Class Act (Short Story: 2017)

Class Act (Short Story: 2017) 

Photo by: Slava Mogutin 


He looked dumb as fuck, mouth open with a wide eyed gaze, someone who was simply never here nor there, in any case he had a brutal sort of beauty that fed into his simple look. There was an air of otherness something in there wasn't right and was kind of unsettling.Tormented that was true, exhibited in the way he talked to teachers or when bored got off and left the room. He was like a beast you wanted to capture, hold tight. Something to tame, take from the wilderness, offer a new life and name.

I didn't like him at first, he was that cliche kind of guy, mostly making noises that meant nothing, saying foolish things for the sake of it - the only way it seemed to show people he was present. He hanged with the big boys, the ones that dominated and commanded respect, yet he differed, his power wasn't as simple as their's and in their presence you were forced to acknowledge his difference.

I didn't need respect as I already had it, my name was known and with it a legacy of ' The Barry boys' flowed. Everyone knew I was smart, sharp and slightly nerdish but I could still beat fuckers who fucked with me up. I preferred to drift between the geeks who were honoured I gave them air, talking about Dragon Ball Z, Pokemon and Harry Potter or hanging with the lads listening to them talking about finger banging, rap music, football and all that other bullshit.

He was always there, Kyron, but I didn't speak to him and he didn't speak to me, we grunted, nodded and occasionally fist bumped. But beyond that there was nothing else just a mutual kind of acquaintance, I guess that was the thing with the boys, we banded, made light extended small talk but not much else.

It was when he cut his hair, moving on from the awful gelled do, that I truly saw what I'd see in the future, captivated by his otherness. His new style framed his face, highlighting his features. Vivid blue eyes, soft luscious lips, he was a babe and I couldn't help but stare. It also seemed with a new image came a new being, softer and smarter, talking, laughing and finally joining in on the conversation. He was witty and adaptable, his words were cutting and balanced. Suddenly I wanted to get to know him.

We first spoke when he laughed at me, I asked what was funny and he said 'the reality of life' a line I'd never expect him to say 'And what is the reality of life?' I snapped, his reply was swift 'Belonging to this really weird fucked up generation that has seen so much dangled in front of them that it's ruined the reality of life, all we really ever do is try and replicate the reality of reality of tv, wandering the earth for salvation, to feel fully, a lust for life even though we haven't even lived!' The others laughed 'Crazy kyron' they chanted. When everyone had dispersed and it was just us sat on a bench, I asked him what he meant. People think I'm thick as fuck, crazy, looney, my mother says the vacant stares will scare others, my dad says I'm dopey and thick. I've heard it all, yeah I'm lost but to somewhere else as what the fuck is this? We all fucking hate each other and I can't wait to escape to find friends and a real life'. Then he left leaving a lingering presence, he in my mind, his words stinging.

After that we laughed and talked and fell into our own world,surrounded but away from the others. I invited him round to hang out and we played games, read some comics and discussed X-men and it's alternate realities, he loved storm 'a bad ass chick' and I rogue for equal reasons, we then bantered if our adulation was sexism or feminism and if equally the characters fought stereotypes or encouraged them. We never settled the argument or came to a conclusion. Either way the silly little disputes defined the thing that would become us, clawing as each other to entertain, engage or educate to state our point, sometimes heated yet never bitter.

We first kissed in a drunk haze, we were bored and beers were left lying around from my brothers 21st and I thought like I thought about most things, why not.... we didn't know what we were doing but it felt right, like the simmering tensions had been solidified, this was the reason why, the soft touches, the hard punches, things that made us feel something from one another, an exchange.

We didn't know what it was, what we were but why define it and how could we when no one around us discussed it. Gay, faggot, poof, queer off hand insults easy to say but hard to really know what they meant and why they were offensive anyway. I enjoyed him and it seemed he enjoyed me and that was that. No closets needed to be aired, grand statements needed to be made, we were what we were and no one seemed to care, we didn't hide away or even bothered to try to.

Everyone knew there was an odd air about us, our 'friendship' bright, intense and loving. They saw the lingering looks, the long hugs, hands slipping into each other's ... we slid into the lives of those around us, as simple as we did before except we were no longer him and him we were they, us, them... plural and never singular...


Sent from my iPhone

Always on the outside looking in?

I know I have the privilege of being male and identifying as cisgender, of holding a British passport and speaking English on a native level, of having a curious mind that wanders and wants to understand the world we/ I inhabit. In any case I want to unlearn something’s that a British/ Nigerian catholic upbringing has imposed on my being, I want to feel freer, less judgemental and without bias both conscious and unconscious yet I’m not uncomfortable in revelling in the truth that every mind no matter how liberal has borders. Walls created in childhood, by lived experiences or from the society you were born into.  It’s only when we begin to understand this as minorities and communities that we can band together and educate one another on collective causes that fits a wider width than what’s presently presented. 

In truth I don’t align with the gay community as a whole, I’ll be called out for shaming if I say that hook-up culture isn’t for me that hyper sexualisation of my body isn’t something I indulge in. The level of Vanity, narcissism, adoration of certain body types, devaluation of minority races and the idolisation of our oppressors is simply shocking. I honestly feel less attractive every time I see the white washed utopia that presents itself through the pixels on my phone screen, movie billboards and parades itself around clubs where overly toxic masculinity rules supreme in spaces where femininity and queerness ideally should be celebrated is often excluded.

I don’t align with the black British community that existed as I was growing up, one that laughed at my femininity, derogatorily dismissed my sexuality and failed to understand why someone may like art/culture that differed from hip-hop, basketball, football. I understood the films such as Bullet Boy & Kidulthood they represented an experience I experienced but didn’t define my own, where was what was meant to speak to me or was I simply that much of a minority it would be deemed too niche to consume? 

For an age I’ve felt like I was locked out looking in, no representation, a minority pushed out and not fully excepted by the communities where there should be a seat at the table. Alienation leads to frustration and then to rage but I’m not angry just sad at the state of two marginalised communities that in theory I care so much about.