Phaedon
“The usual, Phae?”
A cheerful voice burst through my thoughts as I loitered near the immaculate counter, running my fingers across the edge of the glass. I probably looked stupid standing there, squinting hard at the menu towering above Miss Hollie—she was a nice lady, always knew what I wanted before I even opened my mouth, and I honestly believed she didn't have one mean bone in her body. To her, I was just Phae; not faggot, not Russian, not that girly-looking guy. It was a nice change. Her soul song was beautiful, too. It's rhythms were like carefully instrumented pianos and flutes, calm and tranquil. It was the reason I couldn't help but feel immediately relaxed whenever I came in. With all of the hectic noises and songs trying to bully their ways into my head—I could hear hers' the loudest, and it didn't need to push its' way through, I just heard it; clear as day. My mouth puckered indecisively and I relented, nodding my head. I always got the same thing whenever I came into Starbucks; vanilla bean creme frappucino, a creamy blend of vanilla bean, milk and ice, topped with deliciously fluffy whipped cream. Did I mention that she sprinkles chocolate shavings over it? It reminds me of freckles, and how much I like them.
I ordered three other drinks for good measure; for Cayman, I ordered a caramel frappucino. Caramel's Cayman's kryptonite, he honestly loves it more than I could ever imagine. If he could have an indoor pool filled with caramel, I bet he would—sprinkled with marshmallows, unicorns and anything sweet and cuddly. There's no one I know more who loves all of those things, and I have to admit that I'm jealous; he's the sort of happy I wish I was. Whenever I see him, I make sure to give him my best hugs. The second drink I order is for Tailor, my flatmate and honest-to-God friend; a strawberry Vivanno smoothie, because I know he hates coffee. I left early in the morning, so I didn't get to ask him what he'd like but I weighed the chances, and I decided that a nice, tasty strawberry smoothie would do the trick. Everyone liked smoothies, right? Actually, I remembered that he invited a friend over. Evans; the attractive looking guy who'd accidentally seen me naked in my room when I was changing, my door must not have been closed—either way, it was embarrassing and I was glad that I didn't need to see him. I was still kind of bummed not seeing Tailor this morning, though. Seriously, there isn't a single morning that I don't wrap my arms around his neck, singing a really corny version of Matt Costa's Sunshine. He'd been in his room all night with Evans, so I didn't want to bother them. I tried not to think about it too much. Lastly, the third drink I got was for my other flatmate, Luke; I got him a Tazo passion fruit iced tea, shaken with plenty of ice, with a touch of watermelon and lemon for taste. I always made sure that Miss Hollie added watermelon flavouring, because I knew how much he loved it. He was the type of guy who could pick up any instrument and bedazzle you; leave you mesmerized, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I got excited whenever he picked up his guitar. I'm not the most talented person in the world, so I can really appreciate that. Our house is filled with music, and warmth, and long nights spent chilling on the couches; Luke cradling his guitar, or trumpet, or harmonica; Tailor busying himself in the kitchen, flipping scrumptious things in skillets and telling them all how lucky they are to have a grand chef in the house; and Cayman, even if he isn't one of my flatmates (he practically is), testing out new languages and trying to teach them all little pieces of it. They were all beautiful, I hope... I hope they knew that.
They're the glue that keeps my together. They're the backbone that holds my entire body together, and I wanted them to know every single day that I was thankful and fortune and glad to know them. Sometimes, I think they don't take what I say seriously, or it's so awkward that they don't know how to respond. Even so, I won't stop saying it. Magnus and Monika; I went to school with both of them, and both of them saved me from bullies. I mean, they were the ones who first showed me that I didn't need to be that weak little kid, I didn't need to be the ultimate target. Because, if you didn't step up to the plate and act confident—you'd always be the victim. They taught me that. Monika was a sweet guy. He basically takes care of his entire family, and those kids really do love him with all their hearts. I like visiting because it reminds me of how my family could have been, if only my parents weren't so serious; if they'd been more accepting and kind. Maybe then, everything would've been different. Monika always said it was alright to be yourself, no matter what, and I believed him. I still do. Sometimes I wish I would've been born in that type of family. The kind that wakes up every morning sharing stories and cupcakes and waffles. I guess I'm jealous of a lot of things. One time at school, I was jumped by a few guys who thought it'd be funny to push me around and try to chop all of my hair off. It was Magnus who dragged them off me, threatening to punch their lights out if they touched me again. His hand was the first one who offered to pull me back to my feet, and I know—even with his crappy, dark-cloud sort've luck—that he would've done it even if those kids decided to gang up on him. Thankfully, they didn't. Thankfully, he was there. Embarrassingly enough, I grew my hair out because of him. Ever since then, Maggie's been my hero. If I told him that, I know he'd laugh. See, he's not very good at receiving compliments, but that's just fine. I won't stop.
“Thanks, Miss Hollie!”
“Hey! Y'know you can just call me Hollie, right?”
I smiled. Honorifics and strict manners were hard to forget when they've been shoved down your throat. Anyone in the public might've called it strict parenting or brainwashing; I didn't know what to call it. Juggling the tray of assorted drinks, I thanked Miss Hollie and left her a tip. I hoped that everyone was awake by the time I got back, just so the drinks wouldn't turn into a melted mess of delightful flavours. A soft sigh escaped my lips as I pushed my way back outside. An overcast sky foreshadowed a snowy day, and I was just thankful that I wasn't trudging through a storm. Who ordered cold drinks on a chilly day like this, anyway? I do. I think my internal clock didn't register that it was late November. Either way, I was determined to get my daily dose of frosty beverage. I shivered, tugging the zipper of my coat up to my neck with my free hand. Even though I was born in Russia, cold weather didn't seem to agree with me. I always thought Canadians were crazy because they'd still be wandering their streets in flowery shorts and T-shirts; not a worry in the world, and I'd feel weird walking amongst them wearing faux leather jackets and long coats. Who was crazy, me or them? Hazy plumes of smog blew from my lips, and I paused to look to my right, then left, before crossing the street. I didn't live too far from the apartment building, so I didn't mind walking. Fortunately, swooping trees decorated the streets and crooned towards each other, creating a beautiful canopy over the roads. It was something I could always appreciate about our block.
Kaida was supposed to meet me in an hour at my apartment so that we could sit around trying to think about something outrageous to do. She was an adventure waiting to happen. There's this thing about her—... maybe it's the lackadaisical way she wears her clothes, or the way she just doesn't give a crap about what you say. It's either her way, or the highway; nothing more, nothing less. She's enchanting, and strong, and cool. I don't think she thinks that way about herself. She's the type of girl who can set the world on fire, and make your dreams come true with the blink of your eyes—or at least, she'll try. Kaida was strong enough for the both of us; for what I lacked in masculinity, she made up for, and vice versa when it came to femininity. I often joked about us switching bodies, wouldn't that of been a good idea? A riot. Maybe, I wasn't joking. She was the kind of strong that made me feel like I could fly, the kind of light that mornings' feel like. She'd punch me for that one. Sorry, I'm pretty corny.
I almost tripped a few times walking down the uneven side walks, scrabbling to get a firmer hold on the unsteady cardboard tray. 100% decomposable; 100% more likely to snap in two and fall on the ground. Honestly, I think I'd cry. I scrunched up my nose, watching my feet with determined concentration as I weaved around early birds and old couples. I'd only raise my head every now and again to greet them, immediately dropping my eyes as soon as they passed. I really, really didn't want to come back empty-handed and weepy-eyed because I fell on my face balancing a tray of goodies. Worry crinkled my eyes, even if there wasn't anything to worry about—everyone always said that I was too emotional, as if that was possible. How could someone be too emotional? It's hard to leave your feelings on the back burner when they feel so strong. My cellphone remained mute in my pocket—no early morning buzzes from Luke or Tailor, it was enough for me to feel a little left out; didn't we always wake each other up with stupid messages? It was a ritual of sorts. I huffed out another breath of imaginary smoke, deliberately, and looked towards the horizon. A thick paste of white fluff covered the sun, if it was hiding behind there at all, and cast a foggy haze over the city.
I realized that I was standing in front of the apartment building, clutching the tray tightly to my chest. Again, I puffed. It was cold enough to see your breath, so I assumed that it wouldn't be too long before I saw snowflakes fluttering to the ground. I took one more look at the sky before climbing the stone steps, balancing the tray carefully before opening the door, bumping it open with my hip. And then, I realized that I forgot my keys in my room. On my dresser, or on my nightstand. I couldn't really remember, but that wasn't the point. My stomach flopped in distress—what if they weren't awake and I was about to wake them up? I edged my way towards the buzzer, as if by some happenstance my presence would automatically ring it. There wasn't anything else I could do, really. Sitting beside the door until someone came out was unacceptable. Think of the drinks, Phae! With one more determined step, I pressed the buzzer and leaned closer, lips hovering closer to the speaker.
“Phaedon.”