by Hart, Jerry
“Oh, shit!” she screamed as her books flew from her arms.
Don laughed, though not so much because she fell but the way she did it. So dramatic, her arms flying to the sides, her long black hair whipping behind her, her slow exclamation.
“What is so amusing, if I may ask?”
Don spun around to find a tall black man, dressed in slacks and a green sweater. He also wore large, gold-rimmed glasses that made his large eyes even larger.
“A girl tripped on a tree root,” Don said, no longer laughing. He pointed out to the courtyard, where the girl was picking up her books.
The man looked out briefly before returning his gaze to Don. “You find other people’s misfortunes amusing?”
Don wanted to tell him he found this guy’s feminine voice amusing, but decided not to say so. The man appeared to be the homeroom teacher. “No, sir,” Don finally said.
“How would you like it if you tripped and Ms. Marshall out there laughed at you?”
“I wouldn’t like it,” said Don, knowing that was the answer the teacher expected. In truth, he wouldn’t care if people laughed; it was a natural response.
The teacher snorted before walking to the chalkboard. “My name is Mr. Clifford.” He wrote it on the board. “Apart from being your homeroom teacher, I also teach English. I’m very fond of poetry, so you’ll be hearing a lot of that if you find yourself in my class.…”
Don tuned the man out and looked out the dirty windows once more. The girl, “Ms. Marshall,” was long gone, but every time Don thought of her dramatic fall, he smiled. And not once did he feel bad about it. Plus, he doubted he’d ever see that girl again.
* * *
Reaching the first bus stop for the best seats was one thing. Getting good seats after school was another. By the time Don and Sym found their bus, all the back seats were taken, forcing the boys to sit in the front. It wasn’t a big deal, though, and Don wondered why it had ever been. He guessed it was all part of growing up, letting go of trivial things.
When the bus stopped directly in front of his house, he and Sym got off and parted ways. All Don wanted to do once he got inside was play Sega and go to sleep afterward. He was fortunate not to have any homework, and he knew if Ethan wasn’t already home from elementary school, he soon would be.
As soon as Don reached the front door, he realized he couldn’t find his key. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. Either Ethan was taking a nap or he truly wasn’t home yet. Don looked through one of the front windows but could barely see through the lacy white curtain.
What he did see was the window’s latch, which was broken. He could climb through the window so he wouldn’t have to wait for his brother or mother. Don went to work prying off the screen in front of the window. Once he managed that, he set the screen down next to the rusty patio furniture and opened the window. After carefully climbing inside, he closed the window, went out through the front door to replace the screen, and then went to his room to boot up his videogame.
Squealing brakes announced the arrival of Ethan’s bus thirty minutes later. Mom came home shortly after, bearing bags of fast food. The family ate together and Don told his mom and brother about his first day in high school.
Don would remember this peaceful time later, after his mother went insane and changed everything.
Chapter 11
Things seemed fine in 1997. High school was going well, and Mom’s relationship with Adrian was strong. Don even joined a bowling league.
He tried not to let that creepy dog encompass his life—he played with his friends, got good grades in school, and strove for a perfect game each time. Mom bought him his own bowling ball, which was a cool swirling gray. He named it Gunsmoke.
He hadn’t dreamed of the dog for a long time and was grateful for that small mercy.
One person in particular helped Don forget the mystery surrounding his family, and her name was Monica Harris. Monica and Don shared health class in one of the sheds by the tower at Augusta High, and they often whispered jokes to one another in the back of the room.
Only one thing often ruined their playful time together: Nick. He sat in front of Monica and oftentimes intruded on her and Don’s conversations. Don was getting the distinct impression Nick was falling for Monica. The idea seemed ridiculous, but it was there in his mind, and he found himself obsessing over it.
During a game of “ghetto volleyball,” as Sym liked to call it because they used a clothesline tied to both a tree in Don’s yard and a telephone pole, Don decided to ask Nick.
“Monica?” Nick asked as he held the volleyball. “She’s okay, but I’m not in love with her or anything.”
He served the ball over the thin white cord, and Sym and Ethan lunged to spike it back at Nick and Don. This was usually how the boys spent their time after school. The ball landed out of bounds. Don picked it up.
“I mean, she’s cool and everything,” Nick went on. “I don’t know how my parents would feel about me dating a black girl, though.”
“So you have thought about dating her?” Don asked as he served. The ball landed between Sym and Ethan, perfectly in bounds.
“Sometimes.”
The response had been like a punch to the stomach. Don’s suspicions had been correct. But why did he feel anger toward Nick now? Nick had said he wasn’t in love with Monica.
He did admit to having feelings for her, a voice in Don’s head whispered. He looked at Ethan immediately and saw his little brother looking back. Don then turned his head slowly toward Nick. He’s not being a very good friend, the voice added. He knows how you feel about Monica, yet he still wants her for himself.
That’s not true, Don whispered back. He just said so.
He said his parents wouldn’t approve, the voice said smugly. That’s the only thing stopping him, not his loyalty to you.
Shut up. Don looked at his brother once more, convinced the voice was coming from him.
You’ll find out who your real friends are soon enough.
Leave me alone!
“Don?”
He snapped out of his trance at the call of his name and saw Sym looking at him on the other side of the “net.”
“Are you ready or what?” Sym asked.
“Sorry,” said Don, and the boys resumed their game.
* * *
Don and Nick’s friendship changed over the next month, as much as Don hated to admit it. He found himself not wanting to hang out with Nick unless Sym was there as well, and he also became subconsciously competitive with Nick when it came to grades, sports and Monica’s attention.
The Scott family recently acquired caller ID, so Don always knew when Nick was calling. Just thinking about answering those calls nauseated him. He hated feeling this way toward his best friend, but he couldn’t help it. Don just felt tainted.
It wasn’t like he could avoid Nick all the time, though; the two were classmates. It was obvious Nick noticed the rift growing between them, but he never said anything. When lunch period came around one day, Nick stood at the head of one of the lengthy tables and stared at Don for a moment before deciding to sit with someone else.
Don was both relieved and saddened by this. He knew only he could fix the friendship but didn’t quite know how. Had too much time passed? Could things be the way they were before? What was fueling Don’s anger toward his friend?
Just then, she walked by.
Monica waved at Don as she and her friends sat at the end of the table. Monica was the source of the rift and didn’t even know it. How could she? It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t really expressed any desire to be with either boy.
There was the other theory, but Don didn’t like to think about it.
He didn’t like thinking his feelings were being manipulated by some kind of demon, if that’s what it was. He also didn’t like to think the negative feelings toward Nick were his own, but at least then he would know he was in control in that case.
He had to stay in
control of himself.
* * *
Nothing unusual had happened since that one volleyball game a month ago, but Don remained cautious. Every time he let his guard down, the curse reminded him of its hold on his family. Don felt completely helpless against it, made all the worst by the fact he couldn’t talk to anyone about it. He vaguely remembered telling Nick a long time ago, but just the thought of confiding in his friend now sickened him.
Don’s competitiveness grew over the weeks as Nick bested him on tests and assignments. Nick almost always bragged in front of Don, as if Nick was finally accepting the deterioration of the friendship and enjoying it. This only made Don angrier. Nick was also skinnier, and therefore faster, than Don, which resulted in him winning races or just outperforming Don during health class.
That was when Don started daydreaming about killing Nick in increasingly violent ways.
Instead of killing him, however, Don was handed a golden opportunity to exact revenge against him. One day, while the class took a test in Government, the teacher stepped out to use the restroom.
He left the answer sheet on his desk.
Nick and a few other students leapt onto the sheet to get as many free answers as they could.
But not Don. He merely sat and watched. And grinned.
The cheating students returned to his and her seats moments before the teacher returned. Just as class was letting out, Don walked up to the teacher’s desk and told the man what had happened.
He mainly focused on Nick during the story, however.
“Is that so?” the teacher asked. He then searched for Nick’s Scantron and compared the answers. “That boy wasn’t even smart enough to get some of them wrong to make it look real.”
Don just barely noticed Nick standing outside the classroom as he left, and Nick looked ready to commit murder. He followed Don out of the tower and to health class. Don looked over his shoulder every now and then to grin at the scolded ex-friend, and deep down, he actually enjoyed the creepy attention he was receiving.
Before reaching the shed, however, Don and Nick became separated. Don took his seat at the rear of the class and waited. As he did, he noticed Monica hadn’t arrived either. For a brief moment he imagined Nick and Monica together somewhere and his stomach turned.
Finally, Monica entered the room, her footsteps rattling through the thin walls and floor. She sat next to Don and said, “What did you do to Nick?”
“I told the teacher he cheated on his test. Why? Did you talk to him?”
“He said he wants to kill you,” she replied, looking at him sideways.
Thinking Nick wanted to kill him and knowing were two different beasts. Don felt they had just now reached a point of no return in their friendship. And just at that moment, Nick chose to make his appearance. Don watched as his former friend made his way from the door to his desk in front of Monica’s, his eyes never leaving Don’s. It was both spooky and exciting.
“Did you really cheat on a test?” Monica asked Nick.
“Yes,” he said, still staring at Don, “but he didn’t have to tell on me. He’s just a little bitch.”
Monica gasped and stared at him. Clearly she wasn’t enjoying this as much as Don.
“The only reason he’s doing this to me,” Nick continued, “is because he’s in love with you and thinks I am too.”
Monica looked at Don. He was just as shocked as she. He hadn’t known Nick connected the two; clearly he remembered the conversation about liking Monica.
“Is that true?” she asked Don. “You like me?”
Don couldn’t believe how embarrassed he felt at that moment. His feeling of victory over Nick was instantly tarnished. “Well...yeah.”
Instead of smiling, she continued to give him a puzzled look. The class continued to pile in, oblivious to their conversation. “What about you?” she asked Nick. “Do you like me?”
Before he could respond, Don said, “He told me he’d like you better if you were white.”
Quick as lightning, Nick grabbed Don’s left hand and bent the index finger all the way back until it touched the back of Don’s hand. Don felt the pain but refused to acknowledge it. He saw Monica’s mouth open wide in shock. He also saw the uncontrollable rage in Nick’s eyes as he continued to hold Don’s finger at that awful angle.
Don managed a grin as he grabbed Nick’s wrist and pulled the offending hand away from his. “Doesn’t hurt,” Don declared, though it actually hurt like a son of a bitch. He was surprised to find it wasn’t broken.
Nick looked nervously at the coach, who was writing on the board. “I never said what Don said I said,” he told Monica in a rush.
“What did you say, then?” she asked reluctantly. She was still in shock at Nick’s action.
“I said I didn’t think my parents would like it if I went out with a black girl. But I don’t care what they think.” He smiled at her.
She smiled back.
Don nursed his injured finger as he watched the two of them. He had been trying to get Monica to hate Nick and only managed to draw them together. And now Don felt like the bad guy.
After managing to make it through the class with his throbbing finger, Don quickly walked out of the shack and made his way to his next class. A figure glided up next to him.
“If you ever lie to Monica about me again,” Nick whispered venomously, “I’ll kill you.”
“I’ll add it to the list of things not to do,” Don replied sarcastically.
* * *
Don and Nick’s friendship seemed damaged beyond repair. Nick stopped calling and never spoke or looked at Don whenever they crossed paths. That was a remarkable feat considering they had a few classes together. It was as if Don didn’t exist.
Don kept telling himself he didn’t care, he had other friends. Unfortunately, his other best friend Sym seemed to have sided with Nick. Those two hung out a lot after school, and Don once heard them talking about him behind his back during lunch.
And to make things worse, Monica wasn’t too fond of him either. It was like the whole world was against Don. The only person who didn’t abandon him was his brother. After school, Don and Ethan would play videogames together; they seemed closer than ever before. Deep down, Don wondered if events had been arranged in order to get the Scott brothers to become better friends.
But why? They were brothers and already got along fairly well. The only explanation he could come up with was someone—something—wanted Don to feel completely alone, friendless, vulnerable. It wanted him to feel the only person he could turn to was his brother.
Was Ethan himself behind this?
It was a crazy theory—one of many he’d had over the years—but he liked to think he was intuitive enough to know when something was wrong. If he was correct, the best thing he could do was make new friends.
Or hang out with old ones.
The only ones he could think of that would still talk to him were Clark and Monica. As much as he disliked Clark, he felt he needed to hang out with a guy, someone who wasn’t his own brother.
One Saturday, Don invited Clark to one of his bowling games. Clark cheered Don’s team on like a fool, and the team won. Don even came close to a perfect game, though bowling was made more difficult by his injured finger. Between matches, Don and Clark played games in the arcade and talked a bit.
“So, what, you and Nick aren’t friends anymore?” Clark inquired. Don shrugged. “And what about you and Sym?” Don shrugged again, never taking his eyes from the fighting game they were playing.
Mom and Ethan had run to the theater to pick up tickets for the movie they planned to see after the game.
“I’m like your backup buddy?” Clark guessed.
“Yep.” Don wasn’t in the mood to deny it. “After that bullshit with Nick and me the last time we hung out at your house, you should be happy I thought of you at all.”
Clark had no response. Good. He knew he fucked up with that temper tantrum years ago; Don wasn’t g
oing to sugarcoat it.
“You’ve made a lot of enemies in a short time,” Clark commented. “You should make a list.”
“Of what?” Don asked.
“Enemies.”
“Why?”
“So you can exact revenge on them some day.”
The round ended in the fighting game, so Don turned to Clark. “Do you have a list?”
“Hell yeah. I’m extremely unlikable.”
Damn right, Don thought, but instead he said, “How many people are on it?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Am I on it?”
Clark laughed. “You were, but I scratched you off this morning.”
“Thanks,” Don said sarcastically.
A minute later, the boys were sitting at one of the tables, a pen and paper in front of them.
“Who do you hate the most?” Clark asked.
“Nick,” Don replied immediately as he wrote down the name.
“Who else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Monica?” Clark offered.
Don began writing when he suddenly realized what he was doing. “I don’t hate Monica; she didn’t do anything to me.”
“She strung you along like a dog, making you think she liked you when she really liked Nick.”
“That’s not even close to what happened.” Don felt sickened by the list he was making and wanted to destroy it.
“Fine,” Clark relented. “Who else, then?”
Don added Robbie Patterson, mainly because he could think of no one else.
“That blond kid from Windsor?” Clark asked. “Awesome. Who else?”
Don thought for only a second before saying, “That fucking bus driver from elementary school. The one that yelled at me because I didn’t get off the bus fast enough. I haven’t thought of that asshole in years. What’s his name?”
“Harvey Littleman.”
Don looked at Clark with newfound respect as he added the name.