by John Goode
No one talked to me, no one glanced at me, it was the same as yesterday, same as every day I had gone to school, in fact. Yet today, being ignored hurt on a frequency so high that my self-imposed walls were starting to crack.
I wished that my locker were some kind of Narnian-type structure so I could just climb inside and never be seen again. It wasn’t fair to go so long unnoticed, then to get noticed by what in my mind was the center of the universe, and then to metaphorically gnaw my own arm off to avoid being caught in a no-win situation, all within twenty-four hours.
If I had been a baby, concerned parents would have said I had had a long day and needed a nap.
That wasn’t wholly true. What I needed I would never get. I slammed my locker door, wishing I could channel all of my pent-up sorrow and frustration into one physical blow, causing the metal door to fly off and ricochet down the hall, cutting nameless people in half, leaving them begging on the floor for a quick death. Crying out to an end of this misery called life.
Because I wanted them to feel just like I did right now.
But because I had not been irradiated with gamma rays or bitten by a radioactive spider, all the locker did was slam shut without the least bit of fanfare. That just pissed me off even more, and I turned to head toward first period—and I froze in place.
He was standing there, that small grin on his face. He had his backpack on one shoulder, his letterman jacket open to the waist, and his arms were crossed across his chest. He was leaning against the wall waiting for me to notice him. There was laughter in his eyes, which seemed to look straight through me, bathing me in warmth that, until that moment, I hadn’t realized I missed. I felt my mouth go dry as my heart literally skipped a beat.
We stood there for what seemed like an eternity as my mind locked up. I had no idea what to say. I wanted to turn and run. I wanted to throw my arms around him and kiss him. I wanted to melt into the floor and just fade away. I wanted to do all of that and not say anything to shatter the moment.
And then he opened his mouth and, with a huge grin, said, “Hi.”
I don’t remember the moment I knew I was broken… but I do recall when I started to understand that it might be okay. It was the moment I fell in love with the boy with the green eyes.
No one starts a trip thinking that they might crash. Even though there is always a possibility, no one in their right mind ever begins a journey thinking that it’s going to end in failure. There are only two types of people in the world who are aware and plan on crashing before they ever start: test pilots and teenage boys.
I must have stood there in the hallway in front of my locker for years as my mind struggled to decipher what my eyes were seeing. It had to be a mirage, an illusion of some sort created by my mind to show me what my heart truly desired. Maybe I was having a heart attack, and my life was flashing before my eyes. No, this never happened in my life. So maybe I was having a heart attack, and someone else's life was flashing in front of my eyes, which would have sucked because it seemed they got to go out with the hottest guy in the world while I was dying, and my last seconds were being spent being a creepy voyeur.
There was no way Brad was leaning up against the wall, grin on his face, just daring me to say something. I was frozen between wanting to pass my hand through him to prove he wasn’t actually there and not making a move on the off chance he might vanish. Absolutely nothing came out of my mouth. Part of me was sure that this was the very moment my mind had snapped under the pressure of trying to be normal. That what little sanity I had squirreled away for a rainy day had finally gone bad, leaving me empty-handed and quietly going insane. Another part of my brain wondered what in the hell he was doing standing there after what I had said the night before.
“You keep staring, and people will think you have a crush on me,” he said in a low enough tone that only I could hear.
That was enough to break me out of my stupor and finally react. I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the first empty classroom I could find, slamming the door behind us. Sounding angrier than I actually was, I demanded more than asked, “What are you doing?”
His grin didn’t diminish, but the sparkle in his eyes seemed to dim slightly as he answered. “I was saying good morning—spaz much?”
My backpack slid off my shoulder as I collapsed back into a desk, sitting down. “I told you I was okay with this last night,” I said, sighing, wondering how exactly something that seemed so incredible in my mind could be so sucky in actuality.
“Yeah, you said a lot last night.” His grin vanished. “Now it’s my turn,” he said, moving toward me and leaning forward, fists on the desk. “Look, Kyle, I have no idea what this is, and I am not going to pretend I do, but I can tell you this. I didn’t kiss you as some kind of payment for tutoring me.” His voice was obviously angry, but I wasn’t feeling nervous or apprehensive at all. “I’m not sure where that came from, but let me clear it up: you aren’t some kind of history whore to me.”
The phrase “history whore,” by the way, is forever ingrained in my memory.
“You think you know me. Trust me when I say no one knows who the hell I am. Everyone thinks I’m….” He paused as he realized no matter what words came next, he was going to sound like a douche bag. He knew he was what passed for a celebrity at our school, most likely our entire town. Mind you, not “celebrity” as defined by Paris Hilton or anyone on Jersey Shore, but celebrity nonetheless. So if he said anything less than that, he was lying through his insanely white and perfectly straight teeth.
No one in high school ever admitted how popular they were unless they were extremely drunk or just a total bitch. Everyone labored under the impression that they were in some way a few notches below the top of the totem pole no matter who they were. It was only through other people’s eyes that someone became the most popular kid in the world or the prettiest girl that ever walked these halls, so him saying anything that sounded like “I’m popular” now would violate every single social law of the high school jungle.
Instead he just shook his head and said, “Everyone thinks I am this person—everyone but me.” He looked up at me, and it was the first time I had an inkling that no matter where somewhere is on that totem pole, there was always something pushing down from higher above. “I’m broken, Kyle, I’m broken inside….” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
I think he might have said something after that, and I might have said something back, but whatever it was, it wasn’t that important, because I had finally found something I didn’t think existed. I must have been silent for a while, because he looked at me with concerned eyes and asked, “Kyle?”
I looked up at him and smiled, because I had just figured out something seriously important.
I had found another person to be with.
I wasn’t sure where Brad and I were, but I knew it was Somewhere New. The bell interrupted and reminded us once more that we did indeed live in the real world, where things like linear time and consequences lived. Linear time existed because first period started at the same time every morning, and no matter how important this talk was, time was not going to change itself around us. Consequences existed in that if we missed class, we were both going to be in a crapload more trouble than either one of us wanted to court at that point in our young lives. So with great reluctance we parted ways, vowing we would talk about everything later.
“Later” being a time that didn’t have a really precise definition.
Later, it turned out, wasn’t lunch. Luckily we didn't have a lot of money, which meant I brought my own lunch every day because it saved me a lot of drama that other kids went through. Things like standing in line with other people, risking the chance of actually interacting with someone, or finding someplace to sit down. This saved me from the horrific experience of having people look me in the face and tell me to fuck off. Instead of suffering through that, I wandered the quad. I usually opted to retreat to the
safety of the band hall steps, where I could rummage through my paper bag and retrieve the least distracting thing I’d thrown in that morning to consume.
The steps were also close to what was described by people as the Round Table. The name was ironic, since it was neither round nor a table but a long wooden bench with seats on either side of it. The name came from the fact that only the most popular of people ever sat there, the prom kings and queens, the elite of the elite of Foster High. And though everyone at the Table was usually called royalty in the most sarcastic of tones, it wasn’t a table that just anyone walked up to, much less sat down at.
In retrospect, I have to plead temporary insanity.
Normally there was a better chance I would strip naked, roll around in broken glass, and then cover the wounds with Tabasco sauce than I would approach the Round Table. However, whatever I possessed in my brain that passed for common sense had left for the day and hadn’t taped a “will return by this time” sign hanging on the door. I had my brown bag clenched tightly as I walked toward the Table. There wasn’t even an average-looking person lounging around it. The least attractive person was a guy named Kelly Aimes, a short and stocky guy who was known more for his ability on the football field than his looks. Even he was still better-looking than most. The only thing that made Kelly less attractive than everyone else was that he was a total dick.
If you close your eyes and imagine every single movie bully you’ve ever seen pushing nerds, throwing people in garbage cans, and shoving geeks into lockers, then you have a good impression of what Kelly was like to be around. I hadn’t noticed him, though, because all I saw was Brad. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t standing there, one leg on the bench, as wind blew through his hair and an ’80s rock anthem played softly in the background, but that was how I saw him. He was saying something that must have been engaging, since the circle of people who surrounded him seemed spellbound by what was coming out of his mouth.
I understood that sentiment all too well.
I got within nine steps of the Table before I heard a voice call out, “Hey, queerbait, where the hell you think you’re going?”
There wasn’t even a tiny little doubt in my mind as to whom those words were directed at.
As is the case in any high school or prison on earth, there is nothing more desirable to the general populace than free drama. There is a pack mentality that exists in those places that can only be rivaled by a group of people watching Christians being fed to lions. They want blood and lots of it. My head snapped up to see Kelly standing in front of me, blocking my way to the Table like a rude and abusive bouncer stopping me from entering a nightclub.
I looked past him and saw the Table had frozen in midsentence to look at me as well. Brad’s eyes grew wide as we made eye contact, and he realized what I must have been attempting. I had to give him credit; he didn’t shake his head or try to wave me off, since that would have given him away as well. Instead, his face was carved out of marble as Kelly knocked the lunch bag out of my hands.
“I asked where do you think you’re going?” he said, his body drawing in close to mine. I winced as anyone with a badger in his face would. Not a good move, as anyone knows. In the dog-eat-dog world of high school, the paramount rule is “never show fear.” “Oh! What’s wrong, bitch?” he taunted, his chest bumping mine now, pushing me back a few stumbling steps, since he had at least forty pounds on me. “Not used to having a real man up in your face?”
To this day I don’t know if it was fear, anger, or just straight-up loathing that made me respond with, “Why? Have you seen a real man around here?” If it had been a movie, you would have heard the record scratching sound effect as the assembled crowd processed what I had said.
And then came the laughter.
Part of me felt horrible for Kelly, because there is no worse fate than being surrounded by people laughing maliciously at you. Seeing someone, no matter who they may be, eaten alive in public is just plain disgusting. From the look on Kelly’s face, this was the first time it had happened to him; the abject shock he displayed made staring at him akin to staring down a corpse. He looked to his left and right, verifying that everyone was, indeed, laughing at him. It was not a localized catastrophe involving just those people closest to us. I suppose I should have felt the flush of victory at that moment as the bully was hoisted by his own petard, but to be honest, all I felt was sick to my stomach at the thought of the very same thing happening to me.
And then he hit me.
One second I felt the blood race to my face as I realized I was inadvertently the center of attention, and the next I was on the ground. My right hand felt as if it had been dragged across broken glass as it hit the pavement hard; my left was clutching my chest where he had punched me. The look on my face must have trumped Kelly’s by a country mile, as the laughter got louder, and I realized its focus had shifted to me.
I only knew two things.
One, this was the worst moment of my life.
And two, this was actually just the worst moment of my life so far.
“How’s that for a real man, you fucking fag—” he had begun to taunt as he stood over me when his head snapped suddenly to the left, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing like a gunshot off the grassy knoll. The laughter had stopped as Kelly stumbled sideways and finally crashed like some great douche bag tree. I looked up and saw Brad standing over him, fists clenched, face etched with fury. He looked like an angry god fuming, deciding his vengeance. I looked around and saw people with their hands over their mouths trying to cover their delight at the new violence lest they be pulled into it. Everyone loved seeing someone get their ass kicked. No one wanted it to be them.
Kelly started to rise to his knees. Brad growled. “Stay down there.” It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a suggestion. It was obviously a command, and he expected it to be followed. Kelly paused, his head still down as drops of blood pooled beneath his face. “You think it’s funny going around picking on people smaller than you, Kelly?” Again, not a question. “Well, I’m smaller than you.” Brad knelt down and locked eyes with him. “Pick on me.”
It was true that Brad was a few inches shorter than Kelly, but only in physical height. Even though the two of them were both high school celebrities, it was only by the gift of sport that Kelly was able to share the same space with him.
Kelly’s eyes watered as Brad thrust his face closer to him, just as Kelly had done to me. His abject fear was tangible as no one in the quad dared to breathe.
“Come on, big guy,” Brad said casually, as if they were just discussing a sports score or the weather. “Pick. On. Me.”
Kelly shook his head, blood from his nose and lip spraying out as he babbled. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Brad!” His voice cracked, and it must have been obvious even to his own ears that he sounded like a little bitch. He swallowed and tried to control his tone. “I mean, I was just having a little fun…. ” And he could instantly tell that was the wrong thing to say.
“Fun?” Brad asked as his eyes flashed with rage. I had never seen anyone that angry this close up before unless their anger was directed at me. He grabbed the front of Kelly’s shirt and hauled him to his feet as if he weighed nothing. No one Kelly’s size could be used to being manhandled like that, and from the way his feet refused to steady themselves under him, he wasn’t. Brad pushed him toward where I still sat on the ground, no doubt in the same level of stupor as the rest of the crowd. “Let’s have some fun, then,” Brad hissed harshly in Kelly’s ear from behind. “Look at him and apologize.”
I felt my throat go dry as Kelly looked down at me, and I became the totality of his universe for the next few minutes. I knew people were staring, I knew I should get up and run, but I couldn’t. Instead, I just sat there like a lump, speechless.
In a voice barely above a mumble, he said, “I’m sorry.”
Brad’s knee came up against the small of Kelly’s back, making him bark out in what was probably more s
hock than actual pain. “I said apologize,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “Not just say sorry like a fucking girl. Try it like a man.” Small pause. “For once.”
I saw Kelly’s face redden in both anger and embarrassment as a few people in the back laughed. As he looked at me again, I saw the coldness in his eyes, and my chest tightened. I could tell this was not the end. This was not even the middle. As he said in a monotone voice, “I apologize for knocking you down and being a dick,” I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt.
This was just the beginning.
“It’s okay,” I said in what had to be just louder than a squeak.
“And I’m a fucking tool,” Brad said softly as he shook him.
“And I’m a tool!” Kelly said, almost shouting.
“And I have a little dick, and it makes me do crazy things!”
Kelly’s head sagged down, and in the most defeated voice I have ever heard another human being use, he echoed, “And I have a little dick, and it makes me do crazy things.”
The crowd exploded in howls of amusement as Brad pushed Kelly to the side. He fell hard, his hands scuffing on the pavement as mine had. I was horrified, not just by the attention, but by the knowledge that Brad had just made the whole mess a million times worse than before. He took a step toward me and held out his hand. “Come on,” he said to me in a low, kind voice. “Let me help you up.”
I looked up at him in shock for several seconds before I pushed myself to my feet, trying not to wince as my hand screamed in protest. I stopped there for a moment, inches away from Brad’s face. His eyes belonged to a stranger, and I realized I didn’t know him at all.