BUTTERFISH

Part 1 / Part 3

“Unbelievable!”

Arthur stumbled up from the chair and almost knocked it over in his hurry, but Alfred hardly gave him the time to recover as he strolled out of the office with such long, quick steps that even if he’d been running he wouldn’t have kept up with him. “Wait!” he called and hurried to follow Alfred down the hall while putting on his jacket. His bag was heavy with books and dragging him backwards. “Wait, Al, what happened?”

“They are going to fail me!” Alfred turned around the corner and speeded up. He wanted to get as far away from the principle’s office that he possibly could. But it was a slow walk and a quick fly, and surely the only way Arthur managed to keep up with him now was by hurrying through the air. He heard him approach and stopped by the hole which led down to the ground floor.

Arthur landed next to him and gave him a good stare. He was out of breath as he gasped: “Fail you at what?”

“PE. It’s ridiculous,” Alfred frowned and lifted up his arms. Naturally, as they’ve done it many times before, Arthur grabbed around Alfred and brought him up flying with him before sinking both of them down into the long, vertical hole which was several meters deep. “It’s not my fault I can’t participate. It’s Alex, he just won’t stop coming up with games which requires flying.”

“I know, he’s an a-hole.”

“No, say it as it is. He is an ass,” Alfred choked. “A downright asshole.”

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Part 2 / Part 3

The teacher blew his whistle and the three boys slowly started levitating. They made it look easy; their feet let go of the ground and soon they were hovering a meter above it, their shoes dangling in the air and their arms stretched out to their sides as if they were swimming. As Alfred looked to his right, he saw the girls do the same. They held tightly onto their fluttering skirts and waved at the boys as they too were floating. Slowly they positioned themselves; one in front of the goal, two covering up the keeper.

“On three,” the teacher yelled and held up the brown ball between the two groups. He counted down quietly while bending in his knees so deeply that his elbows almost hit the ground before he jumped up, throwing the ball in the same while screaming: “Go!” The two teams flew towards each other, their tiny bodies slashing the air loudly as they reached out their arms, everyone trying to get to the ball first. It was Emma with heir long, braided hair, who got the first shot and sent the ball straight into Timmy’s face. He retorted by pulling at her braid, leaving her screaming and bashing. “Timmy, watch it!” the teacher yelled and he let go. The game continued and Alfred sunk back onto the cold bench as he buried himself deeply in his hoodie with a frown. He hated this game, just like he hated most games they played at PE. They were all about floating and throwing around things up in the air, or about learning to fly quickly and land smoothly. It was all fun and games for his classmates, but Alfred could never participate. He couldn’t fly.

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I first started posting videos on Youtube back in year 2007. Back then all I did was to play the guitar to the camera and I didn’t get a lot of attention. I gained a few more followers a year later as I started singing cover songs as well, but my real breakthrough was with my original lyrics. Suddenly my videos were on the front page and my views grew, I got hundreds of comments a day and I started distributing my own CDs, sending them in small, brown envelopes to exotic places far away. I was interviewed on the radio, on TV, and a record company called me to ask if I would consider working with them to release a single. I was on top of the world and soon the glossy magazines which I used to read on the bus going to work would be featuring my name, Alfred Jones, and teens like myself would read about me and be inspired. All I needed was a good event that could brand me as an approachable, young man and the record company had an idea.

“Get in touch with your very first follower,” they suggested. “Show that you care. Invite them to a private concert or something.” I remembered my first follower. His name was ICameForTheView and he had never left a comment on any of my videos and never replied to my messages. I wrote him when he started following me, all excited about hearing why he liked my stuff, but he never got back to me.

Somehow I found getting in touch with him now was a bad idea - after all he would only reply because I was now famous, but I felt forced by the producers and still sat down and typed in a message. I sent it in the evening and the next morning he’d deleted his account. He was off of Youtube and I had no idea where he was or how to find him. My very first follower had disappeared. The company suggested I just picked my second follower, a girl who had commented on all my videos and always wrote me cute messages and sent me pictures of herself. I did as told and she screamed her way through the private concert at her home, hugging and fondling an old scarf I’d been wearing going there. But it didn’t feel right and I couldn’t give her my best. All I thought about was why my very first follower who’d watched all my videos and put them in neat playlists had not wanted to get in touch with me. I wondered where he was.

Meanwhile my success grew. I had three CDs in store and was working on my fourth, but my focus wasn’t on music anymore. I had to focus on the interviews and how I presented myself, and soon I didn’t even write my own lyrics but had them done by an aged man who had the talent but not the voice. I thought no one would care until I received a letter one day.

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Long time no see, everyone! I hoped that I would return with good news but instead I’m here to ask for your help. I’ve been notified by RobinRocks that FF.net has started deleting all M-rated fanfictions which might conflict the slightest with their rules. I’m afraid a few of my stories may be on the line, especially I worry about the future of “American Dreams in an English Village”.

I have the story saved but I would be sad to lose all your lovely reviews. They’ve helped me develop as a writer and they’ve kept me writing whenever I was at doubt. I look back at them whenever I am feeling the need to be inspired and I wouldn’t know what to do without them. So do any of you know if there’s a way I can save all the reviews I’ve gotten onto my laptop? I am aware I could just manually copy them, but if there’s an easier way, then that would be much appreciated!

Either way I don’t want you to worry; if FF.net decides to delete my stories, I will of course publish them here or find somewhere else to upload them where they will be safe.

Thanks beforehand and enjoy your summer!

You get into a rhythm.

You start by saying no to simple things; things that no one notices that you turn down. Like cheese in your salad or whipped cream in your hot chocolate. It could just be that you don’t like it. Maybe you’re being healthy. You reason with yourself.

Then you start eating fruit. You’re actually being healthy. Fruit and vegetables and maybe some rye bread if you can keep it down. You do it for so long that it becomes a habit and your friends just consider it a part of you. You’re just healthy. They don’t even ask any questions as you start exercising.

Forget about being healthy. You exercise every day. You have to else you feel bad. And you skip meals - it’s not that you don’t like food. You love food. But you love it too much and you know it’s dangerous, so you don’t eat. When you eat, you eat what looks good. A bar of chocolate in the morning. You get some crisps on your way home from work.

But you drink a lot of water. You drink so much you’re about to puke. It keeps the weight up - but that’s not why you drink it. It’s because it’s summer and it’s warm, right?

I sipped my tea. Every day did I sipped tea in litres and I always had it with milk. Whenever someone asked if I hadn’t lost weight, I pointed to the milk and asked: “Do you think you loose weight drinking milk?” Everyone knows milk is fattening. I punished myself by skipping breakfast.

I knew they noticed my loose shirt and hanging belt and the way my fingers started shaking uncontrollably sometimes. I said I just needed nicotine and laughed. I started smoking. It made me feel full. Standing outside on the balcony watching the sun set I always congratulated myself for making it yet a day. Then I cried. I locked the door to the meeting room and cried until it got so dark that no one would be able to see my tears when I headed back home. But it was the least of my worries. Sometimes I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t breathe and had to sit down on a bench gasping until my lungs hurt. Those nights I believed I was going to die and wrote a letter when I got back. I filled a drawer with my last wishes and I hid the key away. I believed that if I was to die, someone would find it and read and understand what had been going on in my mind.

But the lock was broken before time was up.

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“I have nothing to do,” America said and rolled over to lie on his back. England only shortly looked up from his laptop before his fingers stretched out and continued abusing the keyboard. At least it sounded like abuse to America. His fingertips hit the keys quickly and harshly and in one, long go. As if he was playing a complicated piece on a piano - just without the lovely sounds, of course.

“Well, what a surprise,” England said. America grimaced at the tone of his voice; it already sounded like a reprimand. “You spend all year complaining about having too much work and then we reach summertime and you get two weeks off - and suddenly you have nothing to do!”

“Right on,” America said and stretched his arms. “So what do you suggest?”

“Therapy.” America groaned and smacked his head face-down into the pillow. Then he went quiet.

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Alfred Jones was a hero, but sadly very few were aware of it. His mom had always called him her special, little hero, but just because your mom says something that doesn’t mean it’s true. Mommies say a lot of things to make their children happy; like when they have drawn a really ugly picture, but she still puts it up on the wall. Alfred was aware of that, so he couldn’t rely on what his mom said when he helped her empty the dishwasher or pick up twigs from the lawn. He had to make sure that everyone knew him. He wanted to walk down the street and have people pointing at him and say:

“There goes a real hero!” But when you’re just eight years old and can’t run for president, how do you then get noticed?

Alfred had a best friend named Arthur. Arthur wasn’t his best friend because they like the same things. While Alfred loved playing videogames and climb trees, Arthur would much rather sit still and read a book. He was the most boring kid you can imagine, but he was the only boy who lived on the same street as Alfred. There also lived a girl across the street, but it was rumoured that she liked to kiss boys, so she was one to watch out for. Therefore Alfred had no choice but to be friends with Arthur.

Alfred went to Arthur’s house to ask him how he could get noticed. Because though Arthur was boring, he was very clever and he knew how things worked. On his door he’d put up a sign saying:

No entry!

- but still Alfred just strolled into his room. “Arthur, I need your help!” he said and Arthur looked up from his book and sent him a mean look.

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Arthur was the kind of guy who wasn’t easy to charm. When it came to girls, Alfred had always known what to do; just give them a necklace one day and dine out the next and surely by the end of the week, they would be tagging him as their boyfriend on Facebook. But not Arthur.

Arthur studied English literature and though it was incredibly useless, he seemed well proud of it. His favourite writers were Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare and he would cite them whenever given the chance. And sometimes when he was not given the chance. It was as if he lived in a whole other century. Had Jane Austen walked in his door and asked for tea, Alfred felt sure that he wouldn’t have blinked an eye but simply asked: “One or two spoonfuls of sugar?”

Alfred had tried all his little tricks, but they hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Apparently he was way too modern for the Brit. He wore Converse on his feet and football-jackets on his shoulders and he knew how to sing all Ke$ha’s songs (something Arthur didn’t consider a talent), but still he couldn’t charm him. And Arthur was gay - that was for sure! Alfred had seen him date both the Lithuanian geek from down the street as well as the flirty Frenchman from college. But he hadn’t shown the least interest in Alfred. Not even when he made it to the local basketball-team and started being on television did Arthur react to his many offers. He sent him e-mails and text messages and he bought him scarves and funny teddies, but Arthur never returned his calls nor did he keep his gifts. He wrapped them up nicely and put them in front of Alfred’s door the day after he’d received them.

“You’re really being a jerk,” Alfred told him as he drove Arthur home from class. He was sitting in the passenger’s seat flickering through the pages of Hamlet while looking rather bored.

“Why am I being a jerk?” he asked. Alfred turned the volume on the radio down. Britney Spears kept quiet for a moment.

“Why can’t you just tell me what to do? Just let me know!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be doing anything,” Arthur suggested.

“Is that what you want?” He stopped for red and turned to look at Arthur. He’d closed his book. He was slipping his fingers down the front of the book with a shrug. “Is it? I can see you’ve started hanging around that Asian guy now.”

“He has a name,” Arthur sighed, but he didn’t say it. Alfred rolled his eyes and started the car up again as the light changed. He turned right and slowly rolled down the hill towards Arthur’s place. “It’s not because I don’t want you to. I just want you to get it right.”

“You sound like a girl,” Alfred huffed and stopped by the path walk. “Alright, this is your stop.” Arthur reached over to the backseat and dragged his bag with as he exited the car. Just as he was about to close the door, he poked his head back in and smiled:

“If I were to score you, I would buy you tickets for a game. Because I know you that well. Do you know me well enough?” Alfred glared at him. Arthur closed the door and walked up towards the house. Even after he’d closed the front door behind, Alfred kept glaring.

“I know you well enough to say that you’re a jerk,” he mumbled. But still Arthur’s words seemed to have gotten stuck on his mind. Did he know him well enough?

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It wasn’t like I hadn’t noticed that Arthur was gaining weight. He has always been short and thin, and I love teasing him about how he reminds me of a toothpick. That he never tans doesn’t help him either. In our bedroom he merges into the bright colours when naked, and no matter how much he yells at me for being a sorry comedian, I can’t stop the jokes. But now he was gaining weight and despite it probably being healthy for him, it was odd suddenly seeing him buying new clothes to have something to wear. As I went through his closet, I noticed how all the new garments were similar to his old ones. Even the black mark of ink that I’d left on his jeans had been copied onto the new ones. The shape of a clumsy finger had carefully been drawn on the pocket, and I could easily imagine him sitting in the bathroom while working hard on making his new 500-dollars jeans look like 20 bucks from Wal-mart. He clearly didn’t want for me to notice anything, so I kept my mouth shut and just put everything back in before carefully closing the drawers.

It was in the middle of March and Arthur had gained 12 pounds since December.

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Of course Arthur knows how to relax – he owns a pair of ‘chill out!’-boxers for those rare times when he goes to bed with a cup of hot chocolate (not tea, tea is for everyday life, chocolate is a treat) and just lies there for hours reading Cosmo. But CaptainUSA4sexy might be wearing socks more expensive than Arthur’s laptop, so he does not dare to unwind too much. Just in case, you know. So he’s put on his suit for this special moment. His shoes are new and shined and too small, and his heel has started to bleed.

Two months earlier he learned to know the face behind mysterious CaptainUSA4sexy. An American, needless to say, with big blue eyes like a baby’s, but a body like a star (DiCaprio, not Oprah). Gosh, talk about luck! Arthur hadn’t started to play ‘Call of Duty’ online because he was any good, but because he was bored and needed to let his right hand relax for a moment. 19 years old, have mercy. He’d only just learned how to shoot the gun and move around in the game while mentioned Captain had been playing for years. He was killed instantly by him, over and over and he reached a point where he searched up his e-mail and wrote him a long, annoyed mail about how to treat new players nicely. It had apparently amused him. At least he answered back and soon they were on Facebook, Twitter and MSN every day, chatting about the weather (raining in England, sunny in Florida), food (fish and chips compared to McD) and famous personalities (“no, I haven’t dined with the Queen..”). Soon the Captain (off screen: Alfred) showed off that he knew how to use his hands for more than gaming. Arthur soon followed. And now they are to meet.

Alfred has money, so he’s the one taking the plane and the train and the bus to see Arthur. It’s raining and Arthur’s holding on to his umbrella as he’s standing at the station shivering from the cold. He’s bought a box of English chocolates in case Alfred feels like having sweets and he’s started to worry that it has all been one big lie. Alfred should’ve arrived half an hour ago and the train isn’t late. It came and went away and he’s still standing there like a good boy. Blame it on good upbringing! – though he had it all taught to him by his brothers rather than his drunk daddy.

Arthur hardly has the money for taking the bus back home. Having lived by himself for more than a year he has a very tight budget. His fingers are crossed than Alfred will pay for half of all the expenses they’ll have while he’s staying. He knows he can afford it, but he will not have the courage to ask him for money. It seems cheap. But while he only has a little flat shared with another student, Alfred lives in a mansion with two bathrooms and a walk-in closet all to himself. Lucky! With the parents he was blessed with, it is no wonder he can stay at home playing ‘Call of Duty’ all day and turn into a professional. But considering their arguments, Alfred has some brain as well. He’s just not very good at using it.

Arthur checks the time again. It’s been more than 45 minutes now and there still is no sign of Alfred. He hasn’t even left a text nor called him about being late. He looks back at the bus stop. If he’s not there in five minutes, he’ll have to take the bus back home alone. It only runs once every hour and later the price will go up and he won’t be able to afford it. He checks the time again and lowers his umbrella to shadow for the rain. He feels cheated. He’d really been looking forward to meeting Alfred, but it seems Alfred has been playing his very own game with him. He knew Arthur had started to have a crush on him. Hell, his webcam never went off unless Alfred told him to turn it off. They’d been following each other intensely for weeks. But everything has an end. And it’s still raining.

Arthur is fed up. He turns around in a moment of determination, but he only gets to take a few steps before a text comes in. His phone vibrates and he opens the message from Alfred. He’s shaking. He fears the worst and the best and then he reads the text:

“U r beautiful xx.”

Arthur feels his breath getting caught up in his throat:

“Where are you? We need to catch the bus!” But as he looks up he notices him. He’s sitting by the bus stop as a wet silhouette. He has no umbrella and his blond hair is soaked, his shoes are stuck in a puddle but his smile is kind. He is his Captain, and Arthur feels his heart skip a beat. Then he receives another text and slowly walking towards Alfred as he gets up, Arthur reads:

“Ive been watchin u. Ur beautiful. And I think I caught a cold, lol xx.”

He hugs him before saying another word and he doesn’t even listen to whatever nonsense Alfred whispers into his ear (it certainly isn’t hello, but something about him being dorky in a suit) because his blood is rushing too quickly through his veins and it’s drowning out all other sounds. All he can do is to cling onto Alfred as the bigger man almost lifts him off of the ground to get underneath his umbrella and steal his chocolate at once. But Arthur slaps him with the box and huffs:

“Men with a cold should drink tea and not eat.” He expects a pout. He gets one. But it’s okay. His chill-out boxers are lying ready at home, so if Alfred knows how to, they can sneak into bed together and eat chocolate and read Cosmo. Alfred doesn’t seem to find the idea strange. He says he’s brought him Hershey’s and it’s horrible, but it’s okay. Because Alfred pays for his own bus ticket and holds his hand as if he means it.

Later Arthur joins the Captains team online.