Perceptual Problems

Kyle had been in the library for about an hour when he decided to leave to skate to Mcdonald's. While he liked the peace and quiet the school library afforded—a commodity difficult to acquire in the midst of the noisy hustle of students during school hours—he could no longer ignore his protesting stomach. He packed up his books and notebooks, quietly humming the melody of an Islands song to himself.

Through the automatic sliding doors, Kyle could see a guy pass in the hallway. He glanced at Kyle. The guy wore the regulation school uniform: blue slacks, white dress shirt, blue tie, and blue sweater with the Crest Hills Academy logo over the left breast. Except, he didn't wear the uniform according to regulation. He had untucked his shirt. The tails hung over bagged slacks. The knot of his tie sat loosely at his chest and the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to the elbows.

It was Isaac Donal, second only to Travis Stevenson in the school's social hierarchy. He was maybe six feet tall (a hockey player) and built like a mountain. It looked like he'd broken his nose a couple of times. His hands swung like huge rocks Kyle could imagine proving more than lethal in a fight. But such proof hadn't been needed thus far, at least not on the Crest Hills campus, because Travis, Isaac, and their posse seemed to lord over the students with sufficient finesse using only their auras and reputations.

The doors slid open and Kyle dropped his skateboard on the concrete of the covered hall. (He'd done it before without any of the teachers or staff catching him.) He rode at a leisurely pace, humming another song to himself. Perhaps, if he'd been paying more attention to his surroundings, he would have noticed the guys standing in the alcove of a doorway, and perhaps he would have been able to outrun them. Perhaps he would have noticed that Isaac was nowhere in sight, when only a minute ago Kyle had seen him. But now, that didn't much matter, and with the course of events it initiated, Kyle only thought fleetingly about the incident.

The guys ambushed him. They grabbed him around the chest so that his arms and hands became unusable. Another grasped him around the legs. They bodily lifted him, and the world tilted. The roof came into view for a few seconds before he landed over someone's shoulder and blood began to flood his head. He struggled and yelled, kicking his legs and cursing—to no avail. A voice told him to shut up, and what could only be an immensely strong arm held his legs steady.

He was dropped gently—more gently than he expected, at least—into a chair where he was immediately handcuffed to an armrest.

“What the fuck? What is this?” he yelled.

Looking around told him they’d taken him to an abandoned classroom. Next to him was the teacher's desk.

He couldn't say he was surprised.

In front of Kyle stood Travis, Isaac, and Matthew, a member of Travis and Isaac's pack. One of the most devious looks Kyle had ever seen screwed up Travis's features. His pretty blue eyes squinted to almost slits, the skin around his mouth tightening with what Kyle thought was supposed to be a smirk. (It looked like it was dueling with a smile for space on his face.) His arms crossed over his chest. He was average-sized. Standing next to Isaac, though, he appeared diminutive, a regular Napoleon.

“What the fuck is this, the Inquisition? Why am I handcuffed?” Kyle said, vaguely aware that his Irish accent leaked through the words.

“The Inquistion, that's a good one. Clever, O'Callahan,” Travis said, his insincere smile melting into a scowl.

Kyle slumped back into the chair, allowing his legs to fall open in a complete semblance of comfort, waiting. He glanced at Matthew who flanked Travis on one side. He wore the triumphant expression of a true jackass, his arms crossed as well. And Isaac? His eyes were glued to Kyle. He glanced away when Kyle caught his eyes.

“O'Callahan, you and I need to have a little chat, as you've probably gleaned from your current situation.”

“Get on with it, then,” Kyle said.

“I've recently been informed by a good friend of mine that you might have done something less than copacetic with my girlfriend. And I would like to know the truth for myself,” Travis said, as if he were merely inquiring about the weather in Kyle's part of the country.

“Aside from the fact that you misused the word copacetic, I would like to know why the fuck you think this is the most copacetic way of inquiring about whether I diddled your girlfriend. And, for the record, I did not fuck your girlfriend. I haven't and wouldn't touch your girlfriend with a ten foot pole.”

By this time, his accent soaked through his voice, so that he sounded like an angry Irishman who favored American colloquialisms.

Maybe not just sounded.

“You're Irish?” Matthew asked.

“Hm, O'Callahan, I wonder what kind of surname that is? Yes, you idiot,” Kyle said, pulling on his handcuffs.

“Now let me out of these motherfucking handcuffs.”

“How about you tell me the truth first,” Travis said.

“Why would I touch your girlfriend? She's touched your penis.”

Travis laughed and licked his lips.

“She's hot though, don't you think?” he said, smiling.

“Sure, if whores with artificial tans, artificial noses, and artificial personalities turn you on.”

“Do they turn you on?”

“I think you have me confused with the rest of the male population of this school,” Kyle said, hoping that would be enough.

Travis tittered.

“For some reason, I don't quite believe you.” He rolled his sleeves up slowly, almost daintily.

“Shall I get tested for STDs? Prove that I don't have gonorrhea? Or shall I show you my cock? You can see for yourself.”

“Maybe you should start watching that mouth of yours and let me finish. I think your reasons for not touching my girlfriend are untruthful. And I think that you should start telling the truth. Now.”

Kyle weighed the options, lowered his eyes to the ground. To hell with it, he thought. The worst they could do was beat him and attempt to make his life miserable. But he was more than capable of giving as good as he got.

“I like dick,” he said, staring into Travis's eyes.

Silence reigned for what felt like minutes. And then Travis laughed, so hard that he bent over double. Kyle glanced at Isaac and Matthew. They were both silent, staring at Travis like he'd finally lost it. Isaac turned to Kyle, and their eyes connected. Isaac's were a slate gray that Kyle had never noticed before. They were—what was the right word? Nice? No. He couldn't think of the right word for them. Isaac looked away, at the floor.

“Well, was that so hard to admit?” Travis said, smiling again with his blinding white teeth and pillow lips.

“Can I go now?” Kyle asked, sitting forward, pulling on the handcuffs until he felt the metal dig into his wrist.

“Not yet. Tell me, Kyle, do you have a boyfriend?” Travis continued, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“What's it to you?”

This was becoming a regular let's-all-be-crazy-together fest, except Kyle wasn't interested, nor was he in very much in the know because he had not the slightest inkling what Travis actually wanted from him.

“Let's just say, hypothetically, that I have a friend. And this friend is interested in you. What would you say to that?”

It was Kyle's turn to laugh now. It came as a relief. He dropped his head to his chest and when he picked it up again, he looked Travis in those pretty blue eyes of his.

He said, “Sorry, babe, but you're not my type.”

“That's just fine because, like I said, my friend is interested in you. Not me. If I wanted you, trust me, I would get you.”

“Did you know your best quality is your modesty? You could be a saint.”

“Look, my friend just wants--”

“Travis, I think I hear someone coming down the hallway,” Isaac said.

It was the first thing Kyle had heard him say since the whole kidnapping, third degree, crazyfest had begun. His voice was deep and clear, a voice he'd heard before, and one he wouldn't mind hearing again, preferably under circumstances that did not include kidnapping and false imprisonment.

“You're right. Uncuff him, Matt,” Travis said.

Kyle rubbed his wrist once he was free. It now sported red marks and indentations.

“We'll be seeing you around, Kyle,” Travis said, smiling like he'd won a pissing contest with his friends and couldn't be smugger with himself.

“Hey, Isaac, show him where his stuff is,” Travis said, winking.

With that, Travis and Matt left without a backward glance.

Kyle shook his head, absently surveying his wrist, nearly forgetting Isaac's presence. Isaac cleared his throat. And Kyle couldn't help the eyebrow he raised.

“Your wrist all right?”

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

There was a silence for a few moments. They felt like years for all their heaviness.

“So, can you show me to my shit?” Kyle asked.

He nodded his head, turned to leave.

It turned out his bag and board were down the hallway, around the corner, and in the hallway he'd been skating when they kidnapped him. Kyle wasn't sure why he needed an escort to show him. They easily could have told him his stuff was sitting in the last place he had been.

He shouldered his bag and picked up his board, expecting Isaac, quieter than his bulk would suggest, to have left by the time he looked up. But there he stood, as if waiting for something more, his eyes somehow lighter and brighter in the hallway than the classroom. His nose was nearly too big for his face, yet not unsightly, his lips somewhere between thick and thin. Dark brown hair cut short and close to his scalp, the kind of cut that felt like soft bristles if you smoothed your hand over it.

“Look, I'm sorry about what happened. Sometimes Travis gets things into his head and there's no stopping him. I hope you’re okay,” Isaac said.

He actually looked concerned, his thick eyebrows scrunching together.

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said. It was the second time Isaac had asked him, and he found himself wanting to thank him for not being a dick, but that would be strange. And anyway, Isaac had helped Travis kidnap him, even doing some of the manhandling himself.

So he walked away, not knowing what else to say, or even if he wanted to say anything else.

“Hey,” Isaac said, and Kyle knew it must have taken him some time to muster the strength to say. It sounded like someone had to perform the Heimlich on him to get him to release that single syllable word.

He stopped and turned around, compelled not by pity but by things beside Isaac's voice. Things like the way his face matched his words, like he was more than sincere, like he didn't have to think about it.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering, are you busy this Friday? There's an exhibition opening at the modern art museum and--”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

He stopped then, looking apprehensive. He looked away.

“Yeah. Yes, I am.”

It's true they'd talked before, mainly in their Calculus class and mainly about inconsequential subjects that acquaintances usually discussed. They'd taken a partner quiz together on a day Isaac had sat next to him. Kyle had thought the reason he'd moved seats was because he wanted a partner who probably studied more than he did the night before.

What the hell, Kyle thought.

“Okay. I'll give you my number.”

After he dictated his number, Isaac said he'd call Kyle later.

And they parted.

Kyle still couldn't get over how ridiculous the whole situation seemed.

---

That night, at work, as he was labeling CDs, Isaac's smile kept appearing in his head, unbidden. It had been large and showed entirely endearing dimples. Kyle realized he would like to see them again, to make him smile again.

Even though Isaac had seemed sincere at the time, Kyle couldn't help but be suspicious. Travis was a mischievous little shit.

It was a few more minutes of labeling CDs and thinking about Isaac before Van loped into the store in baggy pants, skater shoes, a black t-shirt adorned with a lightning bolt graphic, and a grin splitting his face. His hair was the same as it always was, shaggy and brown, his arms covered in the same sleeves of tattoos he'd had since Kyle'd met him.

“Hey,” he said, to which Kyle replied with a simple what's up before Van walked around the counter and behind it through the small swinging doors.

He immediately plopped down in a plastic chair behind Kyle and proceeded to pinch Kyle's skinny jeans just below his knee.

When Kyle turned around, Van said, “C'mere.”

Kyle didn't make any move, and Van continued to tug on his pants until Kyle relented and stood closer to him. Van made a noise in his throat and patted his legs. Kyle sat on his lap, telling himself he would only stay there for the least amount of time possible.

“Hi,” Van said.

“Hi.”

Van put his chin on Kyle's shoulder.

“You look hot today.”

“As opposed to other days when I just look okay?”

“You look good everyday. Just super hot today.”

Kyle laughed.

“Thanks,” he said.

Van draped his hands over Kyle's legs. And that was too much. Kyle didn't want to be turned on when he should be working.

“I have to finish this,” he said and stood up.

Van remained silent. Unusual for him. Kyle didn't turn to see his expression though. He continued placing prices on the worn faces of the used compact discs. Bob Dylan played softly through the store's speakers. His boss Jonathan had put it on before he had trudged upstairs to nap.

The silence continued. Until Kyle heard and sensed movement behind him. Arms wound around his waist and Van kissed the side of his neck. It sent an immediate shiver across his back.

“What's wrong?” Van said into his ear, his voice all smooth bass.

“Nothing. I'm just busy,” Kyle said. He found himself placing one of his hands on Van's arm, rubbing his thumb over the hair there.

“Stressed out?”

“Yeah. And it’s just that Jonathan’s been getting worse. And I feel like he shouldn’t have to worry about the store, you know?”

“But it shouldn’t be your responsibility to take care of everything here. You have school and everything to worry about,” Van said, before he lightly kissed Kyle on the neck again.

“I know, I know.”

“Do you wanna grab some dinner after you get off and then go to my place? We can watch a movie or something,” Van said.

“I can’t. My dad’s back. But you can come over if you want.”

Kyle turned in Van's arms and placed his hands on Van's chest.

“But first you have to let me get back to work.”

Van smiled, not shy or hesitant like Isaac, but a smile that friends share, before pecking him lightly on the forehead.

---

The cold outside had made itself thicker by the time Kyle had closed the shop. Van had left. The other shops on Parkway were decorated to let no one forget that Christmas was coming, with messages written on the windows: Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas. The toyshop had a Christmas tree display. Someone had painted a snowman on the laundry mat’s window.

Kyle had buttoned his pea coat closed. He had smoked on the sidewalk until Van had picked him up. They’d stopped to get Chinese take out on the way to Van’s (he’d called ahead to order their favorites).

They ate together on his couch, boxes spread out all over the coffee table, the TV on and tuned to the Food Network. Van liked to comment on the chefs’ cooking—their methods, utensils, and even their appearances and mannerisms.

Van leaned back against the couch cushions and rubbed his belly.

“That’s some disgusting shit,” he said.

“Why do you eat it all the time?”

“Because it’s a good disgusting,” Van said, smiling his ironic, makes-sense-but-doesn’t-make-sense smile.

Kyle laughed. “Right.”

Kyle stretched his legs straight in front of him and leaned back against one of the couch arms, placing his socked feet in Van’s lap. Van grabbed one of them and pulled lightly on his toes. Kyle emitted a vague sound of discomfort, trying to pull back his foot. Van held fast and began massaging. He pressed all the right places in all the right ways to make Kyle melt.

“Mmm.” Kyle closed his eyes and draped his arms over the couch arm. He was so relaxed he could've fallen asleep.

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Family are coming over, I guess. You should come over after you’re done with your family get together. My dad wanted me to tell you that he has a gift for you.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. Said I would tell you,” Kyle said.

“You would,” Van said, laughing.

Kyle picked his head up to look at Van. “Hey, I resent that statement. I can keep a secret.”

“You mean you resemble that statement.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that any way to treat the person giving you a foot message? Hm?” He proceeded to tickle the bottom of Kyle’s foot—at which point Kyle went into something close to full body spasms, yelling for mercy at the same time.

“No! Stop! Stop!”

“Say it. Say I’m the best, most amazing person on the face of the earth.”

“You’re the best, most amazing person on the face of the earth!”

Van stopped and let go of his foot. “There. That wasn’t so difficult.”

Kyle caught his breath. A couple of minutes of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives and Van making fun of Guy’s hair with such comments as “I wonder if he’s ever accidentally caught his hair on fire with all the hairspray he must use on it” and Kyle couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“I got my letters,” he said.

“Letters?”

Kyle looked at him until realization spread over his features. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“So? Did you get in?”

“I did. Wesleyan and Reed.”

“Fuck, that’s great.” Van stood to hug him and Kyle met him halfway.

“Congratulations, Kyle. That’s so amazing.”

“Thank you.”

Van pulled back a little to look at him. “You don’t seem as happy as you should be. I think I’m happier than you are right now.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I don’t want to be away from the people here,” Kyle said, withdrawing completely.

“What people?”

“The people important to me.”

Van looked away, down at the ground, as if he were upset.

“I don’t think you should stay. For any reason. You’ve got an amazing opportunity to get out of here. You should take it,” Van said, looking him in the eye again.

Kyle had never seen him look and sound so serious.

“I know it’s an amazing opportunity, but there are more important things. I’m not ready to leave.”

“But you need to. You don’t realize how lucky you are.”

“I know what I need. You can't tell me.”

Van crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to stand straight into his full height. The result was a much more intimidating man than Kyle was used to.

“I think I know what I’m talking about. I have at least a little more experience than you do. And I know that if you stay here, you will regret it,” he said, his voice steadily decreasing in pitch.

Kyle couldn’t help but think, for a moment, that an angry Van was a sexy Van.

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it? If I want to go, I’ll go. If I want to stay, I’ll stay.” As he said this, Kyle moved closer and closer to Van, all the while staring him directly in his eyes.

Van said, “You won’t do it with my blessing. You'll eventually resent me if you stay.”

“Resent you? Why would I resent you?”

“Well, that’s why you’re staying, isn’t it?”

“I--”

“You think that something’ll develop between us. It won’t.”

Kyle couldn’t say anything. His mouth remained immobile. Here was everything—laid out in front of him by Van in a couple of words—everything he’d been thinking about and wondering. Hoping. Thrown out in a single moment.

And the silence was terrible, ringing with everything he wouldn’t and couldn’t say.

“I’m going home,” he said.

“Let me drive you.”

“No. I’ll get picked up.”

Kyle put on his coat and his shoes without looking at Van. And he left through the front door. He called his father, who was actually home for once, and waited on the curb for him to get there. He smoked and hoped that Van wouldn’t step outside and try to talk to him.

He never did.

---

School was the last place he wanted to be on Monday. Thankfully it was the last week he would have to walk these halls for two weeks. The halls were filling with more and more people as it time slid closer to the ringing of the first bell. He stood at his locker filling his backpack with the books and notebooks he needed for his first two classes when he was unceremoniously shoved.

“Fag,” someone said and he turned in time to see that it was Jared, the token dickwad of the school.

Kyle dropped his backpack. “What did you just say to me, asshole?” he said. His blood was pumping through his veins like liquid steel. He was ready.

Jared stopped and turned to look at him. “Oh, you didn’t hear what I said? Fag.”

That was all Kyle needed to hear. He launched himself at Jared, tackling him to the floor. He pulled his arm back just enough, his hand in a fist, relaxed, until he hit Jared’s cheek. He used his bottom three knuckles, pivoting his wrist. People were standing around and watching. He knew it would only be a matter of time before someone else jumped in to defend Jared so he needed to get in as much as he could. Someone grabbed him around the waist just as Jared began to wake from the shock. Whoever it was pulled him off and despite his thrashing didn’t let go. Kyle realized that Travis was there in the middle of the would-be fray and had approached Jared after he’d gotten up from the floor.

“You can let go of me now,” Kyle said. The person holding him released him from his arms and Kyle’s suspicion was confirmed. It was Isaac behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“You got a thing for bondage or what?”

“What?”

“Never mind. I’m fine. No thanks to you guys. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut about it, could you?”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything to anyone.”

“Yeah, he didn’t say a thing and neither did I,” Travis said, suddenly standing near them. He turned around to face the people still standing around rubbernecking. “Nothing left to see here, folks,” he said. The people dispersed. Their king had spoken.

“Oh yeah? So that’s why that jackass called me a fag? Because you two assholes kept my secret.”

“It’s true. Jared’s just the type of douchebag that would throw that word around,” Isaac said, surprising Kyle. He had never heard him say a curse word before. They stared at each other for a handful of moments. Something swam in Isaac’s eyes—something intense and momentous that made you stop and want to see. It was like being caught in the first snow of the season. You were walking along and the first flakes floating toward you made you come to a standstill. Forget where you were going or what you were doing. Where had this thing come from? And was he just seeing it now or was it new? What was the difference; either way, it was a ridiculous thing to think about.

“Isaac, you should take him somewhere to cool off. Wouldn’t want him to encounter Jared again,” Travis said.

“Shut up. I’m fine,” Kyle said.

“We could go to the park,” Isaac suggested. He was talking about the park right next to the school. It was the one Kyle went to during his free periods. He would lie on the grass and read when he only wanted to be alone. Could Isaac know that? He supposed, but no one went to that side of the park when he did except young couples and their young kids.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Both he and Isaac grabbed their coats from their lockers. It had to have been no more than twenty-five degrees outside.

At this time in the morning, before the first bell had even rung, it was easy to leave unnoticed. Kids were still being dropped off and driving into the lot to park. As they walked through the front entrance, Kyle could already feel his adrenaline lowering to normal levels, the time when the regrets rolled over him like so many accusatory waves.

He had promised himself things would be different, he would be different. Thus far, they had been and he thought he had been. But he wasn’t, was he?

He was the same. So much for self-improvement.

“You know, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again. I promised myself I wouldn’t get into any more fights,” Kyle said.

“You gained quite the reputation with that one fight back in freshman year. I’m surprised Jared decided to mess with you. Or has he been doing that for a while?”

“No, this was sudden. That’s why I thought it was because you guys had spread it around that I’m gay. I mean, he’s talked shit before, but he’s never gotten physical or called me a fag.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“That’s what you thought? Tell me, how is it that you know so much about me?”

“Everyone at Crest Hills knows a lot about everyone else. It’s the nature of the school,” Isaac said, no longer glancing at Kyle as he spoke, but rather staring straight ahead.

“You know that I want to go to that opening. I didn’t tell anyone except people you definitely don’t hang out with due to your high status. So tell me, how is it that you know?”

“Maybe I’m a little more perceptive than you think,” Isaac said and Kyle laughed. Wouldn’t that be nice if it were true?

“I think that’s bullshit and you know it,” he said.

Isaac made a noise as if laughing in agreement. He didn’t say anything to counter Kyle. They walked in silence through the park, their shoes crunching in the snow blanketing the grass. The trees were near-skeletons, holding on to the few leaves they could. Kyle burrowed his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Why did you promise yourself you wouldn’t get into any more fights?” Isaac said. Kyle could only look at him for a moment, cursing himself again for being impulsive, for letting himself say things he shouldn’t.

“The reason is simple, really. I didn’t want to get arrested again.”

“Then why didn’t you just promise yourself that you wouldn’t get arrested? That would have been simpler.”

Kyle stopped walking on their path through the trees and veered toward one of them. It’s trunk was large and it’s bark gray. When he touched it, the cold burned like an unbearable heat against his hand. He turned and leaned against the tree, his hand safely back in his pocket.

“My psychologist says I have anger issues. I go to a therapy group for people who need help managing their anger. Part of the process is learning self-control,” Kyle said. Isaac, still a few feet away on the path, approached him.

“See, I didn’t know that,” he said. And he smiled. Kyle could’ve laughed. He smiled, too, and shook his head.

“I should thank you. If a teacher had broken up the fight, I would’ve been fucked. They’re already on my ass for not cutting my hair,” Kyle said, referring to his shoulder length black hair.

“Why don’t you cut it?”

“My contrarian personality? I don’t know.”

“I like it.”

“Thanks. I like it, too.”

Kyle was acutely aware of how close they stood to each other. He could see that thing in Isaac's eyes again, a light, his pupils dilated. Kyle stepped just a certain bit closer, staring at Isaac's lips, his eyes.

When Isaac kissed him, there were no fireworks. No brightness popped behind his eyelids. It was sweet and warm, Isaac's lips a little chapped. Not what he needed or even what he thought he'd wanted.

They both pulled away at the same time, reluctance thickening the air between them. Kyle looked away. It had started to snow again, small flakes coming down and landing on their hair and shoulders.

“We should go back.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. When he looked into Isaac's eyes, he felt the same pull. Felt wide awake but still confused.

They kissed again. This time deeper. Kyle started to shiver.

“I'm cold,” he said, as if to banish away any thoughts about the shivers being caused by anything else.

Isaac wrapped his arms around Kyle and Kyle realized for the first time, with his temple pillowed against Isaac's chest, the true degree of their height difference.