I'll show you gay!

Chapter One

Original July 25, 2012

Every man's memory is his private literature. - Aldous Huxley

I pushed open the glass doors and rested my hands on the counter. I focused my eyes on anything except the small, pudgy secretary in from of me. The faded and chipped painted walls. The scratches and dents on the cold countertop. The smell of her floral perfume.

"Do you need something...?" the pudgy woman asked with a slight edge to her voice

I slowly moved my eyes toward hers. 

"My name is Ryder" I replied letting no emotion leak through

"Well, do you need something Ryder?" again with the attitude

"My schedule would be helpful" this time a little annoyance slipped through

"Oh!  you must be new, sorry dear!" her attitude quickly replaced and dripping with sweetness 

"What's your last name Ryder?"

I ran my hand through my recently dyed hair.

"Dawson, my last name is Dawson"

The sound of her manicured nails hitting the plastic keys echoed through the room.

"Did you get all your papers in?" her face was scrunched up in confusion "We don't have you as one of our transfers..."

"Try Kriss"

The sound of acrylic on keys filled the office again.

"There's no Chris either"

"Kris... with a K" I mumbled

She turned back toward the computer screen typing again.

"Here you go, Kriss...Dawson" she slid my schedule to me slowly with wide eyes

And there it was, the reaction I'd been waiting for. 

The weight of a name that I didn't want to carry anymore.

"Kriss...you've changed since you kn-" she stuttered over the words

"People change" I shoved the paper into my back pocket avoiding the pity in her eyes.

"Oh, well it's nice you to see again Kr-"

"It's Ryder!" I cut her off and stormed out of the office.

I walked through the empty hallway looking around trying to slow my heartbeat.

I use to walk this hallway every day.  The bathrooms, I hated them. I would eat lunch there every day. I had been pushed into these lockers more times than I can count.

I scanned each locker looking for mine.

I still remember the combination 10, 29, 0.

I slide my hand down the cold metal fumbling with the lock. They repainted it, they had to. A fresh coat of blue could cover the hate written but, it couldn't cover the hate in my heart.

This was hard, harder than I had expected.

All the memories from my freshman year flashed through my mind. None of them were happy, they always ended the same...me running away. It was the one consistent thing in my life at the time.

I had tried locking them away, I tried to forget the pain. It doesn't work. Three years of therapy haven't worked.

Nothing improves the memory more than trying to forget.

I dropped my hand from the lock. I didn't bother opening it, I walked away.

It was the first time that I had just walked away from that locker.

With my head held high, I walked into my first class.