citizen-seth
On the Prowl
Good job! And I am too, to be honest!
Oh, and just so you know, its name is different for a reason.
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The Surly Bonds
- Thread starter citizen-seth
- Start date
Good job! And I am too, to be honest!
Oh, and just so you know, its name is different for a reason.
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
Hey guys, here's the next chapter. This one is a little on the short side, but its my favourite one so far. Enjoy!!
Waylon’s first day of class began at 10:30am. He and James had their first class together: Comparative Politics with professor Jeremy Bentham. The pair took seats near the back and watched as the rest of the class slowly filed in. Way recognized a few of the people in the class as people that he had seen around campus over the weekend, but he didn’t see any of the Edun House members that he had met so far. The last student to enter took the seat directly in front of Waylon. Her long, dark blonde hair fell down below her shoulders and she wore a white oxford shirt and tie. The tie was blue, its stripes were green; the monogram, he did not catch.
Moments later the professor was entrenched in an explanation of what was to come in the ensuing semester. Test dates and the grading system were all covered, as were the different countries whose political systems they would be studying. Looking over to James’ desk, he saw a note his roommate had written to him: “You’re going to help me with this, right?” He shot a smile James’ way in agreement. As the class ended the boys checked their schedules to find their next class. The both had a Freshmen English class next, though they were in different buildings with different professors. They agreed to meet up at their dorm room after their third and final class of the day: Russian for Waylon and Greek for James.
Waylon’s Russian class was small, only 12 students. He saw this as a positive point as it would allow not only for more personal instruction from the professor, but for a closer relationship among his classmates. The class progressed through general introductions and an explanation of the syllabus. The professor, a grey haired Russian woman that appeared to be in her 70’s, also taught several classes on Soviet politics, Way learned. He listened to her drone on about various topics. Midway through what seemed like her unabridged autobiography, Waylon lost himself in the view from the window. The top of the equestrian barn was just visible from their third floor classroom.
“. . . and at that time I was in working on a sector of our space program. Nothing in the means of space flight, mind you, just construction of telescopes in the outer sectors of the Federation,” the professor said as Waylon half listened and half daydreamed. At the end of the lesson turned story time, Waylon leaned over to a girl with an equally bored expression on her face; “what was her name again?”
“Dr. Akhmatova, I think,” she said.
“We’re going on an adventure,” said James.
“We are,” Waylon asked, shutting the door to their dorm room.
“Yes! So, come on, get some real shoes on and let’s go,” James said. Waylon looked down at his feet and assumed that, for whatever James had in mind, something other than leather sandals would be required. He put down his bag and slipped on a pair of blue leather boat shoes.
“Alright, let’s do this,” he said.
The boys trekked out across the Quadrangle to a part of the campus that Waylon had yet to explore. Way began to recognize their surroundings as the equestrian barn came into sight. The barn was a long red rectangular building, large white fences stretching out from its sides. A large jumping course was on its opposite side; colourful oxers and verticals dotting the space. Waylon wondered at what point he would get his first chance on the course. He assumed it would be two days later, on Wednesday, at the equestrian team’s first practice.
They kept walking, passing the barn and leaving the clear field of campus behind. The manicured lawn of campus gave way to tree as the path began a gentle downward slope. After a few minutes of walking the green of the forest gave way to water. “I didn’t know there was a lake, here.”
“There’s not,” said James. “Technically, it’s a bight . . . it’s like a bay, but not,” he added at Waylon’s questioning look. “It opens up to the sea down there,” he said pointing out to the far distance.
Waylon didn’t follow his gaze. His eyes were locked on something on the water: a rower sped across the water in a single light blue shell. The bow spliced the water sending a gentle spray into the air. “See something you like,” James asked.
“Just enjoying the scenery.” Waylon smiled. “Let’s go.”
Alright, it’s just over on the other side of the bay,” James said, starting to walk away. Waylon took a last look at the boy on the water. The sun sparkled on his rust coloured hair. The shell sped further away, and Waylon turned, following in James’ footsteps.
“You don’t talk about your dad.”
Waylon didn’t answer.
“I mean, I know I’ve only known you for four days, but I know where you’re from, and about your mom, and that you like Canadian bacon on your pizza, and that you get kind of emotional when you see those commercials on television about the baby animals getting abused . . . so, I mean, I guess I was just wondering why you never talk about him.”
Waylon licked his lips. “My father died. He had cancer.”
“Dude, I’m sorry,” James said, stopping to look back at Waylon.
“Don’t be. I’m not . . . We weren’t close.”
“Because he was sick?”
“After he graduated from here, he went to seminary near his home in Arizona. He was a Baptist minister; having a gay son wasn’t part of his plans . . . you don’t know what it's like to have your father wake you up at 5:00AM screaming, ‘Are you queer?’”
James was surprised at how nonchalantly Waylon told the story. The silence between them was palpable. Waylon hadn’t noticed James’ hand as he had placed it on the back of his bicep. “Waylon . . . I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too."
After another ten minutes of walking, they rounded the bay and made their way up an embankment to where the trees were thinning again. At the edge of the forest the way was blocked by an old wooden fence that James quickly scaled.
“Isn’t this trespassing,” Waylon said nervously.
“Nah, it’s only trespassing if there’s a sign telling you not to.”
“Oh my God, we’re going to go to jail for this, aren’t we,” Waylon said as his feet touched ground on the other side of the fence. James told him to stop whining and to follow him as he started out across the pasture. Gentle flowers of orange and purple were sprinkled among the leaves of grass, the springy soil slowly rising into a gentle hill. As they neared its apex a swath of black and white boulders became visible on the other side. It was not until Waylon heard the boulders that he realized they weren’t part of the geography at all. Below him in the field was a massive herd of cows. “You brought me here to show me cows?”
“No,” James said, giving Waylon a scathing glance. “I brought you here to show you a cow.”
“Oh, well, if it’s a cow . . . that really does make it worth the trip.”
“You know,” James said whipping around to face Way, “if you weren’t my best friend, I really don’t think I’d like you.”
“What?! You’re a such a douche!” Waylon was stymieing a laugh when James’ playfully launched his fist at Way’s shoulder.
“Well then you’re a douche’s douche!”
“What does that even mean,” Waylon asked exasperatedly.
“It means I’m cooler than you, so come on.” With that, James took off down the hill, with Waylon following quickly behind. As the two boys raced toward them the cattle raised their heads to watch, their mouths still chewing their cud. The pair came to a stop at the herd’s edge at the bottom of the hill. “So, let me guess: there's like a thousand cows that are white with black spots, and you want to show me the one that's black with white spots?”
“You know, one day, you’re going to be snarky to some red neck Klan member and he’s not going to be anywhere near as nice to you as I am . . . but really, it’s a special cow. And it doesn’t have spots at all.” Waylon was beginning to doubt his friend’s sanity as he watched James meander through the field of cows. He followed obediently for only a short while until James came to a stop in front of a small black calf. “Found what you were loo. . .” Waylon couldn’t finish his sentence. His words had been stolen by the sight in front of him. Standing in the grass before him, blinking in the sunlight was a two-headed calf. “How did you find this?”
“Yesterday morning, you were still asleep and I went for a walk. I just ended up here, and found it.”
“. . .ended up here? Dude, we’re like over a mile from campus. How can you just accidentally wander in the woods for a mile and then just happen to stumble on something like this. That’s not safe.”
“I don’t know,” James said. Then, turning his full attention to the calf he asked, “. . . what do you think it’s like to have two heads?” Waylon could see how enthralled his friend was in the animal and decided to leave the sarcasm out of his voice.
“Maybe it doesn’t have two heads. Maybe its two calves with one body? Two lives, two separate minds, but only one body to keep them in.”
“Maybe . . . I wonder if it feels and sees everything twice. Twice as many breezes, sees twice as many sun sets.”
“I don’t know,” Waylon said honestly. He stood up, putting his hand on his roommate’s shoulder. “It's getting late, James; we should start to head back.” The calf bleated as James gave it a last pat on its right head. They sky was turning purple, dotted with the earliest of stars, and Venus was rising over the tops of the trees. As they left the herd and began to walk back up the hill, Waylon looked back at the calf and wondered if it saw twice as many stars as usual.
Chapter 5
The Two-Headed Calf
The Two-Headed Calf
Waylon’s first day of class began at 10:30am. He and James had their first class together: Comparative Politics with professor Jeremy Bentham. The pair took seats near the back and watched as the rest of the class slowly filed in. Way recognized a few of the people in the class as people that he had seen around campus over the weekend, but he didn’t see any of the Edun House members that he had met so far. The last student to enter took the seat directly in front of Waylon. Her long, dark blonde hair fell down below her shoulders and she wore a white oxford shirt and tie. The tie was blue, its stripes were green; the monogram, he did not catch.
Moments later the professor was entrenched in an explanation of what was to come in the ensuing semester. Test dates and the grading system were all covered, as were the different countries whose political systems they would be studying. Looking over to James’ desk, he saw a note his roommate had written to him: “You’re going to help me with this, right?” He shot a smile James’ way in agreement. As the class ended the boys checked their schedules to find their next class. The both had a Freshmen English class next, though they were in different buildings with different professors. They agreed to meet up at their dorm room after their third and final class of the day: Russian for Waylon and Greek for James.
Waylon’s Russian class was small, only 12 students. He saw this as a positive point as it would allow not only for more personal instruction from the professor, but for a closer relationship among his classmates. The class progressed through general introductions and an explanation of the syllabus. The professor, a grey haired Russian woman that appeared to be in her 70’s, also taught several classes on Soviet politics, Way learned. He listened to her drone on about various topics. Midway through what seemed like her unabridged autobiography, Waylon lost himself in the view from the window. The top of the equestrian barn was just visible from their third floor classroom.
“. . . and at that time I was in working on a sector of our space program. Nothing in the means of space flight, mind you, just construction of telescopes in the outer sectors of the Federation,” the professor said as Waylon half listened and half daydreamed. At the end of the lesson turned story time, Waylon leaned over to a girl with an equally bored expression on her face; “what was her name again?”
“Dr. Akhmatova, I think,” she said.
---------
“We’re going on an adventure,” said James.
“We are,” Waylon asked, shutting the door to their dorm room.
“Yes! So, come on, get some real shoes on and let’s go,” James said. Waylon looked down at his feet and assumed that, for whatever James had in mind, something other than leather sandals would be required. He put down his bag and slipped on a pair of blue leather boat shoes.
“Alright, let’s do this,” he said.
The boys trekked out across the Quadrangle to a part of the campus that Waylon had yet to explore. Way began to recognize their surroundings as the equestrian barn came into sight. The barn was a long red rectangular building, large white fences stretching out from its sides. A large jumping course was on its opposite side; colourful oxers and verticals dotting the space. Waylon wondered at what point he would get his first chance on the course. He assumed it would be two days later, on Wednesday, at the equestrian team’s first practice.
They kept walking, passing the barn and leaving the clear field of campus behind. The manicured lawn of campus gave way to tree as the path began a gentle downward slope. After a few minutes of walking the green of the forest gave way to water. “I didn’t know there was a lake, here.”
“There’s not,” said James. “Technically, it’s a bight . . . it’s like a bay, but not,” he added at Waylon’s questioning look. “It opens up to the sea down there,” he said pointing out to the far distance.
Waylon didn’t follow his gaze. His eyes were locked on something on the water: a rower sped across the water in a single light blue shell. The bow spliced the water sending a gentle spray into the air. “See something you like,” James asked.
“Just enjoying the scenery.” Waylon smiled. “Let’s go.”
Alright, it’s just over on the other side of the bay,” James said, starting to walk away. Waylon took a last look at the boy on the water. The sun sparkled on his rust coloured hair. The shell sped further away, and Waylon turned, following in James’ footsteps.
“You don’t talk about your dad.”
Waylon didn’t answer.
“I mean, I know I’ve only known you for four days, but I know where you’re from, and about your mom, and that you like Canadian bacon on your pizza, and that you get kind of emotional when you see those commercials on television about the baby animals getting abused . . . so, I mean, I guess I was just wondering why you never talk about him.”
Waylon licked his lips. “My father died. He had cancer.”
“Dude, I’m sorry,” James said, stopping to look back at Waylon.
“Don’t be. I’m not . . . We weren’t close.”
“Because he was sick?”
“After he graduated from here, he went to seminary near his home in Arizona. He was a Baptist minister; having a gay son wasn’t part of his plans . . . you don’t know what it's like to have your father wake you up at 5:00AM screaming, ‘Are you queer?’”
James was surprised at how nonchalantly Waylon told the story. The silence between them was palpable. Waylon hadn’t noticed James’ hand as he had placed it on the back of his bicep. “Waylon . . . I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too."
After another ten minutes of walking, they rounded the bay and made their way up an embankment to where the trees were thinning again. At the edge of the forest the way was blocked by an old wooden fence that James quickly scaled.
“Isn’t this trespassing,” Waylon said nervously.
“Nah, it’s only trespassing if there’s a sign telling you not to.”
“Oh my God, we’re going to go to jail for this, aren’t we,” Waylon said as his feet touched ground on the other side of the fence. James told him to stop whining and to follow him as he started out across the pasture. Gentle flowers of orange and purple were sprinkled among the leaves of grass, the springy soil slowly rising into a gentle hill. As they neared its apex a swath of black and white boulders became visible on the other side. It was not until Waylon heard the boulders that he realized they weren’t part of the geography at all. Below him in the field was a massive herd of cows. “You brought me here to show me cows?”
“No,” James said, giving Waylon a scathing glance. “I brought you here to show you a cow.”
“Oh, well, if it’s a cow . . . that really does make it worth the trip.”
“You know,” James said whipping around to face Way, “if you weren’t my best friend, I really don’t think I’d like you.”
“What?! You’re a such a douche!” Waylon was stymieing a laugh when James’ playfully launched his fist at Way’s shoulder.
“Well then you’re a douche’s douche!”
“What does that even mean,” Waylon asked exasperatedly.
“It means I’m cooler than you, so come on.” With that, James took off down the hill, with Waylon following quickly behind. As the two boys raced toward them the cattle raised their heads to watch, their mouths still chewing their cud. The pair came to a stop at the herd’s edge at the bottom of the hill. “So, let me guess: there's like a thousand cows that are white with black spots, and you want to show me the one that's black with white spots?”
“You know, one day, you’re going to be snarky to some red neck Klan member and he’s not going to be anywhere near as nice to you as I am . . . but really, it’s a special cow. And it doesn’t have spots at all.” Waylon was beginning to doubt his friend’s sanity as he watched James meander through the field of cows. He followed obediently for only a short while until James came to a stop in front of a small black calf. “Found what you were loo. . .” Waylon couldn’t finish his sentence. His words had been stolen by the sight in front of him. Standing in the grass before him, blinking in the sunlight was a two-headed calf. “How did you find this?”
“Yesterday morning, you were still asleep and I went for a walk. I just ended up here, and found it.”
“. . .ended up here? Dude, we’re like over a mile from campus. How can you just accidentally wander in the woods for a mile and then just happen to stumble on something like this. That’s not safe.”
“I don’t know,” James said. Then, turning his full attention to the calf he asked, “. . . what do you think it’s like to have two heads?” Waylon could see how enthralled his friend was in the animal and decided to leave the sarcasm out of his voice.
“Maybe it doesn’t have two heads. Maybe its two calves with one body? Two lives, two separate minds, but only one body to keep them in.”
“Maybe . . . I wonder if it feels and sees everything twice. Twice as many breezes, sees twice as many sun sets.”
“I don’t know,” Waylon said honestly. He stood up, putting his hand on his roommate’s shoulder. “It's getting late, James; we should start to head back.” The calf bleated as James gave it a last pat on its right head. They sky was turning purple, dotted with the earliest of stars, and Venus was rising over the tops of the trees. As they left the herd and began to walk back up the hill, Waylon looked back at the calf and wondered if it saw twice as many stars as usual.
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Hmmm ... Fascinating, Seth! 
Your imagery is quite strong! Especially the rusty-haired guy skimming across the water in a racing shell. A very rare, through quite delightful, sight on an Atlantic bay. Shells are generally confined to calmer waters ... like the Charles River.
And, black and white boulders, out of context, on a hill surrounded by black and white cows. Another rare Atlantic seacoast sight. However, here in Wisconsin ... well ... that's a different matter, as far as cows go. And, the only coasts we have are Great Lakes, which are mini, fresh water, oceans.
And the two headed calf: An interesting look into existential dualism for Way and James. Since they are not connected, though, I'm thinking each head sees just as many stars as if they had their own, separate, body. Not all that dissimilar to Siamese Twins, or "our" two separate boys.
It's good that the guys are getting closer together, joking, nudging, sharing, touching, becoming stronger friends.
Definitely looking forward to More!!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
Your imagery is quite strong! Especially the rusty-haired guy skimming across the water in a racing shell. A very rare, through quite delightful, sight on an Atlantic bay. Shells are generally confined to calmer waters ... like the Charles River.
And, black and white boulders, out of context, on a hill surrounded by black and white cows. Another rare Atlantic seacoast sight. However, here in Wisconsin ... well ... that's a different matter, as far as cows go. And, the only coasts we have are Great Lakes, which are mini, fresh water, oceans.
And the two headed calf: An interesting look into existential dualism for Way and James. Since they are not connected, though, I'm thinking each head sees just as many stars as if they had their own, separate, body. Not all that dissimilar to Siamese Twins, or "our" two separate boys.
It's good that the guys are getting closer together, joking, nudging, sharing, touching, becoming stronger friends.
Definitely looking forward to More!!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
Chaz,
I think it's a generational gap thing we just fell into.
I "wiki'd" Penney's Boat and found quotes from some TV shows with themes akin to Through the Looking Glass.
Seth,
I did enjoy this chapter, and Jame's way of introducing Way to the utterly (udderly? lol) bizarre double-headed calf. And the musings are something I'd likely have cross my mind, too.
And, the crew/skuller is captivating, isn't he?
I think it's a generational gap thing we just fell into.
I "wiki'd" Penney's Boat and found quotes from some TV shows with themes akin to Through the Looking Glass.
Seth,
I did enjoy this chapter, and Jame's way of introducing Way to the utterly (udderly? lol) bizarre double-headed calf. And the musings are something I'd likely have cross my mind, too.
And, the crew/skuller is captivating, isn't he?
The Penny's Boat thing leaves me out. I think it's a Lost reference.
Jeremy Bentham
15 February 1748 – 6 June 1832
From Wikipedia:
He was one of the good guys, in other words.
Anna Akhmatova was a poet.
Laura Gilpin's poem "The Two-Headed Calf" uses the calf as a metaphor for poetry and the human condition...especially the condition of being a poet. Two-headed calves don't tend to live long, and neither do poets!
Jeremy Bentham
15 February 1748 – 6 June 1832
From Wikipedia:
He was one of the good guys, in other words.
Anna Akhmatova was a poet.
Laura Gilpin's poem "The Two-Headed Calf" uses the calf as a metaphor for poetry and the human condition...especially the condition of being a poet. Two-headed calves don't tend to live long, and neither do poets!
I'm just reading your story with all the richness you have put into it. If I need to know about some boat and don't will I still enjoy it?
I can assure you that I did not, however, feel that Maurice Ravel was a name from a random name generator. Bolero was my secret tool for trapping friends into liking some classical music
Keep up the good work.
I can assure you that I did not, however, feel that Maurice Ravel was a name from a random name generator. Bolero was my secret tool for trapping friends into liking some classical music
Keep up the good work.
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
I'm just reading your story with all the richness you have put into it. If I need to know about some boat and don't will I still enjoy it?
I can assure you that I did not, however, feel that Maurice Ravel was a name from a random name generator. Bolero was my secret tool for trapping friends into liking some classical music
Keep up the good work.
No, you will not miss a thing as far a the plot is concerned if you don't catch a reference. They are in the story for 2 reasons: 1) to make it more fun for me to write and 2) to make it more fun for you to read.
Yes, catching one will give you some insight into the story, but it will not reveal any plot points. For example, you pointed out that James' middles and last name are the same as the classical composer. From that, you could guess that the composer, one of his compositions, or at least classical music would play a part in the story later on. If you had not picked up on the name reference then you would simply continue reading the story and not see the foreshadowed connection later on. I hope that makes sense.
Also, I think the fun part is that different people will catch and point out different things. This not only allows for the story to become more unique and personal for each individual reader, but it also fosters a community discussion of readers who are trying to solve this massive puzzle together.
You caught the Ravel reference because you like that song, and by pointing it out you helped fill in the blank for people that have never heard of it. Perhaps Croistoir found out about the Laura Gilpin reference because he likes poetry (or maybe just via Google
) but either way, by everyone providing input it makes the story take on a new dimension that goes beyond just the black and white words on the screen. Isn't the whole idea of art that we can all look at a single canvas and come away with many individual meanings?
Criostoir, I'm so glad you posted this!! Not sure if you googled everything or if you knew it all offhand, but either way I'm glad someone has been interested enough to do a little digging. I hope I can keep you entertained all the way to the end!!
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
Chapter 6
All My Secrets
All My Secrets
“So, James knows about you . . . that you’re gay, I mean,” said Logan.
“Yeah,” Way said, smiling at the lanky teen as he asked the same question for a second time. Logan, from the dorm room next door, had knocked on Waylon’s door asking if he had wanted to go to lunch. Waylon, seeing a chance to get to know another Freshmen better quickly said yes and the pair set off to the the small dining area on the Keep’s first floor. He’d met Logan shortly after he first arrived, but he knew only that he was from one of the Carolinas and was a fellow political science major. They’d made brief eye contact the day before and Waylon knew instantly that he should make it a point to get to know his neighbour.
“Weren’t you afraid? I mean, James is cool with it, but you never know . . .” Logan brushed his blond bangs back into place and looked back at Waylon, obviously not understanding why Waylon did not see the danger in this situation.
Waylon cocked his head and looked at his blue eyed friend. “Well, what was I supposed to do? Hide it for a year?”
Logan looked down. “No, but . . .”
“You’re not out at home, are you,” Waylon’s voice was softer now.
“No one knows. You’re the first person I’ve told.”
Waylon put down his fork, and tried to give the most reassuring look he could muster. “I don’t know Thomas very well,” Waylon said, “but he seems like a really cool guy. I really don’t think he’d have a problem with it.” He took a bite of his spaghetti and considered the boy. “You have a fresh start here; you can be whomever you want to be. Take advantage of that.”
Logan sat back in his chair and was silent. Waylon could see his mind whirling, but decided not to press the issue further. “What are you doing later,” Logan asked.
“I’ve got a team meeting at 3:30; before that I thought I might go ahead and knock out some Russian homework.”
“What team are you on?”
“Equestrian. Today is our first practice.”
“Oh, wow, that’s cool. Do you have your own horse?”
“Yeah, he made it up here yesterday; the school paid for his transport.”
“What’s his name?”
“Apollo. He’s a big bay stallion.” Waylon’s voice got louder with pride as he spoke about his horse, and it instantly put him in a good mood. “What about you? Any plans?” Logan shook his head. “Great! Then you’re having dinner with me. James and I are going with some of the guys to the Main Hall at 6:30.”
“Alright, sounds good.”
“Good deal,” Waylon said, getting up from the table. He smiled at himself, noticing that he had picked up on James’ catchphrase. “You know,” he said putting his hand on Logan’s shoulder, “there’s nothing wro . . .” Waylon stopped mid-sentence when he noticed the monogram on the boy’s shirt: L. W. V. M. “Do you have two middle names?”
“Huh? Oh, no, my last name is van Maaren. It’s German.”
-----------
Waylon arrived at the stable early. He wanted to have time to check out the barn and spend time with Apollo before the rest of the team arrived. He found Apollo in stall twelve with fresh hay in the trough. He slid his palm between the animal’s eyes and the horse leaned into his hand. Though Waylon had been busy with his first week at school, he had missed his daily rides with Apollo. The time was not only his daily exercise, but his time of reflection and meditation.
“You must be Waylon?” a voice called to him from the stable’s entrance.
Waylon turned, startled. “Yes?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” said the woman. “I’m Michelle, Michelle Or, your coach.” She extended her hand and Waylon shook it. She had an accent he couldn’t place. It was faint, as if she had had spent so much time away from it that it was all but gone. “That’s a nice horse you’ve got there.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m looking forward to being on the team. Apollo is too.”
“Glad to hear it. Typically, we split you Freshmen into pairs, but since there’s only two of you this year, I guess it’s already been done for us. Have you had a chance to meet your teammate yet? Her name is Locke.”
“No, not yet,” he said.
“Well, that’s fine; she’ll be here soon enough.” She pointed to a stall opposite Apollo’s, stall number six, “she’s hers.” In the stall a dapple grey mare stood feeding from a bag of oats. The nameplate on the stall’s door named the horse as Hemlock. Way furrowed his brow at the name, wondering if it was done in irony to its owners name or as a means of intimidation.
“Well, I’ll leave you alone,” Roe said. I’ll be in my office untill everyone gets here.”
As she left Waylon began to look at the other horses. He could tell the ones that were used for competition, their lean frames stood in contrast to the more overweight horses that were used for lessons and kept for resale. As he began to walk back toward the mouth of the barn he began reading off the names of the horses he passed. Princeton. Impress. Beauty. Bandit. Comanche. Vegas Baby. Tecumseh. Apollo. Hemlock. Dr Quinn. Bourbon. Sydney. Lady Bird. Lunch Box. Hephaestion.
Before he could reach the barn door a figure appeared. “Hello,” the dark figure said. Waylon squinted to see the person backlit in the doorframe by the sun’s golden light. “You must be one of the new Freshmen, yes?”
“Yeah . . . names Waylon.” The figure stepped into the barn and Waylon could finally make out his features. The figure was shorter than Waylon, just under six feet tall, he guessed, with cropped light brown hair.
“Nice. I’m Guy, Guy Or.”
“You’re Coach Or’s son, then,” Way said, connecting the dots.
“Yes. Moved down here for school; she’s been here a lot longer though.”
“Moved here from . . . France?” Hearing Sam’s thick accent allowed him to place Sandy’s faint one.
“No, Montreal. I suppose it’s not something I can really hide,” he said smiling at himself.
“Yeah. So, you’re on the team.” Waylon meant it as a question, but it came out as though he was telling Guy something he didn’t already know.
“I sure am; it’s my last year.” The pair walked down the barn. Guy stopped at a black stallion. “This is my Bourbon. And mom, she rides Sydney, down there.” He nodded at a small mare a few stalls down the length of the barn.
“So, Quebec to Massachusetts, that’s not too bad of an adjustment,” Way said trying to make conversation.
“Yes, and no. I’d been down here a lot to visit my mother, so I knew what it was like well enough, but I suppose it was still rather different. You’d think after four years down here I’d be used to hiding my weed.” Waylon considered the boy. He was wearing a navy blue polo with a purple collar and cuffs. He couldn’t remember which house claimed purple. He could, however, remember the way his full seat breeches hugged the boy’s inner thigh. He lost himself in that mental image so deeply that he didn’t notice that Guy had left nor that someone else was standing right beside him.
“You’re Waylon.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Waylon snapped out of his stupor and turned to see a tall, vivacious girl standing beside him. Her lips were a shock of red against her tan skin, the colour offset by a pair of piercing blue eyes. A mane of blond hair cascaded down her back, a strand of it falling down her shoulder, dangling past her polo’s monogram: C. L. A.
She wasn’t wearing the white oxford shirt from when he had first seen her, but Waylon recognized her instantly without it. She sat in front of him in their comparative politics class. “My name’s Catherine, Catherine Adams, but I go by Locke.” Her voice was aloof and seductive, giving her a disconcerting demeanor. It struck Waylon that she would be the kind of girl that got any man she chose.
Waylon’s mind was so busy digesting her physical appearance that he skipped two beats before responding to her. “Hemlock is a very interesting name. Do you like to rhyme in all aspects of your life?”
“Hemlock . . . The death of Socrates.” She looked at Waylon like the connection should have been obvious.
Waylon had a feeling that he was already making a bad first impression. “How special.” Way’s comment was meant to be a sarcastic joke, but a larger amount of sarcasm crept in than was intended.
Locke snapped around to face him from Hemlock’s stall. “You know what I think . . . you and me . . . we’re either going to be best friends, or . . . or it’ll be a very long year. Do your job. Don’t it the latter.” She strolled out of the stable to an area where he could see a number of other team members gathering.
The team meeting was short enough. There were standard introductions between the eleven team members, and discussion of practice times and rules for barn care. As the meeting ended and the students began to disband, Waylon found himself alone with Locke again. She turned to him, her hair swaying with the wind: “Hemlock and I are going for a ride. You’re coming with me.” Waylon wasn’t sure if he wanted to spend any more time with Locke, but he found himself agreeing to the ride, regardless.
They tacked their horses in silence. Setting out from the barn, the pair of horses strode across the field edging toward the tree line. Minutes passed as they entered the forest, the trail sloping downward. Waylon recognized the trail as the one that led to the bay and the boat house, but he remained silent, not knowing what to say to his company.
Locke broke the silence first: “You don’t talk a lot, do you?”
“You don’t leave a lot of room for commentary, do you?”
Waylon was riding behind Locke on the trail, and, though he couldn’t see her face, he thought he noticed her shoulders bristle at the barb. As they continued toward the bay silence ensued.
“I’m from Portland . . . Maine, not Oregon,” she said finally, the words rushing out as if she couldn’t hold them in anymore. “I’m studying philosophy. I speak Spanish, French as well. I’ve been riding since I was seven. I can shoot a gun and I’ve been to Africa. Thats all you nee to know about me.” She paused. “Go. Your turn.”
Waylon looked at the back of her head. He wasn’t sure how serious she was being, and momentarily entertained the idea of questioning her on the quality of a life story that ended so abruptly, but he thought against it.
“Well,” he said. I was born in Arizona, then moved to Arkansas. I’m studying political science and I speak Russian. My favourite cake is red velvet and apparently I don’t talk a lot. There you go - all my life’s secrets revealed.”
The bay finally emerged in front of them and the trail widened out, allowing them to ride side by side. They turned right, heading away from the boat house and toward where the bight narrowly opened to the sea.
“All your secrets, huh,” she said, turning to face him, a a thin smile clearly spreading on her face. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Nope, that was all of them,” Way said sarcastically. “I like to keep things in the open.”
“Like the way you were openly checking out Guy at the barn?” Waylon brought Apollo to a dead halt and his tan complexion gained a reddish hue. “Oh come on,” she continued. “You’re so obvious, there was practically a lake of drool surrounding you.” Her final words were broken with the sounds of laughter, which put him slightly at ease. “He is pretty cute though . . . you weren’t the only one looking.”
He smiled at her. “But really,” he said, a more serious tone creeping into his voice, “do you think he noticed?”
“No, I don’t think so . . . but I know his mom did.”
Waylon’s body went rigid in his saddle and Locke’s playful laughter filled his ears. “Silly Waylon, tricks are for kids.” And with that she rammed her heels into Hemlock’s side and the mare cantered toward the beach, leaving Waylon in her wake, taking off after her.
- Joined
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Hmmm ... Interesting chapter! More peeps to keep track of (and, maybe, drool over)! Not sure if I'm liking Locke, though. Seems to have a big stick stuck up her ... uh ... spine! 
And, how many names does Ms. Or have? Michelle, Roe, Sandy ... "Or" am I missing something?
I'm also wondering what Apollo might be thinking ... now that he's gotten a sniff of Hemlock!
I'm liking this story/puzzle very much! And, especially for this:
I'm thinking You are a pretty amazing Dude!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
And, how many names does Ms. Or have? Michelle, Roe, Sandy ... "Or" am I missing something?
I'm also wondering what Apollo might be thinking ... now that he's gotten a sniff of Hemlock!
I'm liking this story/puzzle very much! And, especially for this:
Seth said:Isn't the whole idea of art that we can all look at a single canvas and come away with many individual meanings?
I'm thinking You are a pretty amazing Dude!
Keep smilin'!!
Chaz
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
And, how many names does Ms. Or have? Michelle, Roe, Sandy ... "Or" am I missing something?
Chaz
Oh, snap, you guys! Looks like I got hit 'find replace" before I posted that last chapter. Her name is Michelle Or, all the others were names that I was testing out, and apparently forgot to change. Sorry!\
. . . or maybe its some deep insidious plot point!!
Chaz,
Good Catch. Seth is having fun with his copy-editor, too - didn't want to spoil all the surprise for me, either, lol.
I caught the name change, as well as their native country change. I won't tell you where they hailed from originally, but there's a clue in a certain mare's name, lol. I found the transition of "fish eggs" to "maybe" an interesting on in names. I thought the change of venue responsible - Frenchier sounding name vs. British Outlaw, but the spellng didn't go well with Michelle, which I've been advised was NOT the source of inspiration. Nothing to do with sharp blades on feet over ice.
So, it would appear, I'm in for as much fun, if not more, than everyone else. And, it's like a test - I can't just see the chapter title and post - I can't be sure that what I read earlier is what's on the page now - or, should I say, I can be pretty certain that SOME of what I read earlier AIN'T on the page now, and something else has replaced it!
I'm thinking maybe I signed up for the CIA, monitoring the KGB(SIC - I know it's got a new name), lol.
Still makes for an interesting read, and I can wash my hands of any typo's, because I didn't see the finished product prior to posting. (I couldn't possibly have missed THAT, lol.)
Having said all this, and being as much in the dark as everyone else about their new home country, I am free to note that they hail from where that car was mysteriously relocated to all those years ago ~ and I have to wonder if our good Locke, with personality extraordinaire, and parents who seem to exist but not much more, isn't the wee lass that was in the back seat at the time.
I know nothing more than anyone else has read, so I don't feel like I'm being a spoiler at this point - just back to my usual guessing where a story is headed.
Good Catch. Seth is having fun with his copy-editor, too - didn't want to spoil all the surprise for me, either, lol.
I caught the name change, as well as their native country change. I won't tell you where they hailed from originally, but there's a clue in a certain mare's name, lol. I found the transition of "fish eggs" to "maybe" an interesting on in names. I thought the change of venue responsible - Frenchier sounding name vs. British Outlaw, but the spellng didn't go well with Michelle, which I've been advised was NOT the source of inspiration. Nothing to do with sharp blades on feet over ice.
So, it would appear, I'm in for as much fun, if not more, than everyone else. And, it's like a test - I can't just see the chapter title and post - I can't be sure that what I read earlier is what's on the page now - or, should I say, I can be pretty certain that SOME of what I read earlier AIN'T on the page now, and something else has replaced it!
I'm thinking maybe I signed up for the CIA, monitoring the KGB(SIC - I know it's got a new name), lol.
Still makes for an interesting read, and I can wash my hands of any typo's, because I didn't see the finished product prior to posting. (I couldn't possibly have missed THAT, lol.)
Having said all this, and being as much in the dark as everyone else about their new home country, I am free to note that they hail from where that car was mysteriously relocated to all those years ago ~ and I have to wonder if our good Locke, with personality extraordinaire, and parents who seem to exist but not much more, isn't the wee lass that was in the back seat at the time.
I know nothing more than anyone else has read, so I don't feel like I'm being a spoiler at this point - just back to my usual guessing where a story is headed.
Criostoir, I'm so glad you posted this!! Not sure if you googled everything or if you knew it all offhand, but either way I'm glad someone has been interested enough to do a little digging. I hope I can keep you entertained all the way to the end!!
Some of it I recognized, the rest I googled. I really intend to google everything I can think of in each chapter from now on! This is the Silverlock of Gay Stories!
For this episode, I didn't find as much:
Willem Van Maaren is suspected of betraying Anne Frank and her family.
Locke is another philosopher; Socrates was executed with hemlock. Of the horse names, only Hephaestion isn't obvious; Hephaestion was the lifelong lover of Alexander III of Macedon (called "the Great").
There's a minor actress named Michelle Orr, but I didn't find anything else interesting under that name. There are lots of Guy Orrs.
Críostóir,
You're going to become Seth's new best friend, pulling all the research and sharing it with us.
I find your research "Verrry Interesting".
In the back of my mind, I think I knew Locke was a philosopher.
I didn't google the info, but one piece is definitely interesting.
I shan't discuss further at this point.
You're going to become Seth's new best friend, pulling all the research and sharing it with us.
I find your research "Verrry Interesting".
In the back of my mind, I think I knew Locke was a philosopher.
I didn't google the info, but one piece is definitely interesting.
I shan't discuss further at this point.
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
Chapter 7
Vinculum
Vinculum
Waylon finished tacking Apollo in the barn across from where Hemlock would be once Locke returned.* Waylon hadn’t followed her after she had left him at the boathouse.* Instead, he had returned to the stable and rode Apollo heavily around the arena, taking small jumps over the shortest oxners.* The hard arena work in sun had left him sweaty and he pulled his wet polo off and he trudged back towards the Keep.* As he was making a mental* note to keep a water bottle in his cubby at the barn, turned a corner and was nearly bowled over by the same lanky teen he had had lunch with. *
“Why are you all wet,” Waylon asked at the same time that Logan asked why he was so sweaty.* Waylon explained that he was coming back from practice.* Logan it seemed, had just come back from an afternoon on the beach.* They began walking together back towards their dormitory, and Logan was the first to start the conversation. *
“You’re so dark,” he said.* “Are you, like, Mexican or something?”
Waylon chuckled.* It wasn’t the first time someone had asked him that. “My ancestors were Pueblos, Hopi specifically.* It’s always been a big part of my family.* My dad was always taking me to pow wows and things when I was a kid.”*
Waylon thought he seemed less shy than he did at lunch.* “That's really cool.* I remember reading stories about something like Kokopelli and the great raven or something in school . . ?”
“Yeah, I think he’s like a fertility god or something, I don’t really know a lot about it,” Waylon said honestly.* “I mean, I heard the stories when I was a kid, but I’ve never really bothered to learn them.* My Godfather, though, he was really into all the stories and legends.* He would always tell me one about the Anasazi.* They were this really ancient people, from even before the Pueblos, and they lived in these huge buildings that they carved into the cliffs.”
“Yes, I think I remember seeing those on TV, maybe,” Logan interrupted.
“Yeah, well, one day they all disappeared - like, the whole people, just gone.* The scientists say there was like some huge drought or disease that wiped them out, but the legend is that they were taken away by the ‘star children’ and they became the stars we see at night. . . I mean, obviously it’s not true, but still, it’s fun to believe in.”
“Star people,” Logan repeated looking across the quad at the Keep, “I bet it would be nice to be a star person, not having to worry about school or work, when you got tired of one place, there would always be another new world to explore.”* His voice turned more wistful, causing Waylon to pause before speaking again.*
“Do you miss home?”* Waylon thought learning about where Locke came from might shed some light on a persona that was still an enigma.
“Miss it,” he smiled, “no, not exactly.”* With that, Logan opened the door to the Keep, and Waylon didn’t pursue the topic as they headed up the stairs to their rooms. *
--------------
The main cafeteria was crowded. James and Waylon were sitting next to each other on one side of a long, dark brown table. Logan sat on Waylon’s other side and his roommate Thomas sat across from him, with another student from their floor, Eric, across from James.
“Dude, I saw her and Emily Lind laying out in the Quadrangle tanning yesterday - so hot,” James was saying. Anna Sellers, a senior in Edun House, had become a hot topic of conversation for James and anyone that would listen. In this instance, it was Thomas, Logan’s Asian roommate that was wrapped up in James’ words.
“I have a Western Civ. right next door to one of her classes and I saw her yesterday and, damn, you know how she always wears those short shorts,” Thomas’ voice trailed off, his eyes shifting to Logan, looking for a response. Logan made and enthusiastic sound, and made sure not to meet the glare that Waylon shot him. What Logan missed, James caught. James’ knee nudged into the canvas of Waylon’s pants, a question look passing between them.
“Well, no matter when we see her, she’s not going to want any of us,” Eric said. “She’s always with that one guy, Aaron or Andrew, or whoever he is.” The rest of the guys busied themselves in conversation while James leaned over to Waylon and whispered: “what’s that all about? I thought you two were friends, batting for the same team, even.”
“So did I,” Waylon said a little more coldly than was needed. He picked at the remnants of his salad.
“So, guys,” James said, trying to change the subject, “it’s our first weekend in college coming up; what are we going to do?”
“Drink,” was the answer put forth by Eric and Thomas. Logan nodded in agreement, while James just looked at his friends blankly.
“Okay . . . well, unless you boys have been holding out on me, we’re all just eighteen. So, how exactly do we plan to get any beer?” The guys’ faces soured, their dreams being temporarily deflated by Waylon.
Logan piped up: “I think I can take care of that.”
---------------
“So, what’s the deal with Logan,” James asked from his bed.
Waylon swiveled his desk chair away from his computer to face James. “I don’t know.”
“But he’s gay, right?”
“Well, yeah, of course. But totally not out; we talked about it over lunch.”
“That doesn’t make sense; everyone knows about you, and everyone’s fine with it, and besides, its not like he hides it very well.”
“I know, but he’s worried about Thomas. Says he’s afraid how he’d react.”
James considered that prospect. “I doubt he would . . . but why’d you give him the evil eye at dinner?”
“It just pisses me off, you know, for him to deny it like that.”
“. . . that he’s gay?”
“Yeah, I mean, he’s denying himself . . . but it’s like he’s denying me too.
At that, James sat up in bed, the sheets falling down exposing his pale torso, his expression was comforting: “I’m sorry.” A beat passed. “How do you think he’s going to get the alcohol for this weekend?”
“I dunno . . . he’s rich, his dad’s something with the government so he can sure afford it, but I don’t know how he’ll get it. Fake I.D. maybe?”
“No way, he looks like he’s twelve.”
Waylon smiled. “I dunno. I guess we’ll find out, though.”
“So,” James started, a giant smile spreading on face, “do you want to fuck him?”
“Fuck you,” Way said as he laughed and threw a pillow at his roommate’s face.
--------------
James and Waylon finished class Friday afternoon and agreed to meet in their dorm to go swimming. The curtains of rain outside forced them to change their plans, and they found themselves sitting in front of the television watching the monotony of CNN.
“You know,” James said as he emptied out his pockets, “I really hate my I.D. picture. I look like a stoned crack addict.”
“Let me see,” Way said from the couch. James tossed him the card and Way studied it. “Oh, come on Dorothy, it’s not that bad . . . your hair’s a little . . . special, but it’s no worse than anyone else’s.”
“Dorothy? Are you still on that Kansas kick? Here, let me see yours,” James asked before Waylon’s I.D. sailed into his outstretched hand. “Dude! That’s your I.D. number?”
“Uh, yeah, 4 - 2 - 1 - 7 - 0 - 2 - 3 - 5 - 1,” Waylon said from the couch, still looking at the television screen. “Why?”
“Dude, that’s my social security number.”
Waylon turned around: “are you serious?”
“Yeah, totally. Here - look.” James reached for his wallet and fished out his social security card. “It's right there: 4 - 2 -1 -7 - 0 - 2 - 3 - 5 - 1; exactly the same.”
Waylon looked the two cards over, “so weird.”
“I guess we were meant to be roommates,” James said.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
-----------------
The onslaught of rain caused Locke to find herself trapped in the stable by the sudden monsoon that poured itself on the small campus. With nothing to do and no sign of the rain lightening up, she grabbed her cell phone and punched in a familiar number.“Hey, it’s me.”
“Yeah, dad, it’s nice.”
“Raining right now.”
“No, they’re not too hard.”
“Yeah, we had our first practice on Wednesday.”
“Did you pay the bill?”
“The red card.”
“No, thats the silver card.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, tell mom I said hi.”
“Bye.” She hung up and shoved the phone deep into her pocket, her face sullen and drawn.
“I take it that wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have,” a voice said from behind her. Locke whipped around and raised her hands defensively. “Relax. I don’t bite.” Guy Roe’s thick accent was muffled by the rain and thick humidity, but Locke still lowered her hands at the sight of him.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s fine. Are you alright; you seem a little on edge?”
“Yeah, I’m fine . . . I just don’t like storms.”
He didn’t believe her. “Right, well, this shouldn’t be too bad, just a little rain.”
“Oh, that’s good. Thanks.”
“I was about to walk back to my dorm; I can walk you back to the Keep if you like?”
“Um, no. I’m fine, thanks.”
“Alright,” Guy said confused. “Suit yourself.”
“Goodbye, Guy.”
Locke turned and walked away, apparently their conversation was over. Guy furrowed his brow and then stepped out into the rain. Walking across campus, he saw a tall, auburn haired figure he recognized coming toward him through the rain. Guy raised his hand, “hey Cam, how’s it going?”
---------------
James’ eyes seemed almost unnerved as he looked at Waylon. “What are the chances of that happening? Surely it’s got to be like one in a trillion, right?”
“Not necessarily,” Way said. “Look at it this way: . . . if you have an infinite number of monkeys typing on an infinite number of keyboards then the chances of two of those monkeys typing out the same sequence of numbers doesn’t seem that crazy, does it?”
James looked at him blankly. “Dude that makes no sense.”
Waylon handed James back his card, “I wouldn’t worry about it. This isn’t LOST; there are no magic numbers, no hatch, no island.”
James looked slightly exasperated. “Dude, we just found out that we’re like the result of like beyond cosmic chances here and you’re not totally freaked out by this? What kind of peyote have you been smoking? We’re probably like crazy lucky.” His eyes grew big. “We should buy lottery tickets!!”
“Do they even have a lottery here?”
“I don’t know, but if they do . . .”
“If they do then you can buy as many as you like, but when you don’t win anything I’m going to tell you I told you so.”
“Fine,” James said flopping onto the couch, “but when I’m the richest guy on Earth, don’t come crying to me when you need rent money.”
-----------------
“Hello, friend,” Cameron said through the rain. “You are coming from the barn?”
“Yeah,” said Guy. “You?”
“From the boathouse.” The pounding rain was causing his auburn hair to turn the color of clay and lay flat against his forehead. “The girl who left before you was not happy . . . with you?”
Guy payed the quick change of subject no mind. “No, she wasn’t too happy. Not sure if its about me though.”
“Perchance I can help you.”
Guy smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Perchance you can.”
What's with all the ***********'s?
citizen-seth
On the Prowl
What's with all the ***********'s?
What do you mean "************?"
* Waylon hadn’t followed her after she had left him at the boathouse.* Instead, he had returned to the stable and rode Apollo heavily around the arena, taking small jumps over the shortest oxners.* The hard arena work in sun had left him sweaty and he pulled his wet polo off and he trudged back towards the Keep.* As he was making a mental* note to keep a water bottle in his cubby at the barn, turned a corner and was nearly bowled over by the same lanky teen he had had lunch with. *
