12 - Fiyaz/My Truth/

I cringe as an audible, old bell dings as I open the door. Of course, everything about this place is the right amount of children´s tears, empty pockets, and a mediocre color scheme. Oh, so so classic. I´ve always hated anything classic, anything too mediocre.

Obviously, I hate it here.

But, I´m also hungry. So of course, I did what I always did, went for a walk in the cold. That´s how I ended up here. At ¨Henry & Son´s Scoops¨.

A small ice cream parlor, not far from home. I walked here. With music blasting in my ears, the sour taste of coins in my teeth, fingers clenched around the bucks in my pocket, and an over-worn black hoodie as my old beacon of warmth.

It was finally getting cold enough for air conditioners to break, and for hotels to become over-booked. The sky was cloudy today. The clouds stuck out against their damp grey canvas they were so strikingly white. Though, if you looked close enough, you could see the faint trace of the boiling, Texas sun. As she was going to come back later in the day. The way the sky looked. It was nice, to say it in the simplest way.

A bit sad, a bit vibrant.

Or at least that’s how it was before I got in here, and how it looks from behind a window. I know it´ll look different, contrasting from how it is now. As it always does. That´s something we have in common.

¨Next in line, please.¨ A young boy’s voice drawls out from behind the counter.

I keep my hands in my pockets, teeth clenched. It´s early in the morning. The only people here are old men getting coffee, and exhausted employees. Of course, being a boy in his circumstance, I´m safe. But if they find out what I am, they´ll tear me apart. Just like they would do for some girl, walking alone on a fine morning.

I only have 10 bucks on me. I brought it for their black coffee. But now, my stomach burns after the long walk, and something in me is yearning for something sweet. Something simple, even a bit sour. Good thing there are like, 10 flavors that meet that description in this depressingly mediocre parlor.

Their flavors are good, they have this way of burning your tongue and warming your belly, even with freezing ice cream. I´ll give them back. But their people, their spirit, their message. It´s really flat, and fucking depressing.

I ask for a small cup of mint chocolate.

I make sure my eyes interact with nothing but my feet, the menu board, and the ice cream flavors. I´m not here to meet a new waiter friend. I have enough of them at Frida´s. Frida´s is a small, mom (not pop) owned authentic Mexican restaurant. And everything about that place–those people. It’s exhilarating, winding, and just plain awe-inspiring. I would go there after school and just do some homework. After a while, I became closely acquainted with the owner, a small, squinty-eyed woman, with these gorgeous curls she had to always keep up, Mrs. Tella.

I also learned to befriend the waiters there too.

There was Terri, Mrs. Tella´s granddaughter, she had these wild, bright red curls that went to her lower back, two years older than me. Obviously, putting her in a hair net was always trouble.

Then there are the twins Bridget and Liam. Both are unapologetically white. Both are my age. They both shared these dark, brown eyes and choppy chestnut brown hair. Bridget always had hers in a french braid. Liam´s was always in his face. Bridget draws out her words (likeeeeeeeeee thiiiissssssss), and she is obsessed with the color red, always putting it in her wardrobe somehow.

Liam is that friend that will fall asleep first at the sleepover, probably high, he actually is secretly a pretty soulful guy. He writes a lot, and so do I. But, it´s his secret; we share our writing and read over it together sometimes.

¨I didn´t actually realize that people liked that flavor.¨ The boy remarks.

¨Hey!¨ An elderly, Indian lady in the back slaps him on the back of his head. ¨Are you willing to lose another customer?¨

I stifle a bold laugh. Who´s auntie is this???

The boy stays quiet. It was obvious that he was trying to also desperately stifle a laugh.

¨James?¨ The woman asks.

¨James?!¨ I exclaim.

Wait. He works here? No fucking way. Not how I wanted to spend my morning. Yes. yes, this is James from school. The older boy led the pack of brainless toads.

The one with a good build, the loud tone, whose number still lies untouched in my phone, and the one with those eyes. Although they were the more visibly softer, more Bambi-like thing about him. I didn´t trust him at all. I know guys like him. I´ve had to deal with them since Middle School. Oh god, who doesn’t have bad memories concerning guys like him from Middle School? Like honestly.

James, who apparently works the morning shift at this ice cream parlor, is not going to be my employee friend. Maybe the reason that I won´t be coming back on Sunday mornings anymore, is all because of this cockroach. I had a lot of reasons to not like him right now. He lied. And he knows what happened with Mr. Britt that time after school, the last time I´d seen both of them in a while. I was kind of hoping to see Mr. Britt before James, but whatever.

I don´t know why he even gave me his number, truthfully. I know he doesn’t give a single shit about Mr. Britt. I know he could’ve attacked, or exposed me, but he hasn’t. And still, he made the boys run away from Mr. Britt´s office.

Mr. Britt…

I still haven’t been able to figure much out about him, and it´s 3 days away from the end of winter break. Well, I haven’t found anything useful. Only read into his files, his records, and his family. Nothing out of the ordinary. It said he had no wife and no kids. I guess, I never really did ask much about his at-home life. I suppose, it never really was any of my business. Well, apart from that, his records were stark clean. Nothing. No slip-ups or anything. I know there has to be something.

People have been weird actually. Most people, being my mom. I told her a bit about what happened with Mr. Britt. Well, y´know, I avoided the part including how I had even found out. How I was too busy defending my fucking rights to be in the literal restroom. How if I wasn´t in there, maybe I could’ve prevented the thing with the boys. I avoided how I, someone who has been used to these guys slamming me, finding any way to make my life miserable, treating me like an abomination; talked to their ¨learder¨ and he listened when I put my foot down and told them to get the fuck out. But I did tell her how when typically something ¨juicy¨ happens with teachers, people talk about it. But, I haven’t heard anything. Positively anything.

But, she was uncharacteristically shallow. She was doing her best to avoid the topic of Mr. Britt. Of course, she has nothing against him. But it seemed as if she knew something I didn’t. Which, I knew-know she doesn’t.

This is my teacher, mom, there´s not a lot I don´t know about him. Well…he did just kind of suspiciously call in ¨sick¨ and how a mob of teenage boys surrounded his door. Leaving me in a pile of dubious, one-sided information from some hairy boy(James), and raw guilt. But, not even my mom knows this….what could she possibly be hiding?

¨No ma´am…¨ His eyes meet mine. ¨I don’t want to lose another one.¨

She juts her chin upwards and walks away, ¨Good.¨

James, with my ice cream in hand, leans against the counter. Looking at me.

The lady from earlier yells from the back. ¨James Marly Jeddson! GET OFF OF THE COUNTER!¨

I let a loose laugh out this time. I tease, ¨Wow, she knows your full name?¨

He scoffs, cheeks a bit red from the scene, and pushes himself off the counter. ¨Yeah…she practically raised me.¨

¨Is that so?¨

¨It is.¨

¨Soooo how´s your day-¨

I interrupt, not liking where this is going. ¨Can I have my ice cream, pay you, then leave?¨

¨Fiyaz, I know why you wouldn’t want to talk to-¨

¨Dude, can I have my ice cream?¨

¨Please…just….¨ He waits for me to interrupt. But I don´t, maybe this will be interesting. ¨you do want the truth don´t you?¨

¨But…you hadn’t given me the truth the first time. Why tell me the truth now?¨

He raises his eyebrows. ¨Who said I didn´t tell me the truth?¨

¨He did.¨

¨God?¨

¨Close. Mr. Britt. He directly told me that what you told me was a lie.¨

James looks around as if we weren’t safe. ¨Did he tell you the truth, then?¨

¨No…he did´nt…actually.¨ I clear my throat, regaining my confidence. ¨Why couldn’t you tell me the truth?¨

He mutters a small, ¨De sisto puer…Give me some time.¨

¨Hmm? I can’t hear you-¨

¨Come take your ice cream.¨

I squint my eyes and do as told. As my hands wrap around my cup, James simply keeps it there. Now both our hands are on it. He whispers, ¨I can tell you the truth, just not here, boy. Not today.¨

I whisper, keeping my hard eyes on his abnormally soft ones.

¨Then when?¨

¨Let me take you out, and I´ll explain all of this.¨

What. I shake his hand off of my ice cream and hold it close to my chest. ¨Excuse me?¨

¨You heard me. Are you free tomorrow? I know this small Latin place. Y´know, the one right next to the school? Maybe meet me there at 8.¨

I´m done with this guy. I came into here thinking ¨I don´t want to talk to anybody ¨, so he goes ahead and talks to me. Plus, I´m not into him. He has such nerve, it makes me sick. ¨You asked me on a date?¨

James waves his hands in protest. ¨No! No no no. Not a date. I´m into girls-¨

I let out a relieved sigh. ¨Oh thank god.¨

He chuckles, ¨Think of it as a meetup with a friend.¨

¨We´re not friends.¨

¨Buuuut we could be.¨

¨Stop lying to me then maybe.¨

¨That´s quite literally what I´m trying to do!¨

¨You could’ve just texted me.¨

¨Do you even want the truth anymore!?¨ A loud bang comes from the back, James lowers his voice and whispers. ¨Texting and calling can be easily traced. You deserve to at least know what you are in their world before I put you at any risk-¨

¨What the hell do you mean-¨

¨Fiyaz. Trust me on this. Before they find you too.¨