Lost BoundariesMature

Be careful with what you wish for, because it might come true. The unnamed narrator tries his luck on wishing on a well after reading a chain of horoscopes about' him' meeting forever, and embarks on a journey bittersweet of self-realization and love found.

 

“I hope you can forgive me for the time that I put my hands between your legs and you said it was small cos it’s really not at all.”

 

 

                                                                                                                            maria mena

THE FIRST DAY

The school, a three-storey, almost dilapidated structure is poised under canopy of stars at night, by falling leaves at a tempest’s tail and by confetti during Pride Day parade. The hurrahs of she-men and he-whore in their flamboyance and ostentatious garb could be smelt by the bomb-sniffing dogs at a corner kennel station. Puffed sleeves are as normal as notice boards. The recent fad is the chewing of bubble gum, pink off course, while the mendicant brought artificial sweetener to further the chewing life and while the filthy rich stuck them on chairs enough to give the school utility a week long daunting task. Gossips ran wild, who hooked with whom, when, where, why not, like the bushfire in one of those poor Australian conifer forests. The johns are pulverized with obscene sketches, sometimes amorous declarations in glow-in-the dark markers. It has become a freedom wall, reveling and revealing the cerebral ideas, logics, illogic- if there is such a term, and logarithms of the troubled, terrorized and hoping psyche of the students that inhabit and proliferate the decaying educational cum insane asylum school. The Leak Turf, as what the gay coined about the place, is reeking in pungent, almost asphyxiating smell of two thousand pisses. It is in the same turf that I wrote my wicked, delicious wish to become a she- for good. Not just on Broadway-like plays wherein I have to cross dress to become one. And one thing, I hate the feel of make-up on my alabaster (!) skin. I scrawled it near the bowl, so people can read and marvel about it, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll come true.

For weeks now, I had been getting the same horoscope (or I think so, I’d like to read between the lines): TODAY IS THE DAY YOU’LL MEET FOREVER. Always like that. Not even bothering to tell me how. But the thing is, I have known forever most of my closeted life. He sometimes sat beside me at the cafeteria. He sometimes asked for an answer to a puzzler which I willingly gave, explained and even copied for him. For him, it was just a casual, ne’er serious assistance to a friend in need, but to me, a duty of the divine. Sometimes I even pondered that my life’s only purpose is to make life easiest for him. He’s the one in my mind when I sneaked on my Lit class just to go to the turf. Not to pee, but to look at my wish again, glistening from someone else’s fluid. In my mind, am rooting for this one. Hell and break water.

I must tell you of the instance that I almost fell on his knees, not to give him (wink, wink) a head off course but because I couldn’t stand. Bewitched maybe of his cannibal magnetism or him rescuing me as if to say ‘Chivalry is not dead, you know’. It happened just the day I started receiving the same astrology. I was in the campus only rambling, Wall-e liken vending machine to have my Diet Coke fix. Coolly, I fished for a spare change in my too-tight pocket in my too-tight, vinyl pants only to find holes. Most shit! All my nickels fell somewhere and I have nothing. I could hear Whitney preening in the background. I’m about to pretend am not supposed to be there and supposed to be studying or something when I saw him, gorgeous, sun-drenched, bedeviled advancing towards me. He found me like the uncouth Samaritan looking for weeds on weed less ground and the next thing I knew, he was standing above me like those Edith Hamilton gods. My heart was thumping; crashing, faltering and I feared it would burst out from my shirt. I felt all my impulses alerted to stratospheric decibels. He is going to ask me out. Oh no!, I might smell suddenly whiffing, checking for invisible skunk. Maybe we will watch movie, curled in each arms, the hearth fizzes and chestnuts roasting. Chick flick? No, too sissy for him. Cowboy? Too western. I mentally played a too good for comfort escapade after the movie marathon, one that involved slathered mousse and cherry on top when he handed me a nickel. I was flabbergasted. Just like that and he strode in orchestral gait away from me. I heard an explosion somewhere in my mind. His presence quenched my thirst. Certainly in no need for the nickel, I put it inside my pocket. I was away, far away and didn’t hear it clunk.

The End

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