Second (History Plays, Book 1)

5: masks by night

Teddy

Edward doesn't return for dinner. Gaveston and I eat well though; they have chocolate cakes for dessert and soon we are both too full to care to speculate on Edward's absence. He's generally popular, so I'll assume he had friends to meet up with. This spring semester I did feel like I monopolized his time showing me about and protecting me from bullies. He probably figures that with Gaveston here, who is his old mate, then I'll be fine to walk back and forth and he can go and be with his friends.
I'm sure that's all. He said everything was fine and that Gaveston isn't a problem.
Even so. I'd sooner Edward come back before evening.
When we get to Dover house, most everyone is settling in their rooms, a few have music going. On the third floor we are particularly rowdy. Coach Marlowe is essentially supervising that, as he's playing fetch with our house dog (Christopher) down the hall. No, we aren't supposed to have a house dog. But (this is all according to Edward), a few years ago, Father Thomas found this puppy out in the rain and he gave it to Coach Marlowe on the grounds that 'if anyone can get away with hiding a dog in here, it's you' and that's apparently true. It's a big Bernese Mountain Dog, and we all like it, it comes and sits in our rooms especially if we're sad and it's very good for a cuddle in the day room if we're feeling lonely and haven't anyone to talk to. Naturally, we all conspire to hide the thing, which we do by pretending the dog does not exist, and when questioned, no matter our proximity to said dog, we all maintain we do not see nor are we aware of a dog.
Anyway, the merry dog is running up and down the hall and into people's rooms with a large red ball in his mouth, wagging his tail and flopping down every five minutes acting tired when his master corners him and demands the ball back.
"We—-have a dog?" Gaveston asks.
"What dog?" Everyone present.
"We're not allowed dogs here. So there isn't a dog," I say, getting my keycard out for the room.
"Right," Gaveston nods.
"Go ahead and change, shower, whatever, I'm gonna go visit friends," I say, letting him in the room. Reader, I don't have friends.
"Oh, yeah, um—if you're sure," Gaveston says, putting a hand through his hair. It's mostly dark steel grey, for a while I was thinking he colored it but that's against the regulations and no, there's blonde mixed in. It's just a part of him looking awesome all the time.
"Yeah, I'll be back before lights out," I say, "Do you want the door open or closed?"
"Um—closed," he says, looking at his bed and the clothes laid out there.
I slip off down the hall. Coach Marlowe is only mostly succeeding in getting everyone to bed and at least out of the hallway and settled, hindered partly by the massive dog that thinks its presence is required in every single room and every single boy wants to pet it (we do).
I find Edward in the day room, slumped on the sofa, staring at the television. No one else is there, more preoccupied with move in.
"What's going on? Why'd you leave dinner?" I ask, folding my arms.
"I'm sorry, I just don't feel well," he says, barely glancing at me, "I'll be in in a bit, you guys go ahead and shower."
"Okay," I say, quietly. I can tell he isn't telling the truth, but if he doesn't want to talk to me, fine.
"Seriously, dude, I'm probably just worn out, or that stupid curry they tried to serve for lunch," he says, glancing up at me, "It's cool, I'm just not up to much—-fucking hell Christopher." The dog runs and lands directly on him, rolling over on its back in his arms and tipping its head up next to his. Be aware, this dog is well over a hundred pounds and easily crushes even Edward's tall frame.
"Language," Coach Marlowe follows bearing the dog's ball, "Shouldn't you two be in bed considering we all get to see each other at six am?"
"Move your dog then! Also you swear, constantly," Edward groans, trying to move the dog which has turned to pure jelly and love on top of him.
"He thinks you need the cuddle, come on, good lad, Christopher, there's a handsome lad, come on," the dog does nothing with this coaxing nor does it ever. It listens to Father Thomas and me.
"Yeah, you're right," I say, and then I turn and leave. They let me go, assuming, I suppose, I'm going to my room, which I'm not.
I long ago figured out how to access the roof. Too many summer days and nights here, alone in the dorm. Experiencing peace for the first time in my life, yet also weirdly lonely. It's peace to be alone, yet when you're used to having everyone be cruel to you you also can't stand the solitude knowing they're out there, just waiting.
So I go to the roof.
At first it was suicidal, I think. When for so long there was no future I could hope for that would have any improvement on my current situation. But now, now it's something. Now it's that everything could end in a moment. But now it doesn't have to. Now it feels more and more like there could be something worth waking up for in the morning.
I find the door and undo the lock I long since picked. And then I slip up onto the steep roof tiles.
There, bathed in the starlight, I walk slowly along the cracking tiles. I tip my head back and study the stars. Cursed in their infinity, forever gazing down. How can something so far away, be so comforting? Simply their constancy. I could slip and die tonight. But the stars would return. When I was little, I would hide in my parents' yard, and pretend that I was running away to be a pirate. And navigating by the stars. Because no matter who I was, or where I'd ran. My maps would be up there in the starlight.
Now I'm who I want to be. Or closer to it. Striving to be it. And the stars are still here. In their beauty and distance. And when I do die, maybe one year or six months or fifty years from now, they'll still smile on me.
I stretch out my arms, clasping at the darkness, and smiling up. Safe. I have a room and a bed waiting for me. I do have the start of friends. I have a family that I found, or that found me. And we will survive. And more than that I will always have me. Even on dark days when people ignore me or I think I'm alone again. I ran away. I did it. I'm not a pirate either, not some outlaw swashbuckler.
I am a prince.