The Erim Yazar Remix
One Week After Tam Linn’s Crossing Of Calais
I lock the door and I am about to make the walk to Ochre for the first day of my second semester, when I hesitate. I check my bag, that old doctor bag Hermann once gifted me to see if I have missed anything. Our textbooks, we have been told, will remain the same so that won’t be a problem. I have got two pens; one ink, one traditional charcoal and a pink eraser (courtesy of Elena). I have added a a thermo, a vacuum-bottle filled with tea, because January at the altitude Fallowfell is located at? Ccccooold.
Phone and keys are in my coat; the easier to be accessed.So… I have pretty much everything I need. Then why am I not moving? I glance at the lock on my door. I should probably unlock it, lock it again, you know, just to be certain. /Do you recall what you told me?/ Well, yeah? /For you are doing it again. Needlessly creating rituals where none is needed./ I sigh, Verde is right. I make sure that the scarf is twisted the appropriate number of times around my neck to prevent the cold its entry, that my black beanie covers my ears and that my gloves slip beneath the slevees of my coat.
Presumably ready, I enter the cold. One good thing about my move is that distance to Ochre has lessened. From the villa it was four kilometres, from the my new apartment, two. Then again, these two kilometres feel like much longer as I force myself through snow, and the wind, and the overcast sky and did I mention the wind? So effing cold that you feel sunburned. I try through Verde to increase my body-temperature a degree or two, but it doesn’t pan out. It’s so much easier to grab more, than less, to give myself supernatural speed and strength, than just slightly above average strength.
In twenty minutes time I spot the Crimson Bridge (which really, they should rename the Tarnished Bridge) and I pause to admire the frozen water of the Hermannstadt. It reminds me of glas. A scarred boy looks back. Hmmm, I am going to ask Gomagog if we perhaps can have an outdoor-session in P.E. on the ice? That might be an idea people would like? Oh, I wouldn’t like it, because I am not most people, but there is more than one person in my class…
I shake my head and cross the bridge.Well inside, I make for the lockers, lockers we will have until the start our sophomore year.
“Hey Rune!” I nod to myself, having heard ‘him’ sneak through hallways earlier. I turn. “Dammit, it’s cold, isn’t it, Pontus?” “Sure is”, he answers. Pontus’ hair is long now, shoulder-length, long enough to earn him catcalls from girls all across Ochre. I still remember that first day at Ochre, when I was hungover, and Pontus came to ask if I was fine.
He scared me in the process, quite unintentionally, but I have always remembered the gesture. So when I detect that scent of sadness, of melancholia springing from Pontus body, I know that I must return the favor. Not out of a sense of obligation, but because we’re friends.
“Hey”, I start, losing my momentum as I clear my throat,”hey, is everything alright? You don’t seem your usual you”, I finish. Damn it Rune, that the best you can do? I berate myself.
Pontus scratches blond stubble. “Hannah broke up with me”, he says, his voice catching on that last syllable. “What?! Why”, I exclaim.
“I asked her the same thing, and she just gave me some bullshit-excuse.I… am not… I am not in a good place right now Rune”, he summarizes. I nod, taking the situation at face value. “Shall we get Kai and skip school?”
Pontus stare at me. “You do know that our first lesson is English, right? Gomagog doesn’t really like truants?” “I remember”, I say, while thinking of that time I skipped a P.E-lesson to see movie about a city being invaded by aliens with a girl that have golden eyes. “Riiight”, Pontus add, a little less sad. “I forgot that. She really had a bad influence on you, didn’t she?” Because the question is rhetorical, I don’t answer. Really, one can hardly deny the truth?
“It’s the irony really; out of the three boys in our class, Kai seems to be the only with any luck”, Pontus moan. In an attempt to change the subject, for Pontus sake, and for my sake somewhat, I ask, ” So are we skipping that English lesson or….?”
Pontus sighs. “Alright. Out of the frying pan….” Pontus suddenly roars as he starts an impromptu sprint.
“… and into the fire”, I say, ending the quote as we reach the rest of 1A. And there they are. Amanda who measures your battle-potential with a blue glare, Amina who gives you thumb-ups and who smells like oil and tires, fuck it, I have even missed Signe Revsand’s rants about Marie Curie.
Friendships are reconnected, old wounds assauged, stories about Christmas-presents exchanged, and I can’t help but feel that this is right. This is how things are supposed to be. Elena forces her way through the throng of people, arriving before me… cringing and smelling of fear?
“We need to talk”, she claims. A statement phrased like an order.
“We need to talk”, I repeat. A question phrased like reply. Having heard me, she retreats back in the crowd. Odd, what was that about?
“Alright you miscreants! Get into the room!” 1A, turns their heads like a synchronized unit towards the speaker, a very large man with hair the color of onyx, flowing down to his biceps and who stares at us with his midnight eyes. Gomagog, now that one I haven’t missed.
We pool into the classroom, where we find an unfamiliar boy, sitting in the third seat next to the window. My seat, dammit! Said boy has a leather jacket, a green mohawk further accented by his gren eyes and skin darker than mine. I can hear some the girls sighing already. But none of that is important. He.Is.Sitting.In.My.Seat!
“… alright, enough staring at the new kid. To your seats. Don’t make me assign you extra-work”, Gomagog growls. His threat hanging in the air, we all grab seats. I take one behind the boy, the better to shoot daggers at his neck with my eyes.
“You”, Gomagog barks, pointing at the new kid. “Present yourself!” Assmohawk, as I have started to call him in the safety of my head, gets up and strides arrogantly to the front of the classroom. /Stop that. He has not done you that great of a wrong./ Mmmm.
“My name is Erim Yazar. I like boats, bikes and big girls . My number is….” and he mouths off his number while looking at Nevena!
/I retract my previous statement./