idea,” Derek spoke up once more.

“Red? or Blondie?”

“Blondie.”

“Weren’t you guys gonna go down to the porridge?” I asked him, my head lolling on my shoulder.

“Damn lake froze over last night.”

“You’re gonna kill yourselves one of these days,” I said. I sat up with a sigh. “Isn’t it about time to head out?”

“Yeah,” he said and stood up, stretching. “We’re heading back, whoever’s last bring me back my lighter.”

Red headed Mitch spoke up, “I’ll get it for you.”  

With that Derek jumped down from the peak of the boulder, about five feet, give or take a foot. I followed his lead as we began our trek home through the trees. I heard the third thump from someone else landing a few minutes later. A quick check to see who was coming confirmed it was Theo.

"Where you heading?" I asked as he caught up.

"East Keniff Cove," he replied. I could see his face now, his eyes. They were blue.

"It's on the way," Derek answered for me, walking ahead of us.

As we fell into silence I fondled the leftover feelings of my high and relished the idleness that settled in me. Silence was a glorious thing. He had been a good friend over the years, always ready to hold me in an embrace when nothing else was there. Silence could soak up a conversation I didn’t want to have and block out things I didn’t want to hear. Not long after I could hear Theo as he mumbled something under his breath, and silence was gone. He left as much as he came. Anyways Theo was mumbling, something about a bow breaking.

"Hey. You know you're telling stories over there?" I asked.

"Fables," he replied, "not stories."

"Oh."

"German," he said.

"Oh, you're German?"

"The fables d****t," he said in frustration.

"Sorry?" I offered. It became quiet again for a moment. Then Theo carried another few lines of the story out on his breath.

"S'okay," he said after a minute.

"Theo right? Like Theodore?"

"Yeah, Theo. You?"

"Dana," I said.

"Dana, I'll remember that."

"East Keniff!" Derek called back. He pointed at the street sign.

"Goodbye Dana, see you around." Theo waved to Derek as he turned down his street. I swear I could hear him begin another story.

I did, in fact, see him around. I saw the damn kid everywhere. He was walking alone up and down the streets somedays, wrestling his way through the hallways at school, and of course under the power lines at night. I got to know him. He was sixteen, worked part time down at Higgins Diner, and he was a genius that didn't care. It didn’t matter how smart he was, he did everything for the grades. Everything came so easy to him it was mind numbing. His big aspiration was to get a full ride to college, get a paper at the end that actually means something. If he had been stupid, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would have taken all those honors classes anyways. He was determined. Those German fables, he could tell forty from memory. He mumbled them obsessively when he was high. He was in all the AP classes at school. He didn't have much, that includes a father. His clothes, well, I'm sure that he wore his t-shirt four times a week at least. One night his half-frozen fingers were tapping out a piano piece on his leg. When I asked him he merely said 'practice' before returning to it, while mumbling his bramble fable. Meanwhile Derek was in the spotlight, as usual, telling a story while everyone was high so he’d seem funnier.

Now Derek was a different story entirely, adopted at age eight, in and out of foster care before that. He didn't take the chances he was handed. He'd put his parents through Hell and back and was about to make a second trip. He stole their money to buy drugs and had gone as far as four houses down to rob some beer when his parents stopped putting it in the house. I helped him.

I grew up in another state until my dad lost a job and we moved here to look for work. That had been eight years ago and my dad still didn’t have a job. He came home in the middle of the night and smashed everything in sight, stumbling over chairs and singing for the neighbors to hear. My mother had long since given up and given in. She was an even bigger customer of the resident dealers than Derek. We lived off of my grandmother’s money that she sent us, because she didn’t want us living with her. I would have lived with her, even if she didn’t want me. I’d have lived just about anywhere but there in that house. I just wanted to get out.

The three of us, the whole group of us for that matter, just didn't care anymore, about any of it. The situation had lost it’s shock value, and the weed helped to take every memory of it away for a while.

The last few nights had been warming up and the local boys were getting ready for a night in the porridge. The local lake's water, when it was the perfect temperature, would be on the brink of its liquid state. The water was as thick as heavy cream, butter even. They dived in for a thrill, the cold didn't matter. They all held in their breath long enough to come back up, sober in a second. They’d go in their drunken groups, fools all of them.  

"Theo, you coming?" Derek slurred as he staggered toward the edge of the boulder.

Theo's red eyes ran over Derek. His fingers paused from their concerto piece. "Another time."

"Suit yourself," said Derek, "Don't s'pose you're coming Dana?"

"Do you even have to ask? Get out of here. You're all a bunch of damn idiots."

The boys left, joking, laughing, forgetting.

"What's the matter Goldilocks? Porridge too cold?" Theo asked. A smirk was dragged on his face, handcuffed to his wit.

"Don't feel like dying Theodore," I retorted.

I was going to smash glass that night. When the gaggle of drunks and stoners thinned down to those few who got really shitfaced, we would break the bottles left behind. It was enchanting, the sound of breaking glass against stone. That scraping twinkle, beautiful destruction. That night I needed to hear it. The sweet sound of being in control of something's existence.

"Theo," he insisted.

"Sure."

When most everyone had left, we stared up at the sky and he told me about ancient constellations. Different cultures came up with different stories. He liked to tell me about them when it was just us.

"The chinese star system's much different.  They have the sky split up into four directions with constellations in each that make up the animal the chinese assigned to it. One is Xuanwu, a turtle and a snake. Named after a taoist deity who was a-"

"You're rambling."

"It's the winter one," he summed up for me.

"Tell me a fable," I said.

He didn't have to be told twice. He launched himself into one about a bear tired of dancing for men who laughed at him.

I was tired of men laughing at me too. A man. I was exhausted from the yelling and the sound of glass against drywall. It didn't have quite as an endearing ring to it like that. I was sick of the smell of helplessness and vodka that reeked in the living room and the check on the kitchen counter.

"Dana? The others are leaving," Theo interrupted my sedated thoughts.

"How many left tonight?"

"One or two, if that."

"We have the glass to ourselves," I murmured.

Reviews

[Crystal Overmeyer-Birmi..]

I really enjoyed this story. I am so sucked in to the characters of Dana and Theo. I really hope you write more. The dialog is very believable and entertaining. The characters are very real and people you actually relate too and feel like you would meet in real life. I was enthralled in their lives and relationship. Really great work man! I totally dug it. Please write more