Page 46 of Wrath

We waited around for almost four hours as a bunch of otherfuck ups flew in. One of the planes came from Brazil, so I guess they’ve got some fuck ups there, too.

Anyway, us fuck ups got on a bus. Regular yellow bus, but not doing regular bus stuff. We had assigned seats. They gave us bag lunches, like a third grade field trip. They had wavy chips and everything.

The bus drove us way out into the boonies. The Allagash Wilderness is what it’s called. We’re in a forest- a real one- right up at the Maine-Canada border.

Woods for miles and miles, crisscrossed by little streams and creeks and at least one big river.

Was it how I thought it would be? I don’t know. And you don’t care. Cause you’re not a person, are you?

I will say- it was cold. As soon as the sun started to go down, it didn’t feel like summer anymore.

The road we were on was really narrow, like it’s just for one car at a time. But it was paved. I wish I could remember if it was a county road or what, but that doesn’t matter. I’m not trying to escape. They told us there’s a big fence all around the place. Like prison.

Looking out the bus windows before it got dark, we saw some people rafting on the river and a few cabins here and there. But for most of the way, it was just woods. These are different than the stuff back in Virginia. Different trees. More conifers, I think, or maybe they’re called evergreens? It’s dense and dark, like something from a fairy tale. Lots of ivy and this forest floor that’s got a lot of…bush-type stuff. You feel like you could get lost here.

I figure the bus ride was a fitting start. Everything started in a bus, didn’t it? Buses ruined my life and then this bus drove me up here where I’m supposed to fix it.

Bottom line- it doesn’t matter. All of that shit’s in the past now.

All I need to focus on is moving forward. Even Coach Bert is in on the plan. I promised him I’ll work the program here as fastas possible, hopefully in just a few weeks. Then I’ll be back. I’m not the first one from my school to go to Alton Academy. “Academy.” - note the quotations.

On paper, it’ll look like I tried a new school and didn’t like it, so I transferred back to Beechwood Christian. Sounds like nbd, right?

I keep thinking about Smithson starting as QB. All the scouts coming to see me senior year, and I’m not there. Because I’m here.

Sometimes I can’t believe this happened at all. But it’s what I deserve. After this past year, something had to change.

I helped pick this place and I agreed to come here. Now just get through. And get back to my starting spot.

Thirteen

Ezra

August 2018

The do gooder looks peaceful. He’s lying on his stomach, one arm wrapped around a pillow, sheets tangled around his knees. Now that I’ve been lurking in his room for a while, I can see him better. Eyes adjusted to the dark and all that.

He’s got on boxer briefs. I keep looking at the way they fit him, looking at him in the bed. Weird iron bed—reminds me of another bed. His briefs seem almost too tight in the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window. But I can’t tell for sure unless I move a little closer.

I’m by the bathroom door, leaned up against his wall. I’m drinking Propel. I don’t want to go back on the stuff I quit, even though I can’t tell right now if how I feel is from the practice hit or from the lack of pills.

I want to feel better. Maybe in the daytime… Everything is always better when the sun is up.

Miller shifts onto his side. One of his knees comes up and out, as if he’s trying to press his dick into the mattress.

I don’t look there. Only at his legs. Sometimes he says stuff at the dinner table about being a dough boy, but he’s not. His legs are all hard muscle. They’re dusted with dark hair, and thick in both the quads and calves.

He sleeps without his shirt, so I can see he doesn’t have pudge. I can’t see his ribs one by one, the way I can still see mine, but he looks good and healthy. He’s got at least a four-pack happening, and his biceps are sturdy and strong.

I wonder what it would feel like to touch him. If his skin would be soft. I look at his face and think of how he wanted that guy Arnie to touch it.

His lips are full, his cheekbones wide and high. His nose turns up a little at the tip. And he’s got freckles.

One day, will he have a husband? What would that be like?

He makes me hate him.

I think of some faraway town. Maybe out near Denver. I think of their apartment, with its stupid little balcony that barely holds one chair, the way they’d hang a picture or a coat rack in the foyer. There might be a small coat closet, and they’d put their shoes there. I don’t want to think of DG’s future shoes in Denver.

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