`and i'm on the BLEACHERS [oliver]

He watched the game progress, if only briefly. A shrill whistle sounded as their gym teacher came running into the middle of the game, brandishing his fist and shouting at a pair of boys who seemed on the verge of a heated argument. Jackson was only vaguely aware of what had happened, but he thought he saw a hockey stick swung up and hit someone in the face, someone no less who was in possession of the puck, making it almost certain that the blow had been no accident. Jackson watched the teacher tell off the offender, who began to incredulously argue his case. Jackson could not hear exactly what he was saying, but knew only that he looked rather stupid flailing his arms and shouting. Upon further investigation Jackson recognized him from the larger group congregated in the locker room. He recalled this particular boy going off on a long winded speech of how he would play World Cup soccer someday. Jackson rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the thought. All he would ever get would be the most red cards in the history of soccer.

Jackson looked back down at his notebook, back at the picture of his family. Vaguely he wondered what they would think were they here with him now. Perhaps Anastasia would watch the argument with him, and together they could make fun of the idiot getting told off in gym class for committing a foul. Maybe she would even imitate the boy's wild gestures and mimic him as he spoke. Jackson smiled at the thought. Anastasia always did have the best sense of humor of his sisters. He could hear Olga tut-tutting beside him, and was certain that were she in the right mood, she would have stormed down and joined the gym teacher in admonishing the boy. As the image filled his mind, he could not help but smile to himself. Certainly his sisters would have made gym class more bearable, and much more entertaining. Maybe Tatiana, as diplomatic as she could be, could have convinced the teacher to let him join in sports with the rest of the class. In the moment he felt himself slip away from reality, the argument fading to a dull murmur. He could lose himself in memories, be pulled into the picture and relive the day it was taken, and they day after that, and the day after that.

Though he was instantly snapped back to reality when a voice issued from beside him. Jackson glanced over to his side with a look of surprise to find that someone was sitting next to him. He had been too immersed in his own musings to even notice that someone had joined him. A fresh wave of embarrassment passed over him. He must have looked considerably stupid staring off into nothing. But it was mingled with a sinking, disappointing feeling. His family, his past, and his memories slipped through his fingers like sand. They were made intangible again as he was forced back into reality. What was then he could never bring back. They were nothing but memories and photographs now. Through his mixed emotions it took Jackson a moment to realize what the boy beside him had asked. "What?" he said, snapping his notebook shut automatically.

Suspicion coursed through him. It was as if this boy could read his thoughts. Jackson considered that for a moment, feeling decidedly invaded before realizing there was no possible way this boy could have known that he was correct in his assumption. Jackson had never shared the truth about himself or his past with anyone, with neither his friends nor his family. After a pregnant pause, Jackson disregarded the comment as a joke. Surely that was all it had meant to be. "Oh, no," he said at long last, setting his notebook on the opposite side of him, "It's just a picture. It's nothing." He hated that he lacked any real conviction in his words. Had he not been caught off guard mid-memory he certainly could have made himself sound more convincing. Still he doubted the boy would pick up on it. If anything he would think Jackson weird. Which, no doubt, he would think the same if he knew the truth. In a last ditch effort to save face, Jackson chuckled half heartedly . He regretted it immediately, though. If anything it made him look stupider.

Resigning himself to the assumption that he had certainly ruined his first impression, Jackson leaned back slightly, forcing himself to focus on the game of floor hockey which had just recommenced. But he could not focus, and just as well, as the boy beside him attempted to initiate a conversation. Again, Jackson looked over at him. Perhaps his first impression was not as ruined as he thought it. Even so, he frowned noticeably at the boy's question, turning his head to watch the game progress with glassy eyed attention. He would have very much liked to switch places with the boy and be the one sitting out with a sprained ankle. It would be no more than a fleeting injury, a week spent out of commission before he could run back and join the other boys. He would be the one playing basketball with his classmates next week. He paused in his answer.

It did not normally seem to bother him as much to explain his condition. After all it had been commonplace and constant throughout two lifetimes. It was, perhaps, only magnified because he was sitting in a gymnasium, and had always been quite fond of sports, but unable to play them. He knew though that maintaining a bitter silence was in no way about to cure him. Likewise he let his jealousy subside. It was no fault of this boy's that he sat alone on the bleachers every gym class. "I have hemophilia. So I've made a career out of sitting on the bleachers during gym class. I guess they figure I'll get beamed in the head with a soccer ball and die or something." Jackson offered the boy a small smile. "I'm Jackson, by the way," he added. A pause. "So, what did you do to your ankle?"

'Studying for class.' Of course that was his reason to anyone but himself. He was quite grateful that Oliver did not press him for details on the picture and allowed their conversation to progress with a smooth transition away from the subject. He was just as grateful that he did not receive any strange looks or any falsely congenial change in tone from the other boy. It seemed that he had not made himself look stupid after all, and had not destroyed his all important first impression so thoroughly. It would really be something unpleasant to sit in an awkward silence for the rest of the class period. Even then Jackson was certain he would not be able to go back to looking at the picture of his family. He would still have company after all, and that picture would only be reserved for times when he was alone and able to completely immerse himself in memories. It would be rude and just as distracting to delve into his past with someone sitting next to him. But even though he was disappointed that he would have to save his daydreaming for another time, it was nice to have someone to talk to for once in what would typically be a lonely class. After all he was neither popular or well known, being a freshman and being new to the area, so his friends were minimal. Perhaps, just perhaps something good would come of this meeting.

Oliver's questioning tone at Jackson's mention of his disease led him to assume that he did not know much about it. It was all very well though, Jackson did not expect most people his age to know of it in depth, or know it at all. Most teenage boys had other concerns, girlfriends, sports, parties and friends. They reveled in their fleeting youth, and lived it to the fullest. They really only needed be concerned with illnesses in Health class or when they themselves came down with a head cold. It was far from necessary for them to know anything about health problems beyond their realm of living, so Jackson could not blame him for not knowing the details. Although it did get tedious to perpetually explain exactly what was wrong with him, and thus he reserved any long winded explanations for his friends. When Oliver made the comment about over protective parents, he smiled and shook his head. It was something he was well used to, however restrictive and annoying it could be, in two lifetimes. His mother, Alexandra, had been obsessively protective of him in his former life, perhaps even more so than his mother now. At least she had given him the slightest freedom to attend school several states away. Although, he reminded himself, it was only because his cousin was here too. Vaguely he was reminded of his parents' reasoning for sending him here. Giovanni would look after him. Jackson almost snorted at the thought. The day his cousin would do anything but bully him would be a miracle, and potentially the first sign of the apocalypse.

His smile only widened when Oliver seemed fairly certain that Jackson was able enough to join in the class, at least on certain occasions. That perceived sense of normalcy was welcoming. He was just another boy who was unfortunate enough to have overbearing parents. He was not singled out of any fault of his own. In that Jackson was well pleased that one of his peers, especially one he had never met, did not see him as defective. He muttered a "Yeah" before listening as Oliver introduced himself and embarked on his story as to how he had come to injure his ankle. Again Jackson smiled. Clumsiness was something he had trained himself against. He envisioned himself in the same situation, which he knew would cause a great bit of hysteria. But in any other situation he agreed with Oliver. It was trivial, funny even. But of course parents and nurses never saw it as such. Oliver's nonchalant attitude toward the matter in itself made him likeable. It seemed, at least to Jackson, that he took life in stride.

At Oliver's last comment, he could not help but laugh. "If you did either of those, you'd be stuck sitting with me for a long time." Jackson turned his attentions back to the game at hand, where another foul had been committed, this time by the boy who had been hit in the face with a hockey stick. It seemed he had sought revenge against the other, and "accidentally" jabbed the other boy in the throat with his hockey stick. Again the teacher's whistle sounded as he ran over to break up another argument. "I mean, really, who wouldn't want to be down there doing that?" He gestured rather obnoxiously at the scene playing out before them. Jackson laughed as he watched the gym teacher tell the pair of boys off, and sent them out of the game. He assumed their teacher had forced them to sit on opposite sides of the bleachers, as he was quite sure punches would be thrown otherwise. Although, Jackson reminded himself, there was still a good chance of punches being thrown later in the locker room. He made a note to get out of there as fast as possible, lest he be caught up in the tumult of violent, raging hormones.

For a moment that the game resumed, Jackson was at a loss for words. Their conversation seemed to be ebbing away, and, unsure of what to say, Jackson kept his silence, all while struggling to dredge up some worthwhile conversational piece. But just when Jackson was certain that an awkward silence would prevail between them, Oliver spoke. Jackson felt a knot tighten somewhere in his stomach when Oliver mentioned the photograph. Of course, his question had been innocent enough, no more than discussing interests. There was no accusatory tone in his voice, as if he suspected the picture meant more than an interest in history. The knot in his stomach loosened slightly. "Yeah, I do," Jackson said. He paused for a moment, "Russian history, especially," his hand wandered absentmindedly over to his notebook. "But before all that stupid Bolshevik stuff," he added hastily, frowning as he pictured Lenin's face staring mockingly up at him from a history book two years previous. "I dunno, it just has a special place in my heart, I guess." His voice was ethereal, dreamlike in a way, as the image tucked away in his notebook flooded his mind. Oliver did not know of his past, so he assured himself there could be no harm in these slight allusions. In a way it was nice, as though he almost had someone he could share the truth with. Jackson snapped himself back to reality. "What about you? You like history too?"

Jackson shook his head, smiling at Oliver's response to the goings on in the hockey game below them. He had a sense of humor, which seemed scarce in high school, as he was finding. People here seemed far too wrapped up in daily drama, forgetting the carefree nature of middle school. Everything now was regarded with a decidedly serious nature, every pitfall and every setback, every small victory and moment of elation were to be regarded as no less that a life changing experience. Everyone seemed to want so badly to prove their maturity to be far beyond their years, to which the spark of really living had gone out. In the least Jackson appreciated that Oliver seemed to hold to the fun life had to offer, and unlike everyone else, did not take life too seriously in that he was above such plebian matters as a joke.

An eruption of cheering issued from the gym floor as several boys punched the air and high fived each other. One of the teams must have scored. Jackson glanced down at the teams reforming, preparing for the next wave of violent competition. Vaguely he wondered what team was winning, as he had been far too preoccupied with his own thoughts to really pay attention to the game. He glanced down to the two boys sitting out from the game, both looking morose and decidedly bitter. Again Jackson shook his head. They had brought it on themselves, they had taken the game far too seriously, and quite truthfully, the game seemed to be moving along much more smoothly without their constant interruptions of fouling each other. He wondered if they would ever progress to playing football, curious as to how vicious those two would compete against each other then. Perhaps that would be a game he might actually watch. The entertainment value would certainly be worthy to be televised.

But the conversation slipped out of lighthearted casualness into a plane of heavy conversation as Jackson did his best to answer in an offhand manner about why he was interested in history. Though, he supposed, the levels of seriousness were just his own perception. Discussing potential common interests was normal in meeting someone new. Certainly Oliver did not know exactly what history meant to him. He knew nothing about how Jackson had lived through it, and what that had meant to live and live again. He was certain that all Oliver knew about Russian history was what they had been taught in school, and knew nothing of the impact it had upon the soul of the boy sitting beside him. On the surface, the plane of conversation was still casual. Jackson needed only maintain that level, and everything would be normal. Though, in truth he found himself getting sentimental as he spoke, waves of nostalgia hitting him, transporting him in brief, sweet moments into the realms of his memory. But he pushed forward in the conversation, attempting to disregard the feelings boiling inside of him.

Jackson smiled when Oliver too expressed an interest in history. All in all he knew it to be a geeky pastime, as oftentimes in history class he heard his peers moan over the complete lack of necessity for the subject. The past was the past, the usual reasoning Jackson heard for dismissing the subject. Only if the past coincided with their own lives did it have any significant meaning. But for Jackson, it did. He had lived the pages of a history book, and who he had been were the building blocks of who he had become. But even so Jackson knew better. The past in its entirety built the future. Without it their world would cease to exist. There had been several occasions were Jackson had attempted to explain his more sound reasoning to his more dissenting of classmates. None of them ever listened, too stubborn in their own ideas. Jackson loved living in the moment, and experiencing life to the fullest. But he was guilty of dwelling excessively in his past. His two worlds were one in the same. In the very least, Oliver's like of history and in that perceived understanding of its importance made Jackson like him all the more, even though they had only just begun talking.

When Oliver mentioned his interest in aeronautics, Jackson considered for a moment. He was not particularly well versed in aircraft, although he found it interesting. He knew a fair bit of about Russian aircraft from snatches of conversation with soldiers during his stay at Mogilev during the first World War, but his knowledge did not stretch beyond that, lest paper airplanes were included. Vaguely he wondered if perhaps Oliver teach him more on the subject, should they come to talk again outside of gym class. The prospect seemed welcoming, though he barely had time to ponder it when Oliver brought about a new question. Again, Jackson's fingers absently traced over the cover of his notebook as he pondered an answer, feelings and memories spilling into prominence again. He was drawn to his past, but he could not say it outright. No doubt Oliver would not believe him, and had he managed to salvage his first impression thus far, he would certainly destroy it with that comment. Yet, he considered perhaps a roundabout way, his true reason encrypted within it. He wanted someone to share his secret with, even though he was quite certain that opportunity would never arise.

Several moments passed as he thought, his mind drawing a perpetual blank. He was near giving up when his thoughts strayed fortuitously. "You've seen the movie Anastasia, right?" he said at last, turning to look at Oliver, "The cartoon one? Remember that one song in it? Once Upon a December?" Jackson restrained barely restrained himself from breaking out into a chorus, "I guess it's something like that. It's just something I can relate to, more than anything else." Jackson turned away from Oliver, shaking his head, "That probably sounds real stupid, doesn't it? "