“WHAT did you say to me, young man? Oh, the insolence! You better watch your mouth in my office. You are this close3 from being suspended from this school. This close.4 I hope you understand that this is an extremely serious matter, and if you don’t start acting accordingly, I will not hesitate to call your parents.”
“Oh, no, please don’t call my parents, Ms. Meadhall.”
I did my best to say that sentence earnestly, although it was difficult because no more than five minutes earlier I had asked her to call my parents. I knew my dad would get a kick out of this whole thing, and my mom, well, I knew she’d hate this woman as soon as she met her. Well, actually, I think she already did hate her, but I knew this whole thing would put her over the top. So, I figured that if I pretended I didn’t want Ms. Meadhall to call my parents, then maybe this time, she would call them. Unfortunately, Ms. Meadhall is obtuse in all senses of the word,5 and that brings us to the biggest predicament in my tale: The woman refuses to listen to a single word I, or really anyone, says.6
“I hope you are taking this situation seriously, Matthew. There is a boy in the hospital right now with a broken nose, and he is claiming that you punched him in the bathroom today at lunch. Jason, our security guard, then found you on the road leaving school right after the lunch period ended, clearly with blood on your shirt. So you tell me, Matthew, if you were me, what would you think?7 Now, please enlighten me as to what exactly happened between you and Stewart today. And this time, Matthew, only the truth.”
“Well, I’ll say it again, but it’s going to be the same story it was when I said it ten minutes ago. . . .”
I guess it all started in fourth grade, Ms. Perroni’s class, my first year at this school. We had moved into town late the previous summer, so I didn’t know anyone here. I wasn’t worried, though—figured it would take some time to meet people and I would spend that time being under the radar. However, on my first day of class, Ms. Perroni decided to ask me all these questions in front of everyone just because I was the new kid.8
She asked me where I moved from, what my favorite subject was, what my parents did for a living, if I had any siblings, you know, all the usual stuff. Nobody in the class seemed to be paying much attention to my responses.9 But then she asked me what I liked to do for fun and my life changed forever.10
Basketball, I told the class, I like to play basketball.11
I didn’t get it at first. I didn’t understand why the class was now suddenly interested, why everyone was suddenly whispering to one another. I couldn’t understand why some of the kids were now looking straight at me while others were looking around the classroom, searching for something. No, searching for some one.
He was in the last seat in the back of the class, all the way by the door. The first thing I noticed was a fitted hat that lay drooped over his eyes. The front two legs of his chair were floating off the ground as he leaned dangerously backward, with the back of the chair balanced on the rear wall of the classroom. His feet were resting on the empty desk in front of him, spread exaggeratedly wide either for comfort or stability. The last thing I noticed was that there was a basketball in his hands.
“You play ball, huh?”
I could only manage a nod.12
“We’ll see about that.”
I didn’t know he meant that day. At recess he found me and told me that he and the guys play basketball every day on the blacktop. He wasn’t really asking if I wanted to play. It seemed kind of like I had to. I still didn’t really know yet what I was getting myself into.13
It seemed like a normal game. We had 10 kids and we split into two teams. Stewart and some other kid were the captains. Stewart picked first. The kid he chose walked over to his side of the court and they slapped hands. Then the other captain picked and the same thing happened, the selected kid walked over to the other side of the court and they slapped hands. Then Stewart said it.
“I got the new kid.”
I walked over to his side. He didn’t attempt to slap my hand. He looked me over, from shoes to haircut. He was still looking at me as he picked the rest of his team, watched as I introduced myself to my new teammates and tied my shoes and stretched my legs. I was getting the feeling that this was less of a game than a tryout.
“Let’s see what you got, kid.”14
• • •
Maybe I should have sucked that day. Maybe I should have missed every shot I took and dribbled the ball off my knee whenever he passed it to me. Maybe then it would all be different now.15
But I was pretty good at basketball, and I showed it. I played well, I stood out, I impressed people. I wish I hadn’t.
You see, Stewart is really good at basketball. I was not as good as him, though, which was lucky because I really can’t fathom what would have happened then. But I was good enough.
“Hey, you played all right out there, what’s your name again?”
I thought I had found a friend. I guess I did.
I thanked him and told him my name was Matthew and that he played really well too.
“Well, Matty, aside from the fact that you look like a girl when you shoot and those shoes are embarrassing for you to be seen in,16 I’d say you have some potential.”
We walked into the school together. It felt like everyone at recess was watching us. He told me about the Rec basketball league the school ran and how his team was undefeated. Then he made fun of my haircut17 and slapped my hand as we got near the classroom. The rest of my time in middle school had just been contractually agreed upon.
“All right, Matthew, well, that is right and good and all, a nice story, quite dramatic if I may say, but it has done nothing to tell me about the incident today.”
“Yes, yes, Ms. Meadhall, I was just giving you some context. But we can fast forward a year or two if you’d like.”18
There I am, this morning, sitting at my desk in homeroom, just minding my own business, doing my thing, when Stewart and Scott walked in. They came over and sat down next to me, Scott slapped my hand and said what up, Stewart slapped my face, gently enough, and said, Good morning, Madeleine.19
We had basketball practice right after school that day because there was a band concert in the gym at night, so I had worn my basketball shoes to school. I thought I was being smart, figured I wouldn’t have to carry them with me all day in that case. Stewart did not agree.
“Hey, jerk, why do you have your basketball shoes on? You’re gonna ruin the soles and mess up the traction. Then you’ll fall on your face like an idiot and blow another game for us.”20
I told him I’d change them, that I thought I had another pair in my gym locker. He told me not to forget to save him a seat at lunch today. I told him I wouldn’t. Then we went to our next period class.
When lunch came around, I was already more irritated than usual. I was on edge. I had just gotten a test back in history class and it did not go nearly as well as I thought it had when I took it.21 I was sitting at the lunch table, my jacket in its normal place on the seat to my right, serving as a reservation, and Scott sitting in the seat next to that.22
We could hear Stewart coming down the hallway toward the cafeteria before he got there. The reverberating sound of a basketball bouncing up and down was an easy giveaway.23 He came in with the basketball in hand, walked over to his designated seat, and sat down, casually shoving my jacket to the ground in the process.
He asked around about what was for lunch today, how the pizza looked, if there were Italian dunkers, and then told me that the sandwich that my mom had made for me looked disgusting.24 Then he got up to buy his lunch and told me to come with him. I said I had lunch already but I could get a cookie or something, I guess.
When we were waiting in line to pay, he stood behind me and kept pushing me into the back of the girl in front of me. I kept telling her how sorry I was and telling him to stop. He kept doing it until there was no longer a girl in front of me and it was my turn to pay. I gave the cashier my school card.
“Actually, he prefers to go by Madeleine.”
I told the man no, I didn’t, and that yeah, my mom usually makes my lunch. Then I started off back to my seat, but remembered to wait for Stewart. After he paid, we returned to the table where Scott was still sitting with the rest of the guys. I was feeling weird.25
After we all finished eating, Stewart suggested we should go to the bathroom. We were standing at the urinals in our usual positions, Stewart in the middle of me and Scott, when Stewart noticed I hadn’t changed my shoes like he said to. He was not happy.
“Why didn’t you change out of your basketball shoes, stupid?”
I told him I had forgotten and that I wasn’t worried about them getting ruined.
“And that’s why you’re an idiot. Only wear your basketball shoes when you’re playing basketball. You have to change ’em or else you’ll screw it up for all of us this weekend.”26
And then I said a word he probably hasn’t heard me say often: No. I said I wasn’t going to go outside with them on and that I would be extra careful walking around. What’s the worst that could happen to them?
“Someone could pee on them.”
He then pivoted toward me, looked me directly in the eye, flashed a sadistic smirk, and proceeded to urinate all over my shoes and legs. Then he laughed and turned back into the urinal.
“See, like that.”
I looked down for a second. My lower body basted in another man’s liquid excretion. I looked up. I thought about what had just happened. I looked down again. I looked at Stewart. Still laughing. I looked at Scott. He was silent and didn’t return my stare. I looked down again.
I had been peed on. This much was sure. It was a situation I had not thought I would find myself in that day, or pretty much any day. I was ill-prepared to handle it. But really, what would you have done?
I turned to Stewart. I did not say anything. I looked him right in the eyes. He was still smiling. Then I looked down again, made sure he saw me look down. Then I looked back up and punched him as hard as I could right in the face. I think he was still peeing when he hit the ground.
Then I walked out of the bathroom and left the school, and as you have already said, Ms. Meadhall, that is when Jason, the security guard, found me. Now I am here, hoping that this time you actually listened to my story.
* * *
1. I hope I said ma’am. I mean, I think I did. But I always remember myself being politer in my memories. And taller.
2. What? I didn’t actually say those things. Just saying that I could have. They were all true.
3. She held up two of her gnarled fingers to demonstrate just how close I was. I appreciated the visual, really I did, but I wanted those disgusting fingers out of my face.
4. Yup, she did it again. For the sake of humanity, get your fingers out of my face, woman.
5. Get it? Like an obtuse triangle. She’s wide. That makes sense, right?
6. In her defense, this may have been due to the two giant balls of earwax firmly planted in each of her ears. It was like someone had left a candle burning in there overnight. I swear.
7. I would think that I had somehow gotten myself into a situation that is a thousand times worse than the one Gregor Samsa found himself in. Also, I would not have responded nearly as calmly.
8. Seriously, though, why do we always do this to the new kid? Oh, hey sonny, nervous on your first day in a new school with no friends? Well, do you want to go up in front of the entire class and be asked oddly personal questions? Oh, no? Not at all? You’d rather sit in the electrical closet all day? Well, let’s do it anyway.
9. Which I was thrilled about, by the way.
10. There were so many different things I could have said, so many other things I liked to do for fun. Why didn’t I say any of them? It would have made everything so much easier. Video games? Yup, that’s a better answer. I bet it still would have turned out better if I had responded with “cooking” or “making origami swans.”
11. Don’t get me wrong, I did like to play basketball then. Still do, I guess. I just wouldn’t ever have defined myself by the fact that I like to play basketball. And at this school if you say you like to play basketball in the fourth grade, you’re claiming that you’re Michael Jordan.
12. I should have said no. Should have said that I misspoke. Basketball? Me? No way. I meant to say Quidditch. Yeah, with the broomsticks and everything. Yup, that’s what I do for fun.
13. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I had just entered into a covenant. It was a game in the same sense that Jumanji was a game. Once you’re in it, you can’t really ever get out.
14. What I got? I got common sense! Where is your common sense, young Matt? Get out of there. Run! Go hang out in the band room with the band geeks. Go find some science nerds to befriend. Or even just meander on over to the football field and see what’s going on over there.
15. He would have made fun of me mercilessly that day, most definitely. Oh, yeah, you play basketball, huh? Nice handle, nice shot, you suck. Get off my court. But then that would have been it. I would have been out of sight for him, wouldn’t have mattered.
16. They were Skechers. Embarrassing? I wouldn’t say so. If I could go back and put on a pair of shoes that day would I have chosen Skechers again? Highly doubtful.
17. To be fair, it was the tragic, yet ever-so-common in middle school, mushroom cut. Why do parents let their kids suffer the humiliation?
18. Or if the buffet is closing soon and you’re in a rush.
19. That was one of his favorites. You get it, because I’m a girl? Matt→Madeleine. Yeah, Stewart is a real thinker.
20. I still don’t remember blowing the first one.
21. Those are always the ones that get you. If you think you crushed a test and then find out you did anything less than spectacular it will be a letdown. Always have low expectations, y’all.
22. Stewart always had to be in the middle. Of everything. Talk about metaphors, man.
23. The hollow sound that a basketball makes on a middle school hallway is indelible in my mind. It is equal parts terrifying and rousing. Kind of like the bell sound in Law and Order or the theme song from The X-Files.
24. It was tuna fish. It smelled bad. It tasted absolutely delicious.
25. Looking back, I can describe it as the feeling of reaching a tipping point. I’m not sure why but I was nearing it. All these little things were adding up, but they’d never break me. Something much bigger was necessary.
26. Oh no, the terror of ruining a sixth-grade travel basketball playoff game! How would I ever have been able to forgive myself?
HURRICANE HELEN
* * *
My mother said she wanted to take me shopping for a new dress for Miss Robinson’s wedding. She said that, but she also said if it rains during a wedding that’s good luck for the marriage, and I find that hard to believe. The ceremony is this afternoon and, of course, no shopping, no new dress. And bad weather is forecast.
The dogs knew it was coming. They huddled around in the kitchen all day, all of them. Patty-Lou didn’t want to go outside to pee this morning, even though it wasn’t raining.
“C’mon, Patty,” I tried, holding open the kitchen door. It was actually sunny and beautiful outside.
The calm before the storm, my mother said, but she was still in bed.
Patty-Lou didn’t budge. She was a beagle mix, a hound-ish, long-nosed dog with floppy ears and the sweetest face.
“What’s the matter?”
Patty was one of our regulars. She was always comfortable here, but her owners did say she was terrified of thunderstorms, and requested that Patty-Lou get to sleep with one of us if she got scared. My mother promised and then winked at me when Patty Lou’s mom wiped her eyes and headed to her car to drive away.
Now I had to get dressed. I had to get ready for Miss Robinson’s wedding. I didn’t know h
ow many kids would show up, but I wanted a good seat. I wanted Miss Robinson to see I was there, that I made the effort so that she could like me again. I had made a special card for her. My mother said I should make it for both the bride and the groom, but I wanted it to be just for Miss Robinson, so I made two.
I wrote a haiku.
I grabbed Patty-Lou by the collar and yanked her. “Now pee,” I ordered. She promptly sat down, making her body as small as possible and looked up at me. If dogs could cry her eyes would be welling up with tears.
“No, no sad-and-puppy face.”
Laurie’s mother was coming by to pick me up in twenty-five minutes. I pretended not to see Patty-Lou. “Get outside now. I don’t have much time.”
I know you are not supposed to talk to dogs like that, giving out too much information that they can’t understand. It just confuses them. All they hear is noise and they freeze up.
Why didn’t I lay out my outfit last night? As if I kept believing my mom and me were going to go shopping, all the way up until yesterday? And then up until dinner? And then all the way until I went to bed and got up this morning, five minutes ago. So I put on my last year’s party dress. The one I wore to the spring concert and Aunt Joan’s funeral. It’s fine.
But now I needed to let out seven dogs and feed them all before I left.
I was late. Everything needed to go perfectly. Everyone needed to understand they had to hurry, eat, and do their business. But it wasn’t going to be Patty-Lou, was it? She was just going to make me late and make me look stupid, so I kicked her—hard—in the underbelly of her soft unprepared body.
The sound that came out of her mouth was awful, a high pitched yelp escaped in a whoof of air. Patty-Lou followed her front legs, low to the ground, and moved slowly outside, her tail tucked and her head down. She took a few steps out onto the lawn.
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