Plain

"Those fuckers have it coming! Being all unnatural and shit! It's fucked up! It's wrong!"

Every time a moral war descended on the small town of Plain, Michigan, Marty got his boxer shorts way too far up his ass crack. This time, some of the older folks were getting concerned about the nouveau, avant-garde crowd that was practically moving in and taking over our neighborhood. They were just college kids, my age. They didn't mean harm. But what really got at them is that some of these students were... different. They were... gay. Well, not just gay. Some were straight but had same-sex lovers, some were of one sex but dressed like the opposite sex, others were clearly of a certain sex but proclaimed they were of a different gender, and so on and so forth. They were all Marty's age, too, but because his father was the mayor of the town, he wasn't allowed to see things from the view of the opposing side. I think he simply chose not to. He loved to be a bigot. When a Latino family moved into the community a few years back, everyone was up in arms, shouting things like "spic" and "wetback." They all thought the family was a bunch of illegal immigrants. Mr. Charles Hernandez was actually from Arizona, and his wife was working for the Argentinian embassy in DC. The guy taught at the University of Michigan. But nobody likes to think they're wrong. Eventually, the family left. I was sad to see them go. I heard Mr. Hernandez started teaching Iberian Studies at William & Mary.

But this time, it was the the "homos," the "queers," the "fags." People who were no more hurting them than moving in next door. They simply were looking for a change of venue. But that didn't matter. They were different. They were, as the town folks proclaimed, evil. I thought they were just people.

What caught my eye was one young man, who stepped into the grocery store the other day. I was the only one working; my friend Mimi was in the back, taking inventory-- even though I was pretty sure she was smoking pot back there. This boy, same height as me, blue eyes, blue hair (it must have been dyed to look like that), and pale skin. He was almost a god among men. He was new, fresh, and beautiful. I smiled bashfully and waved weakly as he walked by. He smiled a smile that showed his teeth, that I swear to God must have been made of porcelain. His eyes were a soft, deep blue, like the color of the ocean on a cloudy day.

"You like him." Mimi was right behind me, arms crossed, all of her weight on her right leg, which wasn't that much weight to begin with anyway. I shook my head quickly. I was afraid that she was angry, but when I actually looked up at her face, she was smiling. I should have figured. Mimi is the closest thing we have to a contemporary youth in this ass backwards town. She squealed and hugged me, almost knocking me over. I was glad we were the only two in the store.

"I knew there was a reason you never went for any of the stuck up bitch ass whores in this town!" She shouted triumphantly. I looked around quickly and put my finger up to my closed lips in hopes of silencing her before anyone except for the beautiful porcelain-toothed god heard her.

"I mean, I'm not, but he's..." Beautiful. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't seem to say it. It might as well have been his name.

About two minutes later, while Mimi was still squealing with delight, the god came to my checkout, even though Mimi opened hers back up. She just smiling and played with her eyebrow piercing as I rang up his items. He looked at me the whole time, and I would steal a glance or two and then blush really hard when I would notice that his smile would grow every time I looked up.

"My name's Preston." It was the god speaking to me. Preston. God of the color blue. I smiled shyly.

"Taylor." I replied softly.

He chuckled delightfully and held out his hand as I finished ringing up his items. I knew what the hand was for, to shake it, but at that exact moment, I could do nothing but stare at it. He had four rings on that hand, and all of them were spectacular, must have all cost him a fortune. Or maybe they were gifts from other admirers. I took his hand slowly and shook it, feeling his smooth skin. They felt as much like porcelain as his teeth looked. I couldn't get the damn grin on my face, and I think I began to blush even harder.

Then someone walked in. It was Mr. Withers, the mayor of the town, Marty's Puritan father. He saw us and grinned as widely as he could manage, but I know that it was fake. It was as fake as his new hair piece. He had recently gone through a divorce and began to lose all his hair from the stress of having to take care of everything himself. He probably shouldn't have slept with his receptionist.