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At age 9 everything Nick thought he knew about his life was falling apart. Nick buried himself in the soft blanket on his parent’s couch, willing the fluffy material to drown out the sounds from behind the kitchen door. He knew what this meant. He had seen the loose threads.
His entire life he had been taught “the truth”. At birth he was given a pathway of light to guide him through life. Casually referred to as the string of fate, it was almost always visible to those who loved you. For others not as emotionally connected it flickered in and out of their vision seemingly at will. And if he followed his string - his path - he would find happiness. Find love. Find his soulmate.
On screen a dancing purple dog sang a silly song.
🎵🎶…Keep your string straight, protect it with care
Water it daily, grow strong and share
Your string is your guide for an easy life
Your future, your job, your husband, your wife… 🎵🎶
From the kitchen the voices got louder, and Nick dug between the cushions to find the remote, desperate to turn up the volume and drown them out.
…Remember kids, guard your string! Report loose threads to string-repair today!...
Should he have called string repair when he first saw his parents begin to unravel? After all, soulmates should be forever. He thought back to his Aunt Diane’s wedding last summer. The ceremony of the string master, as her and his new uncle joined hands. The two strings were laid parallel as the string master's soft light created a ribbon that looped around them, joining their two strings in intricate knots, finishing with a flourished bow.
The ribbon of light that once joined his parents' string when they were in close proximity to each other had long since frayed. A soft fringe had appeared on the edges, as the loops slowly unknotted themselves. But this morning something had changed - something new. His parents' strings were no longer entangled. Each thread was independent of the other. And that was when the fighting began.
He wouldn’t be the first kid in his class to have disentangled parents. At least his parents’ strings, as untwisted as they were now, still existed. Sometimes when a relationship resolved the strings snapped completely, leaving the person unmoored, with no discernable path forward.
He felt sorry for the stringless. The pathless. How alone must it be to not know who or what was out there for you? He looked down at his own string - a soft red light emanating from the middle of his chest. A ray that went forward, assuring him that he was on the correct path. That his future was protected. As the voices in the room beyond reached a crescendo he made himself a solemn promise: He would protect his string. His soulmate, his future, his everything depended on it.
🪢🪢🪢
By the time Nick was 15, his string was an accepted and comforting part of his life. Strings weren’t visible to everyone all of the time, but if he focused hard he could catch a glimpse of others' for a second. But in day-to-day life he minded his own string and not others. Which is why it was so shocking to him when changing one day after practice, he overheard the older teammates.
…Did you hear about the kid in year 9 without a string?....
Nick glanced up at the pack of lads talking nearby. They were a year older than him, but the words caught his attention. He had heard of it happening of course, but it was uncommon with kids his age. One’s string was their path. They didn’t just “break”. To break the string was to deviate from his given path. What could possibly convince a teenager - barely a teenager if he was in year 9 - to choose to leave the safety and security of an assured future?
An intrusive thought broke in: what if he didn’t choose it? Could someone else snap your string without knowing? A foreboding shudder rolled through Nick and he froze as his string shook, a sharp vibration in the thread ahead of him. Nick grounded himself with a deep breath, and whispered quietly to no one.
“May my string guide me and protect me. May I listen well and be kind. May I have the guidance to look after others' strings and may they look after mine.”
He took a deep breath, repeating his prayer until the anxiety drifted, replaced by a smooth, numbing calm, gratified to see his string smooth out, even glowing brighter. The school year was almost up, and he was looking forward to the summer. He knew that next year would be hard as he worked up to his GCSEs, but each time he got top marks he felt that tug in his chest, propelling him forward.
He slung his book bag and kit over his shoulder as he walked out into the sun, breaking out in a huge smile as his girlfriend excitedly waved at him from the bench, bouncing over with a skip in her step.
“Thanks for waiting Tara,” he grinned, as he grabbed her hand. “Do you want to come over and walk Nellie with me?” He smiled as he watched their strings lazily twist around each other in front of them before untwisting, their path in parallel at the moment. Life was good. Things were proceeding exactly as they should. He wondered as he often did if Tara was his soulmate. Can you find your soulmate at 15? They were compatible and he enjoyed her company. Was that what a soulmate was?
🍂➰🍂
Months and seasons passed in a haze as Nick Nelson hurled forward along his path to happiness. There was certainty in life and comfort in certainty. He didn’t see Tara as much as he would like, but they still got on well when they did spend time together. GCSEs had them both cracking under the weight of studying, and separate schools limited the time they could spend while classes were in session. There had been a few disconcerting rumors flying around the school - whispers when the adults were out of the room, or scribbled on bathroom walls by anonymous sources.
Nick tried to keep his head down. No good could come from disrupting the system. A second student - this time in year 11 - was stringless. Someone Nick knew. They had history class together. Or geography? He was nice. Quiet. Unassuming. Wait, Nick admonished himself. She. She was nice, quiet, and unassuming. Acknowledging her - seeing her - was the least he could do. With her future in jeopardy, and a hostile student body ignoring her, teachers pretending they didn’t know, and parents turning away, refusing to face her. Nick’s empathy screamed at her treatment, even though he didn’t know her. He saw her sometimes - sitting at a lunch table, with 3 fierce friends protecting her. He was glad she had some buffer in this place. Because surely this couldn’t be a choice. And yet all around he was surrounded by people who scoffed and mocked her. Parents in arms about her while simultaneously pretending she didn’t exist.
It was heartbreaking. It was… not his problem. Not something he should be concerned about. Overhead a poster hung diagonally by a single tack, seemingly one tug from falling down. The Union Jack blazed across the back while the slogan underneath read: Loose thoughts snap strings and fast talk cuts frays.
He looked down at his “Health, Sex, and String” worksheet, filling in the various blanks. It was an easy class amongst the harder GCSE courses. Learning about STDs, wearing condoms, checking for frays in your string, eating your vegetables. All the basics.
“When an individual feels, the community reels, and the string peels.”
Nick pulled out his phone to text Tara.
Nick: Are we still hanging out for the halloween party?
Tara: Yes please!
Nick: Want to coordinate costumes?
Tara: Oh! I told my friend Darcy I would coordinate with her.
Tara: I can check and see if we can come up with a 3-way costume?
Nick: No worries - I’ll see if Sai and Christian have any theme ideas.
Tara: Or just come as a Marvel character. I know you want to!
NIck: Guilty! Haha
Nick: Love you! See you this weekend!
Tara: …
Tara: see you then
Nick scrolled away, searching for costume ideas, ignoring the queasy feeling in his gut.
🍃🧶🍃
Nick walked towards the cafeteria on the last day of classes before Winter Break, startled to hear his name called out. He saw Coach Singh in conference with the art teacher, and jogged over to hear as she beckoned him forward.
“Nick,” she began, “you are just the person I wanted to see. This is Mr. Ajayi - he teaches art - he was just asking me if I knew of a kind student with leadership qualities, and you were the first person I thought of.”
Nick felt a burgeoning pride welling up in him. “Thank you, miss. What can I help with?”
Mr. Ajay broke into the conversation at this point. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about the structural changes around here next term. We are going to a vertical form group. Something about showcasing strong strings to younger impressionable students.” Nick thought he heard a hint of sarcasm, and not for the first time wished that the teachers didn’t wear string guards to hide their paths from students. Although he supposed that was a little intrusive. He had heard of stricter, more conservative areas that required all teachers to submit to annual string examinations. “Point being,” the art teacher continued, “there is an unconventional student that I would like to pair you with. He has experienced some bullying and I was just discussing with Coach Singh if there was someone who she thought would be a good match for him.”
“And you thought of me?” Nick said, his eyes brightening. “Yes. I am confident I can help him - whomever he is. I work on my string every day. I would be happy to help him as well.” Nick saw a questioning expression cross the teacher's face, glancing back at the coach, but he was bolstered by the kind nod and tight smile that Coach Singh gave him back.
It felt good to be trusted. He wouldn’t let bullying happen under his watch.
📚📖📕
The day winter term started Nick made sure to get to Form early. He watched as the room that contained Hamlet house slowly filled with students from year 7 through year 13, and yet the seat next to him remained conspicuously empty. His thoughts returned to Elle - he had learned her name at the end of last term - and he wondered if that’s who he was meant to sit next to. She had transferred over to Higgs though. Tara and he had been messaging about it. Perhaps he was meant to just sit by himself.
Just as the bell was about to ring, Elle’s friend came rushing in. Nick didn’t know him by name, but recognized him as one of the fierce protective friends that surrounded her last term, and - oh - he was headed towards the empty chair by Nick. A sharp pop and twang filled his ears, seemingly unheard by anyone else, and a small thread peeled off from the stream of light compelling him forward, darkening; the circumference of his string now slightly smaller than a moment before. But Nick didn’t notice. He was, rather, lost in the blue eyes and breathy “hi” of one Charlie Spring.
His heart leapt in a way that made no logical sense.
The pop and twang became a constant fixture over the next few months, but Nick either didn’t notice or didn’t care to examine the source of the sound. The bubbling of nerves when asking Charlie to join the rugby team, chasing off that asshole Ben Hope, or nervously texting back and forth overtook his life.
Both Sai and Otis had pulled him aside, questioning his string health.
Don’t follow your heart - follow your head - lest your string become a thread.
Nick’s string was fine though. He was just making sure that Charlie wasn’t bullied. And besides, he really liked Charlie. And once Charlie joined the rugby team, his mates could see it as well. Charlie was a good guy. Yes, he had no string, but so what? He seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. Could strings grow back? He should look into that.
Everything he had been taught his entire life was that stringless meant no community, no family, no friends. But everything about Charlie proved this wrong.
One night, as they sat watching a movie, Nick finally worked up the courage to ask Charlie about his string. Or, rather, his lack of one.
“Oh,” Charlie said, his voice going quiet. “My string didn’t fit me.”
What did that mean?
“I don’t understand,” Nick said, haltingly. “How can a string not fit?”
“The pathway was wrong. I’m gay. Strings don’t allow for people to be gay. There is only one allowed “correct” path.” Charlie looked up at Nick and shrugged. “So I cut it.”
“You can do that?” Nick whispered, aware that his eyes were probably as big as his face. “But how do you know what to do? How do you know who to date? Who your soulmate is?”
Charlie hugged his legs close to his chest and was quiet for a long time. Nick felt bad, bringing it up, making things worse, and was ready to change the subject when Charlie whispered, “How do you know? I just do what my heart wants, but how do you know that your string is right?”
“I thought my soulmate might be Tara for a while,” Nick confessed, “but she and I are just friends now. So I don’t know. I just find it comforting that my string knows.”
“Does it though?” Charlie asked.
After some time the two went back to watching the movie, although Nick’s mind was racing too much to get back into it. Lost in thought, a small nudge on his side brought him back to the present, where he saw Charlie’s head tipped in sleep, leaning against his shoulder. His arm lay there, between their legs, facing up. Something about the curl of the fingers and the innocence of the moment made him want to interlace his fingers with Charlies. His hand seemed to move of its own accord, until sparks seemed to shoot between them. The sparks were surely imagined, and yet one caught on his string, and the sharp smell of smoke filled his nostrils as he snatched his hand back, hoping to salvage what was left of his path. A third of the small threads were singed through, their ends curling, and panic rose inside of him.
This was wrong. He must protect his string. After some quick goodbyes, he ran home, tears streaming down his face.
That evening, hands shaking, he looked to google to provide answers to questions he didn’t know he had two days ago.
“Is a string necessary?”
“Do I need to follow my string?
“What happens if my string breaks?”
“Am I gay?”
Page after page filled his view, as he read pros and cons. Stories of government persecution and stories of jubilation and freedom. Angry parents protesting schools, and joyful tales of escape to countries where strings were encouraged to change and grow rather than remain rigid and brittle and breaking.
By the next day he was emotionally exhausted, unsure of everything, and more confused than he knew possible. And yet, overnight, his string had seemingly healed, and was pushing him forward. As he sat, leaning against the table before class, he watched as his string sought out and wrapped around one of his oldest friends. And he watched as Imogen’s eyes lit up in surprise, looking back at him.
It was clear what his path forward was. What the correct path was. Yet why did he feel so conflicted?
➰🪩➰
As the night of Harry’s birthday party - always an obnoxious affair - drew near, Nick remained as conflicted as ever. His string pulled and pushed him towards Imogen, and yet all he wanted was to be near Charlie. Over and over Charlie’s words rang in his head: “My string didn’t fit.”. It was revolutionary, to an extent. He had spent his life thinking that his string was him and he was his string and the two were interchangeable. And yet, faced with the evidence, he had to admit that there was a possibility that his string also didn’t fit.
And it was terrifying.
He knew now what the pop and twang that filled his ears was. Each thread snapping as he made his own decision, and pulled away from the given path. When he asked Charlie to go to the party with him, despite knowing that Imogen wanted it to be a date. Watching Tara and Darcy together - when had they lost their strings? - the joy on Tara’s face was indescribable. And so brave. Could he be that brave?
As he sat on the floor next to Charlie, in a room far above the pulsing dance music, with the lights dimmed so he wouldn’t have to see Charlie’s face, he confessed. “I don’t think my string fits me either. I don’t know what to do.”
And in a moment of surprising support - wasn't he supposed to be the strong one? - Charlie just grabbed his hand and squeezed. “If you don’t want it, you can just let it go. Only you can do it.” And so Nick closed his eyes and examined it with his heart. Each thread tightly wound around his heart and lungs, depriving him of air and life and love. And he untied each and let them go. As he opened his eyes he saw Charlie looking at him, eyes shining with pride. And Nick leaned in and kissed him.
And in that moment Nick was finally free.
✂️🧶