Malcom walked in a daze through dreary school hallways. His morning tea seemed to lack the invigorating effects he craved. So much so, that he considered Attuning, but what he'd gain in acuity he'd suffer in weariness. As it was, his limbs still retained the weighted elasticity from the previous day's workout. The stack of books he pulled from his locker felt especially heavy this morning. He stiffly filled his backpack while ruminating on the faded fragments of his latest dream. It was a recurring vision in motif, if not events. Release, escape, change. What little he recalled of the fragments were that he'd changed almost beyond the point of recognition. Exactly how he differed in appearance was unclear, but no less certain. In truth he was somewhat above average in build if not in height. His skin was the color of polished teak, like his eyes, and thick cornrowed hair topped a round, clean-shaven face.
Arianna eyed him haughtily as he closed his locker. Most knew better than to approach him in the morning, especially when he wore a face as cold as frozen cement. The problem was Arianna always took pride in distinguishing herself from other people no matter how often Malcom tried to prove how miserable her efforts were.
She made some snide comment. This had became her trademark of late. These petty little jibes must've been a form revenge for all the times he'd taunted her in middle school. Back then she'd been considerably frumpier, thirty pounds heavier, and several inches shorter. The Beardless Dwarf was one of her many handles, back when she had handles, but as Arianna stood now she was almost as tall as Malcom, with a body that was almost universally coveted. Too tired to think of a reply, Malcom conceded her rebuke and noted the wit of her jibe. He'd have to use it some time if he still remembered what the hell she said.
Today was the last day of school, which entailed little except the returning of books. The first and last days of a school year were always unproductive, and of the two, the first was more so by a considerable margin. The day was marked by an unwinding of pretension that would return anew the following term. What lightened the mood was the fact that students and faculty only had to endure each other for one more day. Despite this armistice, a reprieve from the bevy of all-too familiar faces could not happen soon enough. Willem, Alten, and Mira being especially prominent among those he'd just as soon not see. Arianna as well, now that he'd thought about it. She and Willem would make a beautiful couple if they ever decided to get together, and it had to happen eventually.
Willem frequently crossed his path throughout the day. He was tall and well muscled, with a full beard and green eyes that made many a girl aflutter. Much had changed since their boyhood days, as Willem could positively affirm. Once upon a time they had been best friends. Willem was basically a good guy who became more stodgy with every sprouting of hair upon his face. The dogma of religion had apparently saved his future from the stillborn deaths that plagued so many of their older peers. He would eventually move away to prep school, and probably leave early to boot. That stung. If Malcom hadn't ignored so many of the unnecessary details of academia he would have been on the path to early graduation as well. As things stood now, he was lucky he didn't suffer the fate of supplementary study.
Part of what caused such a turn in his grades was the betrayal from Alten and Mira. With sobering clarity Malcom could now admit that Mira was hardly worth the fuss. She had a pretty face, if somewhat imperfect teeth; soft, curly brown hair and perhaps more curves than he would have preferred. So the fact that Alten slept with her was more a matter of principle rather than personal affront. It was the fact that they shared his confidence with, what seemed like, the entire school that Malcom could never forgive. And in their own way, both Willem and Alten were just two sides of a lackluster coin, because stifling piety and aimlessness turpitude were equally unappealing. Why could there be no balance?
Only the occasional odd inquiry about Wess broke his stew. Wess, who was most likely ditching the last remaining days at his new school, was the only person Malcom could call a friend. He'd recently moved to Subrinia a few days earlier. At some point back in middle school, Wess had filled the vacancy left open by Willem during his tremulous forays into righteousness.
Malcom would've welcomed an impromptu trip to Subrinia, but attending the last day of term became a requirement for passing after the Mass Exodus of 1907.
MALCOM SHUT the door behind him, relieved to finally be home, but this feeling was quickly stymied by the buzz of conversation around his house, and he suddenly remembered that Thadeus's graduation party was today. Three weeks earlier — after over five years — his older brother finally completed his apprenticeship with Machette Industries. This type of gathering wouldn't normally have made much difference, but Malcom was well aware that this particular celebration, at this particular time of year, would only prompt questions about his future. Questions he might actually answer if only the answers weren't so dismal. The last thing he needed was to make matters worse.
Malcom slowly opened the creaky front door. From the look of things, most of the people were in the backyard or in the kitchen which faced the same direction. He tiptoed inside and was just about to shut the door when Ervin, his eldest brother, jovially called out his name.
“Malcom,” he repeated. “Must be nice gettin' out for the year. Come on. Have a drink.”
He gestured with a beer bottle toward the kitchen. By his amplified tone and manner he had obviously been celebrating early. Before Malcom could utter an excuse his mother came over and invited him to join the party in a tone that brooked no arguing. She hugged him and smiled in a way that could only mean trouble. His path was set. All he could do was keep his wits about him.
His mother was a chubby, dark skinned woman with a naturally effusive countenance. When around friends and family for traditional events, like weddings, birthdays, or graduations, she became even more bubbly. It was nice in a way and most people liked her, but it was something he preferred with no shortage of distance.
He followed his mother to the back porch. At least there was food. Besides sleep, that was the one thing he wanted most. Ervin wandered off into the crowd and sat with a group Aunts who were bonded through a common vice. They sounded as smashed as he was. His braying laugh at the far end of the yard could be heard clearly over the din. As if in response his mother barked a similar, if higher pitched, reply. Thadeus held up Ganessa, his newborn daughter, by the center of the yard. Ganessa's mother sat with a group of other parents. Cute as his niece was — and Ines too, whenever he cared to think about it — the idea of being an uncle did not sit well. He was too young to be an uncle. The unease this status caused him seemed all too relevant to his current troubles.
He looked around somewhere, anywhere. Other kids were running around playing or talking excitedly with their elders. Some of them looked more beautiful than he could ever be, others looked like they'd never be beautiful, but at that age the tables could easily turn through the passing of subsequent years. Malcom couldn't help but think of Willem and Wess. Aside from Wess's height they were almost polar opposites which was the exact inverse of how they looked when they were younger. With any luck, Wess might actually get the romantic experience that had eluded him in his old school.
Meetings with relatives were a mixture of vaguely indifferent pleasantries with an unspoken stiffness that begged the question of the need for such rituals. Heredity alone hardly seemed sufficient justification for any sort of relationship, for if it truly held any significance beyond the superficial, then marriage laws would be very different indeed.
Malcom greeted a series of generally unfamiliar faces while picking his way to the refreshment table. The words were perfunctory. The conversation terse. Whether or not this was due to his manner, Malcom neither knew nor cared. Nothing would detract from his appetite, yet something nagged at him. It took only a moment to release what it was.
He'd been unconsciously watching Ines, surrounded by doting women.
The smiles that once greeted him during familial gatherings had faded into awkward reintroductions which were far more uncomfortable than a chance exchange with a perfect stranger. The sense of adoration, false or otherwise, left their faces with the addition of his years. In his youth — not the youth of young adulthood mind — he had always questioned such affection, feeling it somehow undeserved. Having finally been proven right was less than satisfying. The farce was over, but what replaced it remained a mystery.
Once he took a drink and a plate of grilled chicken, a tall, heavyset man, vaguely reminiscent of his father, introduced himself. Malcom didn't know even half of his extended family, and among those he'd actually met he only remembered a handful. This man, Davin, was apparently his first uncle. He was a cousin of Malcom's father who came all the way from the west coast. He shared his father's light complexion and thick curly hair. Once introductions were made he asked all the typical questions. What grade was he in? What would he do after graduation? Where did he work? Malcom didn't need to see his father's gaze from across the yard to know he'd put Davin up to this inquiry. He probably asked at least a dozen people to give give his “youngest son” the same questions. All this effort to soften him up before a pronouncement was made. He gave Davin vaguely indefinite answers before excusing himself to see his father. There was no point in dragging things out. With as straight a face as he could muster he mentioned he'd probably start looking for work sometime that week. Almost casually, his father said, “That's good. Start off the vacation right.” Almost. There would be no sleeping-in tomorrow.
Turning away Malcom grimaced sourly and took his first bite of food in hours. His stomach might protest, but nothing could detract from the taste of slightly above average cooking. Malcom observed his relatives in an effort to get his mind off his meal. They talked of events that were equally poignant and cliché. What held most of his attention though, were how the adults interacted with the children, particularly the younger ones. What was it they found so amusing about them? They were essentially like older people only less loquacious, more energetic, and several feet shorter. After all, Malcom hadn't changed much since his childhood days. Maybe that was the problem. His failure may have been in not meeting whatever expectations laid in their once shinning eyes. Or, maybe they truly liked children for being children, which didn't necessarily mean they felt the same for people. Perhaps the reason was purely superficial. The young — children, that is — generally maintain a sort of cherubic innocence that hearkens to the over sentimental distortions of faux nostalgia. An over used gesture here, a pretentious statement there and healthy portions of ham, and everything that would make eyes roll if seen from someone about a decade older suddenly becomes magic. As if becoming banal only held significance until one actually became banal. Malcom took vigorous bites of chicken. Not for the first time he wished his father cooked more often.