Life and Love

(A/N: THERE ARE PERSPECTIVE JUMPS. ****************** indicates a perspective jump.)

This katsudon is very good...or so I thought. I wasn't really tasting anything. Steve sat across from me shoving his pork cutlet around with a fork. Was he sick? I hoped he didn't catch what I had. The flavors muddled together into an indistinguishable mess, but I didn't really care to eat. I just wanted to get this over with. That's the thing about the old Landon charm. It's there at nearly every hour of the day, but, the moment I care, it vanishes as quickly as it comes.

I looked more at Steve. As usual, he looked absolutely perfect and I looked...less than that. I caught my own reflection in my glass of mineral water. Staring back at me was a man with a disfigured face. A reddish splotch spread from my cheekbone to my ear. He lost his appetite because he was repulsed by my face. I knew it by the way he kept looking up at me.

Shoving a bit of egg into my mouth, I kept chewing. I didn't want to say anything stupid or offensive like I usually do. I swallowed the nearly liquid mass and heard another pair of men talking.
          "...You're cute."
          "I know.
          "Should we help them?"
          "Yes." The dark-haired one came closer. That's Phillip. We've become good friends, even after I've almost punched him in the face. "Is everything all right? Things look pretty awkward over there." Steve looked up from his bowl, which he hardly touched. How long have we been sitting and not talking?
         "Everything's great, just great."
         "Doesn't look like it." The other spoke.
         "Want to speak to me in private?" Phillip pulled me away and led me to a quieter corner of the restaurant. "Tell me what's wrong."
         "He probably thinks I'm a blubbering idiot."
         "Okay." Somehow, he knew that wasn't the real problem. "What's that on your cheek?" He narrowed his eyes. Of course he was talking about my birthmark! I'm just the disfigured, disgusting criminal everyone thinks I am. Tears spilled out of my eyes and fell onto the floor. Phillip tried to put his arm around me, but I shoved him away.
        "Get off of me!" He looked bewildered and kind of miffed. As he walked away, I collapsed and buried my face until I could see nothing. There's no way Steve could want me now. Even if he did, it was probably just pity. Who could love someone like me?

At another table, two others sat with each other. Another waitress approached them with her usual friendly smile.
        "Aren't you guys a cute couple?"
        "Um...no..."
        "I see. What would you two like to eat?" One of them said something in Japanese. I could make out "katsudon." Guess it's a popular dish tonight. The other ordered ten zaru. Sniffling like I had allergies or a cold, I made my way back to my table.

****************** 

        "French roast with cinnamon and cream, please."
        "Would you like some foamed milk?"
        "When would I not like some foamed milk?" After ordering a bowl of macarons, I plugged my laptop into a nearby outlet. My computer connected automatically and I was good to go. I started entering grades. Band grades, especially among the flutes, tend to decline right before and after AP exams.

And guess what other change somehow correlates with AP exams? Spikes in cyberbullying. At Mineplex, cyberbullying runs rampant. One would think that cyberbullying decreases around AP exams, but no. It increases. My guess is that stress gets to the students and some take it out on others. Given the amount of fights I see, it makes sense that this would be the case with my school.

When I logged on to Twitter, the first thing I saw was some very nasty suicide bait directed at one of one of my students. Not cool, man. Not cool. I looked at the person's profile and, right away, I could tell that they were a dedicated hater blog. Sheesh, dude. What kind of deep-seated issues do you have? Since there is no reasoning with these hater blogs, I reported the person and sent this student a random uplifting meme. I've been criticized for my use of memes and "lack of professionalism", but why fix what's not broken?

I scrolled further to find another person tagging various students of mine saying "Tell your teacher to kill herself." If anything ticks me off, it's this stuff. If you're going to bait me, at least do it to me directly. Leave my students out of this. To my surprise, this person was not a troll. I decided to DM them and talk some sense into them.

Hey, it's not cool to tag my students in posts like these. 

The person cursed at me, called me "extra hole boy", and threatened to get me banned. Like you'll ever succeed. Aside from the fact that I'm a top 10 Twitter user with verification and everything, I save screenshots and URLs. My notifications for DMs went off again. I'd know that name anywhere: @Yuuto-pia That was Yuuto Matsuda. He's the Impulsive Brass Band's new French horn and Steve's biggest fan. Judging from the Yuuri Katsuki icon that was recolored to look like Steve, I'd also bet that he is a Yuri on Ice watcher.

Yuuto is the best thing that ever happened to us; his positive outlook and innocent charm brought us back out of our slump. I opened his message and saw a cute GIF. Yuuto sends them to everyone who has social media. I replied with another GIF and whipped out my IP tracker. After entering my hater's username, I found that they lived in a nearby desert biome. After using a reverse lookup service, I found their e-mail address: kathryn_43@gmail.com.

As I typed out the E-mail, I found that all the coffee had moved through my system rather quickly. When the simple act of using the restroom made me want to peel off my skin, I had to maintain a good sense of humor. Such is the nature of life.

****************** 

        "Hey." I saw the Bitcoin symbol on a woman's back pocket. "Do you know of any good starter Bitcoin miners?"
        "I thought you already had a miner"
        "It's for my daughter. I want to get her started on cryptocurrencies."
        "All right." She invited me to sit. "How old is she?"
        "She'll be twelve pretty soon."
        "You can get some great deals on used AntMiner hardware nowadays. I don't know what a twelve year old would do with Bitcoin--actually I do know--but from what I hear she sounds like a trustworthy kid." She wrote some URLs down on paper and handed it to me.
        "Okay." I stuffed the paper in my pocket. I've officially given up on Alex learning common academic subjects under my tutelage. The lessons only result in me snapping at Alex for not being able to grasp certain things quickly and her bursting into tears. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before lasting damage was done, I scrapped the standard curriculum altogether and built one of my own.

The purpose of attending school is to learn how to solve problems and think independently. Unfortunately, they just throw tests in your face and hope you pass. Alex deserved better than that, so I took it upon myself to teach her things that are worth learning. I let her choose five of them and I chose the other three. For the three, I chose cryptocurrency, the basic academic skills that I rotate on a daily basis, and blacksmithing. For the five, Alex chose instrumental music (trumpet and maybe percussion), musical theater, creative writing, public speaking, and combat.

Alex chose "The Girl who Sells Misfortune" for the dance portion of her musical theater showcase and "Aishite, Aishite, Aishite" for the vocal portion. I found the song choices unusual, but what was usual nowadays? I found her choice to be a way of expressing her grief through performance. Caitlin was certainly something special in Alex's life. Though I may never be able to get the old Alex back, I can at least help her to rebuild herself as she sees fit.

****************** 

Had I done something wrong?

Landon came back to our table with a face that was red and puffy from crying. He picked at his katsudon. Not being very hungry myself, I offered him some of mine. He refused and sat across from me so dejectedly that one might think I've intentionally slighted him. Of course, my device was not cooperating with me, so I couldn't use it. I could, however, speak the language of touch.

I turned my head and extended my arms outward. Apprehensively, I laid a hand on his cheek. Since he didn't punch me in the face, I gathered him into my arms.
          "You probably think I'm disgusting, don't you?" Landon hiccuped and fell into my arms again. I wished I could say it at the moment, but, no, I don't think you're disgusting. I think zombie carcasses are disgusting. You're beautiful. Your eyes shine like steel and your hair is a reflection of your internal fire. The port wine stain just completes everything. I kissed the red spot as gently as I could and moved my mouth down to his. Our lips moved together. There were probably people swarming to get a picture of us, but I didn't care. I'll give them something to stare at.

I dipped Landon like a dancer and kept kissing him. For once, I didn't care what anyone thought. I just let my impulses guide me. Running my fingers through his hair, I felt him melt into my arms like butter. He felt light as a feather as I lifted him back into position. Who would've thought that Landon, someone that I wanted to punch in the face less than two years ago, would be my lover? We ended the kiss and, even if I had absolute mastery of language, I'd still be at a loss for words.

That kiss was unlike any I had done before. This was sincere. This was love. Not only was it that, it was an act of rebellion. People had this odd tendency of turning everything I did into a political statement that I had to address. This was living and loving for the sake of living and loving, not a middle finger to homophobia or whatever else people make of this. My life story is mine to tell, and, try as it may, Big Identity Politics will not get ahold of it.

And what would I say when I would inevitably face the camera tomorrow?

Don't let politics or social standards corrupt your relationships. Live to love and love to live. Anything else is pure misery.