Michael Soll - Scorched

Spec nodded and put his hands on my waist. I laughed and pushed him back, “No, guys don’t dance with guys.”

“Why not?”

“Because, only guys and girls do that.”

“Why?”

“Because, that’s the way it is.”

And then, a burning, red blur appeared in the front of the stage. A girl I had only seen a couple of times appeared, blazing crimson dress flowing to the ground. Spec and Cotta watched in awe.

Kaolin looked beside her, at the woman who had bought her. Meredith Washburn looked down with a sense of pride. “Go ahead, dear. Let everyone gather you in like the light that you are.”

And then, James walked up to her. “Hi, do you remember me?”

Kaolin looked back at Meredith who nodded. Kaolin turned back to James. “Yes.”

“I’m James. Would you like to dance?”

“Yes, I would like that.”

James took her by the hand and the two danced as if they had been dancing their whole lives. Kaolin knew exactly what she was doing and looked graceful as she did. I looked back at Spec who watched her every movement. He was jealous. I could see it. I could feel it.

Kaolin’s eyes left James’ and fell onto Spec. She finished her dance and walked over to us. “Hergels. I harvulen it herbru.”

Cotta and Spec gave each other a look. The tension was palpable.

“You look great in that dress, Kaolin,” I said encouragingly.

“Thanks,” she tersely replied. Turned back to the other two. “When are we lerverlpy?”

Spec looked back at me. “Is it okay if I dance with Kaolin?”

“Sure.”

The two walked to the dance floor, leaving me alone with Cotta. Across the floor, James watched the two closely as they danced.

“What did she say? Just now…”

Cotta seemed conflicted. “We were just catching up, sir.”

“Does he like her?”

“Spec?”

I nodded.

“Of course. Don’t you?

Kaolin and Spec stopped dancing. They were standing still in the center of the floor, just staring at each other, speechless. And then, Kaolin lifted up her dress and took it off. She stood in nothing but her undergarments as those around her gasped. Spec picked up the dress and handed it to her, but she pushed it away.

“No! No more of any of this! I hate it. Let’s go! It’s arilite aberillious!” she screamed.

“Kaolin!” Meredith appeared and quickly covered her up with the dress, pulling the girl away from the crowd.

Spec walked back, defeated. I fixed up his tie. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay.”

We walked away from the City Center, away from everyone and life and movement and into the stillness.

“You’re never going to like me as much as you do the others, are you?”

Spec placed his hand on my shoulder. “You kept my flame lit. Nothing changes that.”

I looked deep into his beautiful eyes and then, I kissed him.

He stared blankly at me, unwilling to reciprocate.

“Should I not have done that?”

“It’s not my place to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do.”

“You can’t tell anybody I did that.”

“It’s not my place to tell people what you do.”

“Stop it. Stop talking like that. You only say that stuff to please me. You don’t mean it. I see you when you mean it, when you’re talking to them.”

“I don’t know any other way.”

“I love you. Did you know that?” He shook his head. “I feel about you differently than everyone else. I want to be with you all the time. I dream of you even when you’re next to me.”

“By your definition, I love Cotta and Kaolin.”

I shook my head. “No. When you love someone, you’re with them and only them. You can’t love more than one person.”

Spec was offended. “I’m sorry, but I don’t agree with you.”

“Your love isn’t real.”

“Why’s your love any more real than mine?”

“Because! Because I was born and raised to feel a certain way. I grew up understanding what real love is, and you, you just have this degraded version of it. You don’t know what love is!”

My body was trembling. I felt I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to cry until I was dead.

“You can’t tell anybody about this, Spec. Not what I said. Not the kiss. None of this happened.”

“Okay.”

We walked back to the house and neither of us said a word. All we heard were the distant echoes from the music.

When we got home, I quickly jumped into bed by myself. I didn’t look at the cracks or at Spec. I just closed my eyes and wished the day had never happened. I clenched everything and wished I had never met him. I wished I never saved him. I wished I didn’t love him. I wished I was like everyone else. I wished he was like me.

He lay in his bed beside me but again, I was alone. There were thousands of people in a mile radius, but I was by myself. Nobody felt the way I felt. Nobody thought the way I thought. Nobody saw what I saw. I could be hugging Spec, but I was still alone. I was locked up and the key was constantly and perpetually out of reach.

I wish I could just lay an egg, I wish I could be told what to do and how to do it and then I would do it and that would be purpose enough. I wish I was how my father appears to be. I wish I was everything everyone expected of me. Every day wouldn’t be so hard. Every day wouldn’t be such a challenge.

I closed my eyes and wished that when they opened, it would be the day of the ball. I wished to rewind time. I wished this was all just a bad dream as I closed my eyes, and for a moment, the world went black and the light went out.

It was my turn to patrol the borders with James and Bryan. Spec grabbed his axe, but I stopped him and told him to stay at home. He was a bit confused, but he consented.

“Here,” he said, handing me the axe, “in case you come across any NaNas.”

I left him behind and walked through the town, past the shopping district, past the City Center and Agricultural Square. I walked past everything and headed toward the borders to where there was nothing but empty.

For a moment, I wondered about Spec and who he was before me. I had known him for eight months, but I never asked about his home, I never asked about his story. My father, though emotionally difficult to read, would drink from time to time, either in celebration or woe. And in those moments, I could see the real him, or at least the version I considered to be real.

“Everybody has a story; some are just not worth examining.” That always stuck with me. It was cynical, but it had some truth to it, not because the merit of any person’s life was more worthwhile than others, but because there isn’t enough time to truly consider every person’s life or perspective. I see my life in its entirety, but Spec and others only see the abridged version. My father sees his life in its totality, but I only see what I can see and know what I can know.

I could try to hear Spec’s story. I could attempt to hear about his childhood and his existence, but I’ll always be limited because I’m me and he’s he. I could put myself in his situation and walk in his shoes, but they’d always be my feet. My vision of his being is skewed by my mind. My perspective inevitably inhibits me from truly understanding and relating to others. And the more they differ from me, the less human they seem.

And then there’s me. I can’t truly share my story with anybody because there are always consequences to opening up, my story is never just my story, it always involves others and sharing limits their privacy. I wasn’t free to share me without intruding on others. I wasn’t free to say how I felt or who I was. I had no freedom over my own domain, over my own utterances.