PART   ONE

I walked across the campus, a cold refreshing breeze hurtling through my hair, freezing my face in a refreshing way. my messenger bag clunked against the back of my leg painfully. i always packed too many notebooks and pens. it was hard to get writing done here sometimes. too many students, peers my age, running about and talking or laughing loudly. everywhere i went, i went notebook and hand. i already had 100 pages to my novel written out in my painstaking handwriting. none of the college students talked to me here, except for the friend i was staying with, in the dorm. no one realized i was here.
i hadnt found anyone here that i fancied either. many of the boys were immoral and loud, and many of the girls were alike to their nature.
where had society gone?
my brown hair messed in my face as red and orange leaves blew across my way, the autumn in new hampshire is beautiful, the same as maine and vermont, both states of which ive been to.
by this time, i had reached the library.
the library was a modern looking building, a beautiful construction of artists who must have studied with michealangelo.
grafitti had not yet graced the exterior of the building yet.
give it another five years, i thought.
climbing up the steps, i heard someone playing oasis somewhere.
i opened the door as the smell of fresh paper caught me at the door and showed me in politely.
the library had a vast collection of everything to rolling stone magazine, to the zen philosophy. not that the two are that far apart, but you catch my drift.
the tables were mostly empty, the computers mostly filled. people preferred technology to paper now.
from my bag i withdrew a book and checked my cell phone for the time--5:34 in the afternoon.
i felt tired. the cold weather had made me sleepy. i loved that about it.
from my hoodie pocket i withdrew a cherry coke and drank it slowly enjoying the fizz.
i heard a chair scrape next to me against the carpet. at first i thought that someone was stealing another chair from my table, but to my surprise a blond haired young man my age, about 20 pulled up a chair next to me. he had neck length blond hair, beautiful light eyes, high cheek bones a small nose like mine, and soft lips. his skin looked delicate as did his black tshirt and faded jeans. his black hoodie was similar to mine except that it smelled like cigarettes.
by the way he had pulled up his chair, i could tell that he had a gentle way about him. when i looked back at him i realized that his shirt said something about PETA on it.
"hi." he said to me, smiling shyly.
"good afternoon." i answered.
he had a book in his hand. i couldnt tell what it was, but it was thick and hardcovered.
he asked me my name.
I told him. Ethan.
"do you like music?" he asked.
"yes, rock. and folk, like cat stevens."
he smiled. he knew what i was talking about.
from a bag behind him, he pulled an acoustic guitar
he smoked while he played,
.and it started to rain outside.
his fingers gently slid across the strings, and i knew that he could be one of those child prodigies if he had tried.
i smelled the comforting rain through the open windows.
his hair was in his eyes, and he looked at me ever so often.
my pen had been poised before the paper for ten minutes. he distracted me.
i couldnt figure it out.
he began to sing, softly, like he i was a child and he was trying to get me to sleep. he closed his eyes when he sang. i imagined him asleep.
the thought was riveting.
"mr. parker?" the dean stood over him, tapping his foot impatiently
the boy didnt notice.
his eyes were closed, he was still singing.
i tapped his shoulder.
his eyes opened and he looked at me.
i pointed to the dean.