If I Could Tell It

Colorado Springs, America, 2009

Eighth grade was really no different from seventh grade.

We received different teachers and different classes and things, but the general structure was still completely the same aside from the fact that now my daily schedule went Band, Biology, Algebra, Language Arts, History.

“Hello!” Mr. Wenceler boomed as he shut the door to his classroom.

Nobody responded, the entire class just stared at the tall, bald man in anticipation for him to start class for the first time.

“You have a seating chart!” He said enthusiastically.

The entire class groaned. Seating charts were the worst because you might get put next to someone who never paid any attention, someone who paid too much attention, or someone who smelled.

I looked at Ty, who shrugged. Language Arts was the only class that we had together and it was terrible that now we could not even sit together. We walked to the side of the classroom and stood against it with the rest of the students waiting for our new seats.

I looked around the room anxiously for anyone that I could get along with and hope to be seated next to. There were a few boys from the football team that looked tolerable. The rest of the people in class either annoyed me or did not register as positive or negative in my mind.

The worst part about Middle School is that everybody knows everybody. This might not seem like a detriment, because you know the names and personalities of the people in your classes, but it also means that everyone also has an establish niche in the Middle School Pecking Order, something I found out was very real after a year in America. Even though there were not official ranks like in Britain, there was a very obvious social hierarchy at school. Especially with girls.

With girls, it seemed that whichever of them was the meanest triumphed. It was not even about who was the prettiest, or the nicest, smartest, or even the wealthiest that had the most power. I found this incredibly interesting. Whichever girl could manage to exclude and emotionally knock down the most other girls won in some twisted way, perhaps choosing which six got the privilege of sitting at the center lunch table. At the moment, this girl was Claire Woods.

I mention this because Mr. Wenceler put me right behind her in our desk rows.

Even I had to admit that Claire was pretty. And even though that was not a contribution to her rank in the girl hierarchy, everyone still noticed. She had perfectly straight caramel colored hair that fell just below her shoulders and had sharp blonde streaks at the bottom. She was model thin, which I ordinarily would not have appreciated aside from her face. Her face was sharp and cunning, yet with feminine softness, set into perfect tanned skin. She always dressed quite suggestively as well, which only contributed to her perception. Also, her hair always smelled of overly ripe strawberries, as if she bathed in jam. I did not like her one bit.

She was also mean. Incredibly mean.

In seventh grade, Claire took a picture of a girl named Phoebe who had apparently “stole” her boyfriend in the locker room with no clothes on and sent it to our entire seventh grade class, then she showed it to the principal and told him that she was sending nudes to all the boys in our grade and needed to be punished. To top it off, she posted on her Facebook account that she heard Phoebe was pregnant and that was why she left. Phoebe did not come back to Carmel this year.

I almost admired the strategy it took to pull something like that off. However, In my opinion, the social hierarchy of girls in Middle school was just much more complex than it probably should have been. I was very glad I was a boy.

Behind me there was a new boy who Mr. Wenceler introduced as Kaiden Brockelle.

Before he even sat down I could tell he was a little too full of himself. Perfectly cut, short dark hair sat on top of a pale face completely covered in freckles. Tight lips resided under an upturned nose and dark eyes that nervously scanned the class.

“The first half of the year we will be studying sentence structure and doing book groups.” Mr. Wenceler announced with fervor, he was diving straight into the material, unlike the other teachers who wasted quite a lot of time introducing themselves and their teaching methods. I liked that he was going quickly into the curriculum, but I did not like how overly enthusiastic he was. He passed paper to each of the rows and we all received one. “This is your syllabus, I expect it signed and returned by the beginning of next week. I suggest you actually read it before you and your parent signs it.”

“We are going to start with sentence structure.” He explained. “But first I want you to get to know the people around you for a few minutes. Around you. That means don’t get out of your seat.”

I rolled my eyes at his inconcise explanation.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I quickly spun around to face Kaiden who was staring at me expectantly, a little bit like he was watching a zoo animal. “Hi.”

“Hi…” I said with a curt wave. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and turn back around. I needed to make some allies in this class besides Ty and the few boys that I knew from football.

“My name’s Kaiden.” He smiled at me.

I obviously already know what your name is because the teacher just introduced you to our entire class. Are you completely stupid? “Arthur.”

“Do you know Helix?” Kaiden asked. “I started going to his church, he said one of his friends was Arthur.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“What’s your favorite class so far?” He asked me. Now he was just trying to make conversation.

“Algebra.” I answered laconically. I decided to try and stay as quiescent as possible in order to get him to stop talking to me.

“I think I have geometry at the same time you have Algebra.” Kaiden said, thinking for a moment. “I saw you coming out of Mr. Krupnik’s room when I came out of Mrs. Henry’s.”

“Okay.” I said, keeping my brevity.

After a few more moments of awkward conversation Mr. Wenceler put a sentence on the overhead projector and told us to diagram it.

We had done sentence diagramming last year in Language Arts. I was never very good at it, for some reason the patterns displayed in grammar were never as easy to understand as the patterns in math.

After we were all done Mr. Wenceler came around to check our work, and none to my surprise, he said mine was wrong and suggested I ask someone for help. Kaiden immediately tapped me on the shoulder.

“I can help you.” Kaiden said. “I got it right.”

I wanted to tell him to shut up and never talk to me again because he was seriously beginning to piss me off, however, Mr. Wenceler was standing right next to us and suggested I find some help.

“Okay thanks.” I said as good naturedly as possible through gritting my teeth.

After Kaiden had helped me. It was time to leave for next period and he lined up right behind me at the door. I could feel his breath on my neck, he needed to back off.

“Hey Arthur?” He asked.

“Yeah?” I said without turning to face him.

“If you ever need help with Algebra, I can do it.”

I had to use every single self-respecting fiber of my being not to backhand him at that very moment. How dare he insult me like that? Where everyone in the line could probably hear too! What have I done to deserve this leech?!

“I don’t think so.” I said sharply and shook my hair out with a little jerk.

Obviously I was not the happiest when he sat down at our table during lunch. And proceeded to be a part of my friend group every day from then on.

Football started up again after a couple days and I was even better this year having been playing on the club team with Ty all summer long. We won most of our games, all except one when most of our players were out sick with the stomach flu.

I went to school every day as I should and I did my homework and I practiced my trumpet and went to football practice. I had lots of friends, and frenemies (Kaiden), my hobbies and my schoolwork came easy to me, therefore, life was easy. Or as easy as life could be when I was constantly wondering about the purpose of my existence in America and about things that were happening there.

I was always thinking, waiting, predicting that something to do with there would happen here. Something, anything, to explain it all. To explain either why I was insane or why I was apparently time traveling every single night of my life while I slept. Nothing came though, nothing ever came. One day was just like the next. I was constantly in a state of hopefulness. Hope that something in my life would finally make sense, anything to explain my otherworldly thoughts and existence.

Arthur

I won the Winter Solstice Tournament in the sword event when I was thirteen.

To the crowd, it seemed that my father congratulated me, even was proud of me, perhaps appreciative that I was his son. But that was only to the crowd. The few times that I spoke to him were only when he called me to ask me what had gone on with the patrols. Lionel had been sent off to war in September and he had convinced my father to appoint me to organize and set up the patrols. It was a bittersweet goodbye, mine and Lionel’s. He was almost like the father figure I never had over that summer, teaching me about the ways of the world and helping me through the crisis of my mother’s passing. I had a feeling that he would come back though, somehow I just knew. We would be together again and someday he would advise me on my most important decisions.

My like for Viviane turned into love.

I still craved to one day hold her and be a complete apart of her existence, to be impossibly close. Now it was something different though, something powerful. I just loved to be with her, to talk with her, to simply sit next to her on the shore of Avalon and gaze into the lake. She was so blissfully unique, so absolutely wonderful. She understood me, made me feel valid. I even told her about America and she did not tell me that I was making it up, she did not tell me that I was insane, she merely considered it and said that she was sorry that I was forced to go through with it but that there must be some reason that I would quite probably find out eventually in my life.

The Lake of Avalon, Britain, 647

I went to her the night of my fourteenth birthday and we sat and stared at the sun cast it’s auburn glow, masked by the dull mist, upon the lake.

“Arthur?” She said to me as she laced her thin fingers through my right hand that was considerably bigger than her’s.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Nimue says that she is going to die soon.”

I had found out that Nimue was the current lady of the lake, and that she was Viviane’s mentor of sorts on her way to becoming the next lady of Avalon. Nimue had also meddled a bit in how my mother conceived me from my father. When my mother was still married to Morgain’s father, Gorlois, my father fell in love with her from afar. When Gorlois died in the war my father saw this as a chance to go after his wife. With Nimue’s help, he disguised himself as Gorlois and went into the manor at night before my mother found out about the death of her husband. Using a magic charm (my father, being a hypocrite and using magic even though he killed people for it) I was conceived when my father convinced her to sleep with him disguised as her husband. Four months later, once my mother was well aware of her pregnancy, my father summoned her to Cadbury Castle where he explained the whole story and married her.

“I am sorry.” I said, frowning. “I suppose that means that you are to become the Lady of Avalon now.”

“I suppose it does.” She sighed. “I wish that we could run off into the forest and not have to worry about our responsibilities anymore.”

“Me too.” I agreed and gave a harsh little laugh. Oh how much I wanted that.

“Someday you are going to be king, Arthur.” She said abruptly. “And I am going to be the lady of Avalon.”

“Someday.” I whispered. Then cynically. “I doubt soon though, my father will never leave me his land willingly. He thinks that I am an insane idiot.”

“But, if you are to be king and I am to be the lady of the lake-” Viviane leaned against my side and fireworks went off in my head. I carefully put my arm around her, feeling excited yet as if I was walking on eggshells, as if one move too far and our relationship would be destroyed. “Well, the high king of Britain and the lady of the lake are always enemies.”

“It will not be that way with us though.” I told her firmly. “Viviane I…”

I had to think about what I was about to say carefully, all too carefully. I meant it with all my heart though. I cannot break my passion.

“What is it?” She asked sweetly.

“Viviane someday I want to marry you.”

“Oh Arthur…” My heart dropped from my throat to the pit of my stomach. “Arthur…”

I looked at the ground with a great sudden interest.

“I want that too.” Her eyebrows were furrowed and my heart was lifted even though I knew that she was not finished speaking. “But I cannot be your queen. You know that.”

“Why not?” I asked, more frustrated than anything. My perfect future of having a wife that understood me was crumbling into dust like a brick dropped onto cement from five thousand feet.

She just looked at me and we locked eyes for a long while, my arm still around her. Then she looked away to the lake and I stared at the side of her head

“I think you know why not.” She said finally.

I swallowed and threw a milky white pebble out to the lake in hatred at my realization that I did in fact know why not and that it was in fact a good reason.

“Arthur.” She moved a lock of blonde hair out of my eyes. “Someday you will marry a beautiful woman, and you will love her so much more than you love me. You will be happy.”

I shook my head as if in disbelief. I loved Viviane, and I loved her because she understood me so well. I did not believe that I would ever find another female such as her, such that understood my quos of here and there, such that appreciated my unique ideas and perceptions of the world around me.

“Will you still visit me?” She asked me softly, a barely audible whisper. “Now that you know this.”

“Yes Viviane, I will”

As much as I wanted Viviane’s approval, to know that she thought me a worthy husband, the approval that she had failed to give me, I wanted her company even more. Even being at her side was breathtaking, talking to someone that I could finally indulge my deepest secrets in. Even if I knew that it would not last.

Colorado Springs, America, 2010

The unavoidable buzz of high school began in late March and became more and more prominent as the school year came to an end.

The high school, Harrison High School, was about a ten minute drive from the Ector’s house and our school had toured it a couple days ago to see where we were going and which classes we might want to take.

I had decided to take a drafting class and drop band the moment I had seen the list of all the elective classes. It was almost exactly like my drawings and then I would learn how to actually make things that could potentially used to instruct a builder. Plus it counted as a math and art credit and could be used to apply for college scholarships.

I also decided that I would take Latin.

Of course, I hated Latin. However, because of the painstaking and terrible lessons there with Father Patricius, I had become almost fluent in the complicated language. Therefore, I figured it would be quite an easy class for me that would be a challenge for most students.

I finished filling out which classes I was planning to take and signed my name at the bottom of the sheet. Then I folded it in half and walked down the stairs. I set the orange paper on the kitchen counter for Miss Marion to sign and began to walk back up to the stairs. As I was leaving, Mr. Ector came into the room and immediately saw me.

“Arthur.” He said to me and jerked his chin over toward the living room. “Talk with me for a bit.”

I nodded and followed him into the living room. I sat down on the couch and he sat in his recliner across from me. I made sure to have especially good posture in front of him, or maybe I was just a little nervous around Mr. Ector. I knew that he was in charge and was the master of the house I lived in here.

I looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to say his piece.

“Arthur.” He said my name thoughtfully, as if feeling the way my name tasted on his tongue. “You have been living with Marion and I for a year and a half, that’s a pretty long time in your life.”

I bit the side of my cheek. I desperately hoped that this was not what I thought that it was. I knew that foster parents in America were generally temporary, as soon as the couple or family decided that their foster child was no longer right for them or they were tired of taking care of him or her, they simply passed them onto a new couple who would then take care of them. I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was to be “passed on” from the Ectors.

“Yes, sir.” I agreed respectively. I suppose that I was rejected by my own blood father there, why not by someone who I was not even actually related to.

“Well, Marion and I think that it is time we had a conversation with you about it, or rather, I have a conversation with you about it.” He explained. He furrowed his eyebrows as if thinking about how to phrase something.

“Yes, sir.” I said again. Then looking down. “I understand.”

“You do?” He asked, confused. “Did Marion already talk to you about this?”

“No, sir.” I told him. “I just…”

“Do you not want us to adopt you?”

Adoption? That was not what I was expecting. Not at all. I was expecting him to gently tell me that they were “giving me back”. Adoption was something completely different. The fact that they wanted to discuss it with me meant that they accepted me. That maybe some sort of family actually wanted me. And I realized that that was what I wanted as well. I wanted a family. Even after the destruction of my family there. It had been over a year since Morgain caused the death of my mother and I had barely spoken to my father in those months that followed. I was in dire need of support in my life and the Mr. Ector was here handing it to me in the form of adoption papers.

“Yes, sir!” I said uncharacteristically enthusiastic. I tried to force down my smile and my overly excited manner. I needed to be stoic and monotone. Strong. “I mean, I would like that very much sir.”

He smiled happily and nodded to himself. Then he stood up, having received the answer he was wishing for and patted my shoulder. “I’m glad, Arthur. I really like you.”

I swallowed my saliva and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

I resisted my there-given urge to bow to him and just sat on the couch for a minute after he left. I gave up trying to swallow down my grin and let it take over my face. I had a family again, a family that wanted me, perhaps even loved me. And the funny part was, because they did not know about there (and never would) they would never know just how much their adopting me meant. They would never understand how they had lifted my heart from the darkest depths of Hades to the base of the heavens. But what matters is that they did, and I knew.

Cadbury Castle, Britain, 647

I found out I was to fight in the war when I was fourteen.

Of course, I always knew the day would come. It was unavoidable really, a fact of life that I had accepted; one day I would be sent off to fight in my father’s war and their was a fifty percent probability that the men would bring my body back on a long piece of fabric held together by sticks. And whether I died or not my father would still have in his mind that I failed.

It was June in Camelot, and since the rain had stopped its perpetual battering of the ground, we could train in the sunshine of the yard and admire the beauty of the flora on long walks through the forest. Viviane and I took to taking walks instead of only sitting by the lake, she always told me of what the things in the forest represented and why the Goddess had apparently placed them there. It really was interesting, learning about the complex rituals and belief system of the Druids and the Old Ways. It was a very strange way of looking at things, but then again, I do not think that they should not be able to follow their own beliefs as my father quite firmly believes and enforces.

My father sent a message boy to summon me to his throne room while I was eating breakfast alone in my chambers. I looked up from my porridge a moment and motioned for the boy to speak. He told me my father’s message, and I filled my mouth with porridge to avoid talking for a moment. He stood there, awkwardly, waiting for me to dismiss him.

“I will come.” I said finally. Then I waved my hand toward the door. “You are dismissed.”

The boy bowed and left, and I decided to very slowly finish all of the very large amount of food that had been brought to me in order to prolong the amount of time until I would have to speak with my father. Eventually, no matter how much I ate, the food still disappeared, and I no longer had a stalling excuse to make it so that I did not need to speak with my father.

I found myself standing up with an uncomfortable pressure in my stomach; I had not realized how much I had eaten in order to avoid my father. I clutched my aching abdomen and walked to my wardrobe where I pulled on a bright blue semi-formal tunic over the thin undertunic that was draped over my body. Austin had not come to me today because he was visiting his aunt who was sick in Tintagel for a few weeks, and I had requested not to have any other servants attend me.

I looked at my reflection in the window behind my table. The back part of my hair was sticking almost straight up from the way I slept, and my part was in a lopsided zig-zag. I flipped my head down and back up; now all of my hair looked messy, almost like a show of rebellion to my father who had a certain dislike for my hair, the same with the rest of me.

I slid Caliburnus that was hanging from my bedpost into my belt, its weight comforted me and reminded me of Viviane whom I loved. It made me confident, as if I could face whatever danger or hardship I faced, almost as if Viviane was by my side.

“Father.” I tilted my chin up as I threw open the large doors to the throne room, completely ignoring the guards who were supposed to open the doors for me. “You have called me to your presence?”

“I have.” He affirmed haughtily, glaring at me from his throne. I noticed that the women who seemed to follow him were not attending him today.

I just stared at him, it was he who had called me and he who would explain his reasoning.

“How old are you now?” He asked, looking up to the ceiling as if the answer was there. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

I felt my mouth twitch, my father did not even remember how old I was. I growled. “Fourteen.”

“Ah.” His eyes rolled back dramatically and eventually his steely gaze fell back to my face. “I suppose that is old enough.”

“For what.” I said it low and monotone, somewhere between angrily and carelessly.

“Oh…” He had to think on this for a moment, as if remembering what he ate for supper the night before. “Well I am sending another squadron of men to the Saxon grounds and I figure you best earn your place in Britain.”

I continued to blankly stare at him. His words that he was sending me off to war had not quite registered in my mime yet, it was masked by my anger for my father.

“I am also sending Halpin’s boy...Kay? Yes...Kay I believe.” He thought for a second. “And his foster brother Be-....” He thought for a moment.

“Bedivere.” I finished his sentence condescendingly for him. “Their names are Kay and Bedivere.”

“Yes…” My father’s face turned into a look of confusion for a brief moment and then back to a fierce glare. “I also want that heretic friend of yours out of my palace, and that boy Lionel brought here.”

Perceval and Lancelot. I had almost completely forgotten about Perceval in the past few months, all my time had been consumed with my frequent visits to Avalon and I often skipped group training and fought by myself.

“Is that all?” I asked, giving him my steeliest glare.

“I want you to tell those boys to have supper with me tonight in the dining hall. We will discuss the war and when you will be leaving for it then.”

“Yes.” I said, defiantly not using any title for him or even “Father”

He decided not to pick a fight with me over it. He just sighed and I turned to leave.

“And Arthur.” I spun on my heel at the sound of his voice. “I had better not hear of you going to Avalon to see that witch again.”

“Who told you about Viviane?” I growled. The only people who knew about her were Lancelot, Merlin, Kay, Bedivere, and…

Gawain.

I had told him about Viviane that day when we met him at the tavern and he was bragging about all of the beautiful girls that were constantly trying to seduce him. Now, I realize that my petty bragging back was an incredibly stupid decision. If only I could have been mature enough to just calmly nod and not let Gawain’s bragging get into my head.

“Oh…” My father tapped his temple as if thinking. “Some friend of your’s from the city.”

A friend indeed. I just looked at my father with beams of pure hatred shooting from my eyes.

“And just in case you find the desire to go back to her or any other girl, just know that if I hear of you slinking around with someone who you are not to marry that she will be killed.”

I swallowed and looked straight into my father’s pale blue eyes. “Farewell.”

And then I left.

Immediately after I left my father’s throne room I speed-walked through the palace corridors to the stables where I saw a big black stallion impatiently stamping its hooves. I quickly undid its reigns which were tied to a post in its stall and lead it out into open area of the stables. My father’s master of horses was also off at war so I knew that there would be no one to check the stables to see that the horse I was taking was missing.

I pulled a saddle down from its pegs on the wall and situated on the horse’s back, then I hoisted myself up, took a deep breath, and kicked the stallion’s flank as hard as I could. I needed it to run as fast as its legs could manage. I needed to get to Viviane. I needed to ask her to marry me once and for all before I went off to war. I needed her to be mine.