Prompt: “Who sets the rules for normal? Write about someone you would label as eccentric.”
He was born and raised in a small town in Maine. That probably made it harder for him to be his odd self. Even his family struggled to understand his quirks and folds of personality. When I met him, he was a young adolescent, but already towered at 6 feet and 4 inches. He let his hair grow long; really long. It was such a pale blond that it often looked white when the light caught it. He never braided it or pulled it back. He let it trail behind him like a showering cloak of gold. It was the kind of hair that models dreamed of. He’d tuck it back behind his ears when he put on his glasses and it would stick up in tufts around his face like down. He had facial piercings; two silver hoops in one eyebrow and one silver stud in his nose. They were small and often hard to see against his fair skin. You’d notice mostly when the light caught on the metal and startled you with a little glint or sparkle. He had tattoos. On his arm he had a very detailed silver dragon that wound up his arm. On his lower back he had a small white rose; a woman’s tattoo really. He worked out obsessively. His appearance was a strange combination of fierce and hard masculinity along with the softness and delicacy of a woman. Sometimes, when he was curled up on the couch with one of his books I couldn’t help but think he looked rather like a woman. He was part of the Raiders and the Track team. He also loved to cook and sowed most of his own clothing. He was gay and made no efforts to hide or deny it. Most of high school he dated another misfit, that was as unusual as himself. They lived in a little apartment together after high school. The furniture was white and silver trimmed. It would have seemed cold except most everything was fluffy or velvet. It was rather like walking into a cloud that the sun was shining on. He collected white. It didn’t matter what it was, but it had to be completely white. Most of the things he owned where white or silver or a little bit of both. I don’t think he ever had anything that was black. His book collection included Clive Barker, Alice in Quantum Land and Kierkegaard. He was a vegetarian, but worked on a beef farm for years. He never saw the irony of it either. He was a terrible at singing. Even someone as musically challenged as myself could easily note his lack of skill. Yet he always sang with such enthusiasm and passion that you wanted to listen anyway.