48 Ymiden, 723
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Kotton leant back in his lawn chair and toyed with the bottle of beer in his hand, lifting it and setting it down in a different area to make a latticework of circles on his notebook cover. He placed his free hand on the journal and began inspecting the movement of blood under his own skin. The conversation of the night had turned rather uncomfortable, and he had long since stopped following the movement of lips that described… interesting positions during sexual intercourse.
His eyes lingered from the notebook in his lap to the fire. And before they could glaze over, he homed in on a brightly lit lightning bug. It was pulsing its glow every four to five seconds, probably warning others, or calling for others, or simply wanting a lucky night. Kotton didn’t know; he wasn’t a lightning bug. But he really wished he could be so he could escape this awkward conversation.
The fire crackled in front of him, but it was the sight that drew his attention back to it. The flames were a myriad of reds and oranges and yellows. He could smell the burning wood, the leaves being scorched, even the dampness of the logs that had been used to ignite it. He smiled and rested his head back against the lawn chair.
“So,” his best friend suddenly announced in such a booming voice that anyone would have been able to hear him, including someone who was mostly deaf. Kotton turned his attention to the direction of the voice and its reigning acoustic superiority. “What have you been up to, Kotton?”
Kotton watched his friend’s lips move, but he wasn’t really paying attention. Maybe it was because the haze of the fire had glazed his eyes over with smoke. Maybe it was because the dark sky had made the melatonin in his brain produce quickly. Either way, he was slow to respond.
“I guess,” he began, straining to see through the fire at the person who had asked the question. “I’ve got a job as a scwibe.”
A round of applause erupted around the fire. It sounded a little… over exaggerated. Were all his so-called friends really that happy to know he had found work? Or were they simply trying to make him feel good? Who claps that loud and for that long without some hidden agenda? Did they really care or were they pitying him and his disability?
Someone slapped him on the back, and another guy gave him a gesture that was supposed to mean “great job” even though it was far from the sign language he grew up to know.
As soon as the attention had fallen upon him, it was quickly redirected. He knew not whether to thank the immortals or to feel ashamed that the five seconds of fame had left him so quickly. He held his beer tighter and concentrated on the fire. He wondered when someone would pull out the goodies to roast.
“I’ve managed to attain a position with a massage therapist, and all I can say is that she is… lo-ve-ly.”
The group laughed. Kotton, however, found it difficult to join in. He knew, deep down, that there was something more to this new job of his. Knowing his ‘friends’, there was undoubtedly some insinuated innuendo. His stomach grumbled in protest. He hadn’t had any intimate action in what seemed like forever, but he didn’t like the idea of using people solely for some quick satisfaction. He held his tongue, and chugged some more beer. All too quickly he found it empty. He pitched it to the side.
Worick, who was a part of the party, grabbed him a fresh one from the cooler to his right. “Here,” he said, making sure Kotton could see his lips. He handed him the beer.
Kotton noticed the forced smile on his friend’s face. Perhaps he wasn’t enjoying himself either. These were all his friends though, not Kotton’s.
Kotton generously took the dark stout and gave Worick a nod of appreciation. He opened the canister and swilled a large gulp of bitter carbonation.
Before long, the alcohol started to take lead, and his inhibitions found the area outside the zone of comfort all too exciting. His confidence blossomed, and his introvertedness died with the setting of the sun. His curiosity flourished as the embers of the fire sparkled and crackled and blew into his face with the soft gale of the Ymiden evening.
“I’m interested to know what you’re doing now, Gadriel,” Kotton asked abruptly.
His question seemed to stop the ebb and flow of chatter amongst the group. Gadriel furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, stymied by the sudden inquiry. “I’ve purchased a house with my new wife, Ameria,” he spoke nonchalantly, turning to his peers for praise.
“Where?” Kotton continued, stifling a belch.
“Local,” Gadriel responded with a quick blink of his eyes. If that was a tell of some kind, Kotton didn’t catch it, but Gadriel’s boisterous personality seemed to wane.
“That’s great,” Kotton commended. “I also have a new place. Are you located downtown at all?”
Gadriel quickly looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted in his seat and made several glances at his pals. “Yea, it’s near downtown.”
“I’d love to visit you sometime,” Kotton demurred, taking another large sip from his beer.
Gadriel didn’t look at Kotton when he said, “I would love that.” Then he quickly changed the subject to taverns and broads alike.
Kotton felt a strange sense of suspicion rise within him. He was great at reading lips, so it was only natural that he was good at reading body language. So why did his friend seem so weird when Kotton had asked him about his new house? Why didn’t he look at him when he agreed that a visit would be nice? Was this a display of how much he really didn’t like Kotton despite being his ‘friend’?
Kotton rolled his eyes, thankful that the sun had gone. The moon was the only thing illuminating his disrespect. He had so many other questions he wanted to ask, if only to just prod the waters and see if there truly was something Gadriel was hiding or if it was all in his tipsy head. As he shook his head to rid himself of the fixation, his eyes found Worick’s. He was given a stern glare.
What? Kotton mouthed before letting his throat ready itself in anticipation of another wet crawl of beer. As soon as Kotton had finished his sip of beer, the tables seemed to turn.
“Remember when Kotton was six and he tried kissing Scarlet Avesta? He hit her teeth and ended up chipping her front tooth!”
The bile in his stomach toiled. Why was a mistake from so long ago now the highlight of the night? Were these guys trying to make fun of him? It was a mistake that had been learnt, just a part of growing up, but here it was, being flaunted like a hilarious tale that seemed to bully and torment.
One of Kotton’s ‘friends’ laughed. Another nodded his head with vigor and slapped his knee with gusto. At least someone was having a good time because it sure as hell wasn’t Kotton.
Kotton looked to his side, where Worick sat, and found that his friends’ eyes were glued to the fire. Why wasn’t he standing up for him? Kotton looked away, tasting something bitter in his mouth. And it wasn’t the beer.
“And another time,” joined another guy, “when he thought popping someone’s cherry meant giving a girl a piece of fruit so she could try it for the first time.”
Kotton blushed and let his gaze fall to his lap in embarrassment. Did they think he wasn’t reading each and everyone’s lips? Did they forget he was sitting right there with the rest of them?
He could remember that moment extremely well. He thought the girl had never tried a cherry before. So he had set out to find one for her. He told her it was sweet but also tart and that eating it would pop her cherry. It was something he had ‘heard’ the bigger kids talk about without any additional context. The girl had looked at him strangely, but said nothing. He had found out a couple days later that she had told his friends of his folly. Had everyone except Kotton acquired some limited edition speed trial of growing up?
Kotton thumbed the lip of his drink. There was more solace in a bit of metal than in the bonding occurring around the fire. At that moment, he hated everyone who he had ever considered his friend. He assumed those who had been dubbed the title ‘friend’ had merely been friends out of circumstance. No true friend would poke at his mistakes with such spite. Even Worick made sure to let Kotton know he was joking. Maybe Worick was the only real friend he had. Maybe Worick was all he needed, because obviously these douches were transparent enough to let their malicious sides shine through.
Kotton tried to clear his mind. He didn’t look at anyone, he didn’t read anyone’s lips, or interpret any body language. He just looked at the fire and hoped it would give him some semblance of control.
Suddenly, he felt pressure on his right shoulder. It was Worick. Kotton looked up at him and found him saying what he had hoped he would all along.
“I mean we all were kids, dude. I remember when Gadriel fucked his own cousin.”
Kotton jolted his head to the left in anticipation of Gadriel’s reaction. “I didn’t know she-”
Worick continued. “And Deacon, I remember you casting a fishing line through your uncle’s lip.”
Kotton swiveled to Deacon and found his face oddly resembling a tomato. “It was an accident!” He interjected.
“Oh, man, don’t even get me started on Azeil’s run in with the nun.”
Kotton’s attention warped from Worick’s lips to Azeil’s look of utter terror. “Do notcontinue with that story,” he pleaded before quickly lowering his head.
Kotton returned to his friend. Worick recognized him with a smirk. Kotton could not have picked a better friend. He was so delighted to have someone he could rely on.
His eyes lingered from the notebook in his lap to the fire. And before they could glaze over, he homed in on a brightly lit lightning bug. It was pulsing its glow every four to five seconds, probably warning others, or calling for others, or simply wanting a lucky night. Kotton didn’t know; he wasn’t a lightning bug. But he really wished he could be so he could escape this awkward conversation.
The fire crackled in front of him, but it was the sight that drew his attention back to it. The flames were a myriad of reds and oranges and yellows. He could smell the burning wood, the leaves being scorched, even the dampness of the logs that had been used to ignite it. He smiled and rested his head back against the lawn chair.
“So,” his best friend suddenly announced in such a booming voice that anyone would have been able to hear him, including someone who was mostly deaf. Kotton turned his attention to the direction of the voice and its reigning acoustic superiority. “What have you been up to, Kotton?”
Kotton watched his friend’s lips move, but he wasn’t really paying attention. Maybe it was because the haze of the fire had glazed his eyes over with smoke. Maybe it was because the dark sky had made the melatonin in his brain produce quickly. Either way, he was slow to respond.
“I guess,” he began, straining to see through the fire at the person who had asked the question. “I’ve got a job as a scwibe.”
A round of applause erupted around the fire. It sounded a little… over exaggerated. Were all his so-called friends really that happy to know he had found work? Or were they simply trying to make him feel good? Who claps that loud and for that long without some hidden agenda? Did they really care or were they pitying him and his disability?
Someone slapped him on the back, and another guy gave him a gesture that was supposed to mean “great job” even though it was far from the sign language he grew up to know.
As soon as the attention had fallen upon him, it was quickly redirected. He knew not whether to thank the immortals or to feel ashamed that the five seconds of fame had left him so quickly. He held his beer tighter and concentrated on the fire. He wondered when someone would pull out the goodies to roast.
“I’ve managed to attain a position with a massage therapist, and all I can say is that she is… lo-ve-ly.”
The group laughed. Kotton, however, found it difficult to join in. He knew, deep down, that there was something more to this new job of his. Knowing his ‘friends’, there was undoubtedly some insinuated innuendo. His stomach grumbled in protest. He hadn’t had any intimate action in what seemed like forever, but he didn’t like the idea of using people solely for some quick satisfaction. He held his tongue, and chugged some more beer. All too quickly he found it empty. He pitched it to the side.
Worick, who was a part of the party, grabbed him a fresh one from the cooler to his right. “Here,” he said, making sure Kotton could see his lips. He handed him the beer.
Kotton noticed the forced smile on his friend’s face. Perhaps he wasn’t enjoying himself either. These were all his friends though, not Kotton’s.
Kotton generously took the dark stout and gave Worick a nod of appreciation. He opened the canister and swilled a large gulp of bitter carbonation.
Before long, the alcohol started to take lead, and his inhibitions found the area outside the zone of comfort all too exciting. His confidence blossomed, and his introvertedness died with the setting of the sun. His curiosity flourished as the embers of the fire sparkled and crackled and blew into his face with the soft gale of the Ymiden evening.
“I’m interested to know what you’re doing now, Gadriel,” Kotton asked abruptly.
His question seemed to stop the ebb and flow of chatter amongst the group. Gadriel furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, stymied by the sudden inquiry. “I’ve purchased a house with my new wife, Ameria,” he spoke nonchalantly, turning to his peers for praise.
“Where?” Kotton continued, stifling a belch.
“Local,” Gadriel responded with a quick blink of his eyes. If that was a tell of some kind, Kotton didn’t catch it, but Gadriel’s boisterous personality seemed to wane.
“That’s great,” Kotton commended. “I also have a new place. Are you located downtown at all?”
Gadriel quickly looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted in his seat and made several glances at his pals. “Yea, it’s near downtown.”
“I’d love to visit you sometime,” Kotton demurred, taking another large sip from his beer.
Gadriel didn’t look at Kotton when he said, “I would love that.” Then he quickly changed the subject to taverns and broads alike.
Kotton felt a strange sense of suspicion rise within him. He was great at reading lips, so it was only natural that he was good at reading body language. So why did his friend seem so weird when Kotton had asked him about his new house? Why didn’t he look at him when he agreed that a visit would be nice? Was this a display of how much he really didn’t like Kotton despite being his ‘friend’?
Kotton rolled his eyes, thankful that the sun had gone. The moon was the only thing illuminating his disrespect. He had so many other questions he wanted to ask, if only to just prod the waters and see if there truly was something Gadriel was hiding or if it was all in his tipsy head. As he shook his head to rid himself of the fixation, his eyes found Worick’s. He was given a stern glare.
What? Kotton mouthed before letting his throat ready itself in anticipation of another wet crawl of beer. As soon as Kotton had finished his sip of beer, the tables seemed to turn.
“Remember when Kotton was six and he tried kissing Scarlet Avesta? He hit her teeth and ended up chipping her front tooth!”
The bile in his stomach toiled. Why was a mistake from so long ago now the highlight of the night? Were these guys trying to make fun of him? It was a mistake that had been learnt, just a part of growing up, but here it was, being flaunted like a hilarious tale that seemed to bully and torment.
One of Kotton’s ‘friends’ laughed. Another nodded his head with vigor and slapped his knee with gusto. At least someone was having a good time because it sure as hell wasn’t Kotton.
Kotton looked to his side, where Worick sat, and found that his friends’ eyes were glued to the fire. Why wasn’t he standing up for him? Kotton looked away, tasting something bitter in his mouth. And it wasn’t the beer.
“And another time,” joined another guy, “when he thought popping someone’s cherry meant giving a girl a piece of fruit so she could try it for the first time.”
Kotton blushed and let his gaze fall to his lap in embarrassment. Did they think he wasn’t reading each and everyone’s lips? Did they forget he was sitting right there with the rest of them?
He could remember that moment extremely well. He thought the girl had never tried a cherry before. So he had set out to find one for her. He told her it was sweet but also tart and that eating it would pop her cherry. It was something he had ‘heard’ the bigger kids talk about without any additional context. The girl had looked at him strangely, but said nothing. He had found out a couple days later that she had told his friends of his folly. Had everyone except Kotton acquired some limited edition speed trial of growing up?
Kotton thumbed the lip of his drink. There was more solace in a bit of metal than in the bonding occurring around the fire. At that moment, he hated everyone who he had ever considered his friend. He assumed those who had been dubbed the title ‘friend’ had merely been friends out of circumstance. No true friend would poke at his mistakes with such spite. Even Worick made sure to let Kotton know he was joking. Maybe Worick was the only real friend he had. Maybe Worick was all he needed, because obviously these douches were transparent enough to let their malicious sides shine through.
Kotton tried to clear his mind. He didn’t look at anyone, he didn’t read anyone’s lips, or interpret any body language. He just looked at the fire and hoped it would give him some semblance of control.
Suddenly, he felt pressure on his right shoulder. It was Worick. Kotton looked up at him and found him saying what he had hoped he would all along.
“I mean we all were kids, dude. I remember when Gadriel fucked his own cousin.”
Kotton jolted his head to the left in anticipation of Gadriel’s reaction. “I didn’t know she-”
Worick continued. “And Deacon, I remember you casting a fishing line through your uncle’s lip.”
Kotton swiveled to Deacon and found his face oddly resembling a tomato. “It was an accident!” He interjected.
“Oh, man, don’t even get me started on Azeil’s run in with the nun.”
Kotton’s attention warped from Worick’s lips to Azeil’s look of utter terror. “Do notcontinue with that story,” he pleaded before quickly lowering his head.
Kotton returned to his friend. Worick recognized him with a smirk. Kotton could not have picked a better friend. He was so delighted to have someone he could rely on.
