Septemus 52

Not in 7o Many Word7


If it was all in my daydreams, then why do I feel so sad that it will never be?

Pops asked if I ever told Lucas how I felt about him.

“Not in so many words,” I replied. But he knew in every whisper of every feeling that passed between us. And he reciprocated in feeling.

Pops said that for most people, certain things have to be spoken to be real.

“Not everyone trusts their feelings, son,” he said. “Not everyone is even aware of them. We might be kind of a primitive species, but we seem to rely on the spoken word, rather than on the shared feeling.”

What would I have said, if I had dared to speak?


“Lucas, I know you’re older than me, but not by that much. Two years, and I’ll be done with school, and we can run off and set up house together.”

I don’t think I would have said that, even if it’s what I wished every time I saw him.

“Lucas, do you own bunny slippers?” Best left unsaid.

“Lucas, your hair. Can I touch it?”

This isn’t helping.

“Lucas, I think I like you.”


I could have said that. I thought it. I felt it. I know he felt it, too.

Pops says that this is a rite of passage. “Not that I’ve had a lot of experience,” he said, “but you remember reading Young Werther, right? Or, those Shakespeare sonnets you’re always thumbing through? I mean, this is the stuff that fuels literature.”

I can see why. I feel I could write a novel.


Pops says the one lesson that comes out of all of this is that the young protagonist always loves again.

“Pops?” I asked. “You know what Werther did, right?”

“Actually, I never finished reading it,” he confessed. “It was too much for me.”

I didn’t have the heart to spoil it for him. “If you ever do finish it, you’ll discover he might not be the best role model in a case like this.”

I had to chuckle. Werther was extreme. Think of all those romantic novels: Wuthering Heights, The Little Mermaid, Cyrano De Bergerac, Of Human Bondage, Great Expectations. The shelves of every library are lined with Great Loves that Never Were.

What made me expect that my Great Love would be any different? It doesn’t make it less that it never got to be. Now it’s something that waits for the novel I might write one day. Blue Bizoo.


The feelings we shared were just as strong, even if they never did get translated into words.

I could translate them now, write out how I feel, and how I felt, and share all my imaginings about aprons, soap bubbles, and long, tan arms.

But I’ll let them be. It’s OK not to write them, not to speak them, not to give them shape, anymore than I already have. It’s OK to let them sort of fade away.

I might watch over them next time… hold them in reserve until I know the person I’m feeling things for is worthy. If I’m going to feel that way about somebody, I need to know that person won’t ditch me the moment he finds out who I am. If I’m going to feel that way about somebody, I’d better make sure first that he’s got an open enough mind to be able to feel that way about me, even after he knows how I came to be.

I didn’t come here to be dissed. I didn’t come here to be rejected and tossed aside, looked over, and unrequited. I came here to love and be loved.


I’ve got a father who loves me unconditionally. I’ve got all my pagotogo, one of whom I’ve even met, and more I’ll be meeting soon. I’ve got kids at school who don’t make fun of me, though they don’t know the truth of who I am. Still, they know I’m from someplace else, and they accept me for that.

So one guy chose someone else. So what? It’s not the end of the world. I’ll get through this. I’ll find somebody else, who also might look cute in bunny slippers.

I don’t deserve to sit around moping all day. I’ve got other things to do. I’m going to be a big brother soon, and my little brother deserves a happy big brother, not some old, washed up, moping around sort of guy. And besides, I’m better than that.

Heck. Lucas doesn’t know what he’s missing.

I might be a bizoo, but I am one hot bizoo.


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Author’s note: This is my 1,000th post on this blog. Thank you for reading it!

Septemus 28


Dear Sept,

We made good use of your day off. We worked on your school project. You had me read the instructions silently to practice my sintakoo-lacky-si. You seemed to follow along pretty well, so I must be getting better at transmitting.

I was happy with the effect the mental activity seemed to have on you. I know when I’m feeling shaky emotionally, having something to concentrate and focus on usually gives my emotions time to settle.

You were feeling pretty confident by the time we wrapped up the project and you headed in to bed.


I went back out after tucking you in and added a few finishing touches to it. This is one fine volcano!


Ms. Swits liked it so much she gave you extra credit, and when you got home you were proud and cocky. You’re an A student now.


“Aren’t you proud of me, Pops?” you asked.

Of course I am, but not for the reasons you think. A’s are fine and good. But I’m proud of you. I’m proud of the sensitive, intuitive, caring, quirky, funny person that you are. I’m proud that you’re so full of good you don’t even know what mean is. I’m proud that you’re in touch with your brothers and sisters and sending them comforting vibes every chance you get. I’m proud that you have no clue what a miracle you are.


“Oh, we’ve got someone coming over,” I told you when you pulled out your homework. The school had called. Because you’ve been doing so well, you qualify for a special program where they match gifted kids up with mentors, and your mentor was due to come over for his first visit that afternoon.


Your mentor is Gunther Munch, Lucas and Wolfgang’s older brother.

I asked him how his brothers were doing. “Wolf made any progress on his college apps?”

“Wolfgang. You two know Wolfy? ” he asked. “I’m sorry for you. Don’t hold it against me, all right?”


“Wolfgang’s my friend,” you said quietly. “He’s teaching me a lot.”

“Ah,” said Gunther. “What can my brother teach? How to skin a cat? Possibly. Where to pawn ill-gotten gains? Likely. Five ways to explain to Mother where you were all afternoon when you should have been at school? Most definitely. I think, perhaps you learn from Munch Boy, senior, yes, my young friend?”

I’manequalopportunitylearner,” you said real quick. “I learn from everybody.”

You turned back to your book, and Gunther began telling you about Goethe and the The Sorrows of Young Werther.


“I think one day I will love to fall in love,” you said.

There’s no hurry, son.

–Your pops

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