moonbird
09-06-2010, 03:24 PM
His name was Trevor Young, but most people just called him Shivers.
"Hey, Shivers!" they'd call, "why ya shakin? Whatcha scared of, Shivers?"
Trevor would keep his eyes glued to his book and try to ignore them, but there was always pain on his face.
No one knew exactly why Trevor shook. We figured there was some weird medical syndrome he had, like a form of Tourette’s or something. But he didn't have spasms; rather, he shook all the time. Just a little bit, but enough to be noticeable. He looked like he was shivering in the cold; hence his nickname, Shivers.
I guess you could call Trevor an outcast, but really he was an outcast of the outcasts. He tried to be like them; he wore their skinny jeans and Converse shoes, and he had dark hair that hung down over his eyes like they did. If you didn’t know him, you would have thought he was one of them. But he wasn’t.
I remember once he tried to join the other “rebels,” as they called themselves. At first they acted decently toward him. They let him sit at their table in the corner of the cafeteria and they all hung out by their favorite Dumpster after school. But then they tried to get Trevor to skip school with them to have a few smokes. He refused, and that was the end of that. Once again he was alone, reading his books, and trying to stay out of everyone else’s way.
I'd known who Trevor was for a couple of years, but I never actually met him until my senior year of high school, in English class. I was assigned the seat next to his.
I'd always felt a little sorry for the boy they called Shivers, so I held out my hand to him and said, "Hi, Trevor. I'm Maya."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a few people glance over at us, surprised, but no one said anything.
Trevor stared at my hand for a moment, as if unsure of what to do. Then he shook it without a word. As his hand touched mine, I felt his faint shivers pass through me, and for a second my entire arm was vibrating gently. Then he let go, and the vibrating stopped.
Class began then, and for the moment I turned my attention away from the dark, quiet boy sitting next to me.
English was last period of the day for me, so after class ended I gathered up my things and headed out the door toward the parking lot.
Where was my car?
I was sure I’d parked it under that tree, right there...
And then I saw it. It was definitely my car; I recognized its license plate number, MAYA945. I’d only missed it because someone was leaning on it, someone I didn’t recognize.
At first I thought it was Trevor. The person had long, dark hair and wore tight-fitting clothes. But then I smelled the faint, bitter odor of Black Velvet, and I knew exactly who it was.
I stopped a few feet away. “Get away from my car, Greg.”
He looked at me silently for a moment, then took a long swig of whiskey from the bottle he clutched in his hand. His mouth twisted into a smile, and I wondered with disgust how I’d ever found that smile attractive. It all seemed so long ago.
“Calm dahn, babe,” he said a sneering, drunken voice. “I aint hurtin nobody.”
“Get away from my car,” I repeated, louder.
He laughed the way an adult would laugh at a silly little kid. “Babe, listn—”
My voice rose. “Do not call me babe, Greg.”
Again came that laugh, so superior and mocking, and he replied in a slurred voice, “I’ll call ya whatevs I wan, babe. Know why?”
I didn’t answer, just stood there glaring at him.
He answered himself anyway. “Cuz I’s th’ boss, babe. Tha’s why.” He took a few wobbly steps toward me.
I took a step back, suddenly frightened. “Greg, you’re drunk,” I whispered, my voice high and fearful. “Leave me alone!”
The terrible laugh rang through the air, and Greg continued forward, unsteady but determined to reach me. The hand that was not holding the bottle of whiskey reached into his pocket, and when it reappeared I saw to my horror that it held a knife, small but still deadly.
Run, I told myself. He’s drunk, you can outrun him easily. But my legs felt as heavy as blocks of concrete. I tried to call out for help, but my lips were trembling so much that what came out was only a strange gurgling noise. I could only stand there, frozen with complete terror, as Greg took step after lurching step toward me, knife in hand.
And then, suddenly, the knife was gone.
Time slowed down at that moment, and the whole world was silent. Greg’s drunken smile morphed into a grimace, and although I saw his lips slowly open, I could not hear the scream of pain which erupted through them. The hand which had held the knife was now gushing dark red blood, and several fingers were bent into sickening positions. He grabbed it with his other hand and clutched it tightly. His precious bottle of Black Velvet fell with a crash to the pavement. The glass shattered, and whiskey spread out in all directions, like tiny rivers of alcohol.
A few feet away the knife clattered to the ground, the handle dented slightly. A moment later there was a thud, as a rock hit the pavement nearby and broke neatly in half.
And then I heard Greg’s voice.
It was an awful sound; there is no describing the choked, guttural screams of pain which came pouring from his mouth. My body was still completely frozen, and I stood there staring at him, watching him scream and seeing the blood ooze between his tightly clenched fists.
And then Greg seemed to remember that I was there. “You!” he snarled, his voice now low with fury. “YOU!” He took one more lurching step toward me.
Finally, my legs started working again. I turned and ran as fast as I could go. My car was long forgotten. I tore out of the parking lot and across the street. I kept going, through a field of overgrown grass and up to a colorful little kiddie park. That was where my adrenaline ran out and the exhaustion hit me like a brick wall. I collapsed down onto the thick mulch bedding, covered my face with my shaking hands, and cried my heart out.
At first the tears were slow and hesitant, but once they got started they picked up speed and didn’t slow down. Water gushed from my eyes like the rivers of blood which had poured from Greg’s hand, and the tears were partly of fear, partly of despair, but mostly just pure relief that I was still alive. I sobbed so hard that I barely noticed someone sit down next to me, and ask in a gentle whisper if I was alright.
I didn’t care who it was. I pressed my face into the warm, comforting shoulder and continued to cry. The person hesitated at first, then put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer. I cried until the shoulder of his shirt was soaked with tears, and then I choked on dry sobs, unable to summon more tears from my eyes.
Finally the sobbing stopped, and that was when I noticed that I was shivering.
You can’t be shivering, my logical mind informed me tartly. It’s at least 70 degrees out here. You can’t be cold.
Then I’m just shaking due to the shock of it all, I reasoned with myself.
But I answered myself before the logical mind could manage it. This shivering wasn’t the way my entire body had trembled with terror as Greg approached me, knife in hand. It was calmer... a low, constant vibrating that was gentle, almost comforting...
And familiar...
And then it hit me.
Trevor.
I opened my tear-drenched eyes and looked up into his face, that calm, beautiful face I’d never paid any attention to before, and I could only stare at him, awestruck and mystified.
“What... what ha-...” My voice still trembled from all the sobbing, and I was unable to speak clearly.
But Trevor seemed to understand. He pulled my face gently back against his shoulder, and as his steady shivering slowly calmed my body, he told me everything.
I had never heard his voice before that day, not once. He really had the most wonderful voice, quiet and gentle, always calm, unwavering. My eyes were closed as he spoke, and I could see everything as if I was right there. I saw Trevor following me after school to the parking lot and seeing Greg leaning on my car. I saw him turn to leave, then take one final glance back over his shoulder; seeing the sunlight glint off something in Greg’s hand, realizing with horror that it was a knife.
For a moment, I was inside Trevor’s mind, usually so calm and controlled, now in complete panic. He was as frozen with fear as I was as Greg lurched toward me. And then his logical mind turned off and his instincts kicked in. I saw him grab the nearest thing to him, which happened to be a rock, and hurl it with all his strength at Greg’s head; saw the horror on his face when it only hit the hand with the knife and Greg continued toward me, and then the utter relief as I finally managed to escape.
He explained how, after I ran away, Greg had stared after me for a few seconds, then turned around and lurched off in another direction. After a few steps he collapsed onto the pavement, unconscious.
“There’s not much else to tell after that,” Trevor finished. “I had to make sure you were alright, so I followed you to this park and sat down next to you. You probably don’t realize this, but you’ve been crying for almost an hour now.”
A choked laugh escaped my lips, and at last I managed to speak. “You saved my life,” I whispered in a shaking voice.
Trevor remained silent, and for a little while longer we sat there, his arms around me and my cheek pressed against his shoulder. Finally he spoke: “You should be getting home now. I can drive you.”
He got up and pulled me gently to my feet. I wobbled but managed to stay upright. When he let go of my hand, the comforting vibrations which had passed through my body disappeared. I felt an odd, sudden sense of being vulnerable and alone, and I almost started crying again. Instead I threw my arms around him and held him close to me, squeezing my eyes shut to keep back the tears.
For a moment Trevor hesitated, unsure of what to do. Then his arms folded around me, protecting me from the world, and we embraced, safe in each other’s arms.
“Why did you follow me after school?” I whispered, my forehead resting on his shoulder. “I have to know... It’s the reason I’m still alive.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Then he answered quietly, “Because you were the first person in five years to call me Trevor.”
The sun was hot and bright in the sky, but as we stood together in the park that afternoon, we both shivered in the cold.
**AUTHOR'S NOTE: You may remember some of this story from another time I posted it. I've pretty much changed the entire plot of the story, and I like this version a lot better than the old one. Tell me what you think!**
"Hey, Shivers!" they'd call, "why ya shakin? Whatcha scared of, Shivers?"
Trevor would keep his eyes glued to his book and try to ignore them, but there was always pain on his face.
No one knew exactly why Trevor shook. We figured there was some weird medical syndrome he had, like a form of Tourette’s or something. But he didn't have spasms; rather, he shook all the time. Just a little bit, but enough to be noticeable. He looked like he was shivering in the cold; hence his nickname, Shivers.
I guess you could call Trevor an outcast, but really he was an outcast of the outcasts. He tried to be like them; he wore their skinny jeans and Converse shoes, and he had dark hair that hung down over his eyes like they did. If you didn’t know him, you would have thought he was one of them. But he wasn’t.
I remember once he tried to join the other “rebels,” as they called themselves. At first they acted decently toward him. They let him sit at their table in the corner of the cafeteria and they all hung out by their favorite Dumpster after school. But then they tried to get Trevor to skip school with them to have a few smokes. He refused, and that was the end of that. Once again he was alone, reading his books, and trying to stay out of everyone else’s way.
I'd known who Trevor was for a couple of years, but I never actually met him until my senior year of high school, in English class. I was assigned the seat next to his.
I'd always felt a little sorry for the boy they called Shivers, so I held out my hand to him and said, "Hi, Trevor. I'm Maya."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a few people glance over at us, surprised, but no one said anything.
Trevor stared at my hand for a moment, as if unsure of what to do. Then he shook it without a word. As his hand touched mine, I felt his faint shivers pass through me, and for a second my entire arm was vibrating gently. Then he let go, and the vibrating stopped.
Class began then, and for the moment I turned my attention away from the dark, quiet boy sitting next to me.
English was last period of the day for me, so after class ended I gathered up my things and headed out the door toward the parking lot.
Where was my car?
I was sure I’d parked it under that tree, right there...
And then I saw it. It was definitely my car; I recognized its license plate number, MAYA945. I’d only missed it because someone was leaning on it, someone I didn’t recognize.
At first I thought it was Trevor. The person had long, dark hair and wore tight-fitting clothes. But then I smelled the faint, bitter odor of Black Velvet, and I knew exactly who it was.
I stopped a few feet away. “Get away from my car, Greg.”
He looked at me silently for a moment, then took a long swig of whiskey from the bottle he clutched in his hand. His mouth twisted into a smile, and I wondered with disgust how I’d ever found that smile attractive. It all seemed so long ago.
“Calm dahn, babe,” he said a sneering, drunken voice. “I aint hurtin nobody.”
“Get away from my car,” I repeated, louder.
He laughed the way an adult would laugh at a silly little kid. “Babe, listn—”
My voice rose. “Do not call me babe, Greg.”
Again came that laugh, so superior and mocking, and he replied in a slurred voice, “I’ll call ya whatevs I wan, babe. Know why?”
I didn’t answer, just stood there glaring at him.
He answered himself anyway. “Cuz I’s th’ boss, babe. Tha’s why.” He took a few wobbly steps toward me.
I took a step back, suddenly frightened. “Greg, you’re drunk,” I whispered, my voice high and fearful. “Leave me alone!”
The terrible laugh rang through the air, and Greg continued forward, unsteady but determined to reach me. The hand that was not holding the bottle of whiskey reached into his pocket, and when it reappeared I saw to my horror that it held a knife, small but still deadly.
Run, I told myself. He’s drunk, you can outrun him easily. But my legs felt as heavy as blocks of concrete. I tried to call out for help, but my lips were trembling so much that what came out was only a strange gurgling noise. I could only stand there, frozen with complete terror, as Greg took step after lurching step toward me, knife in hand.
And then, suddenly, the knife was gone.
Time slowed down at that moment, and the whole world was silent. Greg’s drunken smile morphed into a grimace, and although I saw his lips slowly open, I could not hear the scream of pain which erupted through them. The hand which had held the knife was now gushing dark red blood, and several fingers were bent into sickening positions. He grabbed it with his other hand and clutched it tightly. His precious bottle of Black Velvet fell with a crash to the pavement. The glass shattered, and whiskey spread out in all directions, like tiny rivers of alcohol.
A few feet away the knife clattered to the ground, the handle dented slightly. A moment later there was a thud, as a rock hit the pavement nearby and broke neatly in half.
And then I heard Greg’s voice.
It was an awful sound; there is no describing the choked, guttural screams of pain which came pouring from his mouth. My body was still completely frozen, and I stood there staring at him, watching him scream and seeing the blood ooze between his tightly clenched fists.
And then Greg seemed to remember that I was there. “You!” he snarled, his voice now low with fury. “YOU!” He took one more lurching step toward me.
Finally, my legs started working again. I turned and ran as fast as I could go. My car was long forgotten. I tore out of the parking lot and across the street. I kept going, through a field of overgrown grass and up to a colorful little kiddie park. That was where my adrenaline ran out and the exhaustion hit me like a brick wall. I collapsed down onto the thick mulch bedding, covered my face with my shaking hands, and cried my heart out.
At first the tears were slow and hesitant, but once they got started they picked up speed and didn’t slow down. Water gushed from my eyes like the rivers of blood which had poured from Greg’s hand, and the tears were partly of fear, partly of despair, but mostly just pure relief that I was still alive. I sobbed so hard that I barely noticed someone sit down next to me, and ask in a gentle whisper if I was alright.
I didn’t care who it was. I pressed my face into the warm, comforting shoulder and continued to cry. The person hesitated at first, then put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer. I cried until the shoulder of his shirt was soaked with tears, and then I choked on dry sobs, unable to summon more tears from my eyes.
Finally the sobbing stopped, and that was when I noticed that I was shivering.
You can’t be shivering, my logical mind informed me tartly. It’s at least 70 degrees out here. You can’t be cold.
Then I’m just shaking due to the shock of it all, I reasoned with myself.
But I answered myself before the logical mind could manage it. This shivering wasn’t the way my entire body had trembled with terror as Greg approached me, knife in hand. It was calmer... a low, constant vibrating that was gentle, almost comforting...
And familiar...
And then it hit me.
Trevor.
I opened my tear-drenched eyes and looked up into his face, that calm, beautiful face I’d never paid any attention to before, and I could only stare at him, awestruck and mystified.
“What... what ha-...” My voice still trembled from all the sobbing, and I was unable to speak clearly.
But Trevor seemed to understand. He pulled my face gently back against his shoulder, and as his steady shivering slowly calmed my body, he told me everything.
I had never heard his voice before that day, not once. He really had the most wonderful voice, quiet and gentle, always calm, unwavering. My eyes were closed as he spoke, and I could see everything as if I was right there. I saw Trevor following me after school to the parking lot and seeing Greg leaning on my car. I saw him turn to leave, then take one final glance back over his shoulder; seeing the sunlight glint off something in Greg’s hand, realizing with horror that it was a knife.
For a moment, I was inside Trevor’s mind, usually so calm and controlled, now in complete panic. He was as frozen with fear as I was as Greg lurched toward me. And then his logical mind turned off and his instincts kicked in. I saw him grab the nearest thing to him, which happened to be a rock, and hurl it with all his strength at Greg’s head; saw the horror on his face when it only hit the hand with the knife and Greg continued toward me, and then the utter relief as I finally managed to escape.
He explained how, after I ran away, Greg had stared after me for a few seconds, then turned around and lurched off in another direction. After a few steps he collapsed onto the pavement, unconscious.
“There’s not much else to tell after that,” Trevor finished. “I had to make sure you were alright, so I followed you to this park and sat down next to you. You probably don’t realize this, but you’ve been crying for almost an hour now.”
A choked laugh escaped my lips, and at last I managed to speak. “You saved my life,” I whispered in a shaking voice.
Trevor remained silent, and for a little while longer we sat there, his arms around me and my cheek pressed against his shoulder. Finally he spoke: “You should be getting home now. I can drive you.”
He got up and pulled me gently to my feet. I wobbled but managed to stay upright. When he let go of my hand, the comforting vibrations which had passed through my body disappeared. I felt an odd, sudden sense of being vulnerable and alone, and I almost started crying again. Instead I threw my arms around him and held him close to me, squeezing my eyes shut to keep back the tears.
For a moment Trevor hesitated, unsure of what to do. Then his arms folded around me, protecting me from the world, and we embraced, safe in each other’s arms.
“Why did you follow me after school?” I whispered, my forehead resting on his shoulder. “I have to know... It’s the reason I’m still alive.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Then he answered quietly, “Because you were the first person in five years to call me Trevor.”
The sun was hot and bright in the sky, but as we stood together in the park that afternoon, we both shivered in the cold.
**AUTHOR'S NOTE: You may remember some of this story from another time I posted it. I've pretty much changed the entire plot of the story, and I like this version a lot better than the old one. Tell me what you think!**