Boy Midflight Read Free

paper at 6 a.m. writing….
     
    March 17th
    Peanut. Parsnip. Peppermint Patty. Pony. My Little Pony. This is dumb. Am I really just supposed to write whatever words come into my messed up little head? Duck. Buck. Fuck. Truck. This sucks. How will this free my “stream of consciousness”? Need coffee… morning wood. Chris…. Chris…. All I can say is wow! Chris and I at this point seem like a sure thing… to some degree. That is both scary and very, very exciting. I can’t wait to call him. I can’t wait to hold his hand, and for that moment when we unite our lips. To feel his tongue inside my mouth and to place mine in his will be ecstasy. Feeling his body pressed close to mine and to have our arms wrapped around each other.
    I just want to stare into his big blue eyes and stroke his hair and lips all day. He’s going to break up with Jeremy, to be with me! Oh no, I’m that guy. Maybe I don’t need a boyfriend (or to steal someone else’s). Maybe I just want a guy friend. I need that, a guy friend to go out with, talk and joke with. I have a multitude of girlfriends here but I need the balance of male companionship. I want a guy to play football with. I want a guy to talk with, to share my dreams with. Sometimes I get so lonely. I just want someone to touch me, to give me a hug. Dad never hugged me. Oh shit, is that what this is about? I am so fuckin’ confused. No. This isn’t about Dad. This is about sex. No, it’s about love. It’s about not going to bed every night hugging my pillow, just wishing I had someone to be holding onto.
    Oh God, I sound so pathetic!
    What do You think of all this? A Catholic boy living in venial sin. How pathetically predictable. Screw it. I can’t do it anymore, God. I can’t pretend that I’m like all the rest of the sheep in the flock. I’m not. And by the way, I don’t even know what You are. And I don’t know that I should call you God because I think you’re something different than what I was taught you are. Universal Life-force Energy is too wordy. I’ll call you Antonio. Which is actually fitting since I can’t help saying “Oh my God” every time I see Antonio Sabato Junior.
     
     
    I PUT down the pen. Okay then, that was a rapid marathon through a little swamp of confusion, wasn’t it? Maybe Millie is right. Maybe there’s more going on in my head than I realize.
    The waiting game. Getting up this morning, strange new energy envelopes me. It is an acute anticipation, an excitement. I can’t wait to get to school, yet there is new joy in the usually mundane and monotonous tasks of my morning procedures. I find myself singing in the shower. Extra special attention is taken in the choice of clothes, the intricate styling of my hair. I take a moment to evaluate myself in the mirror. My blond hair is already starting to rebel against the positions I meticulously placed it in. It’s got body, bounce, and curls despite my wish for it to be straight. I could wage war on it, but I’d lose.
    My face is still boyish in ways and my big brown eyes only emphasize this. They are dripping with heavy lashes that every woman I’ve met enviously chastises me for. I’d happily pluck them out to look tough. My high cheekbones and full lips push me away from receiving compliments like handsome and toward words like pretty and beautiful . I know they are meant sincerely, but they’re still worrisome to my teenage ears. Studying my face once more, I conclude that it’s not androgynous, but it is that kind of pretty that makes rougher boys want to punch it.
    My mind races as I eat breakfast and think about Chris. I fantasize about our initial encounter. What I say. What he says. I set out on my bike and the sun kisses my face. Yes, I ride a bike. It’s both sporty and environmentally friendly. No handle grip ribbons yet, but I’ve been seriously considering investing. Where was I? Oh, yes…. A gentle wind caresses my chest. This path I’ve traveled a hundred times