There was a knock on my door.
“Go away!”
“Matt, we need to talk.”
“No we don’t! Go away!” I was trying really hard to keep my voice sounding normal, which was difficult because it wanted to break. I didn’t want to sound like I was crying, which was stupid because she’d already seen me, seen I was crying. Stupid or not, I still have my pride. Stupid pride, but pride.
You’re not supposed to cry when you’re sixteen. And I wasn’t even sure why I was.
Just like I wasn’t sure why I’d pushed Kevin, now I wasn’t sure why thinking about what had happened, and what might result from it, was putting me in this state. But I knew absolutely I didn’t want to talk about it.
“Matt, this is why your father called me. He was worried about you. He thought you might be upset. Can I come in?”
“No! Yeah, he really was worried. I told him what would happen if he did what he did. He didn’t care at all. Go away.”
There was silence then. I hoped she did go away. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to figure out how I could continue going to that school. The more I thought about it, the less I could see that as a possibility, unless I was willing to be a butthole wimp pussy for some freshman, to be the butt of all the jokes in the entire school for the next three months, or however long it took stupid Kevin’s wrist to heal. Even after that, everyone would laugh at me the rest of the year. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I’d been feeling so good. Just when things had begun looking better for me, this had to happen. Just when I’d begun to hope this year was finally going to be okay.
My crying turned into sobbing, and I heard the door open.
“Mom! Get out!” I screamed it, but I’m not sure it was comprehensible, I was crying and sobbing so hard.
I didn’t look at her. My face was pushed into my pillow. My body was shaking.
There was a pause, I don’t know how long, I wasn’t entirely rational at that point. But then I heard the door close, softly. Good. I felt that I might be able to keep what little of my 16-year-old dignity there was left intact.
I was trying to think, think how I could possibly stay at that school, I was picturing the daily humiliation I could expect now and how I’d be forced to deal with it, and then suddenly someone was shaking my shoulder, and I realized I must have fallen asleep because when I’d collapsed onto my bed had been bright daylight, and now my room was dark.
And it all came back to me, everything I’d been thinking about. I guess teenagers have more volatile and stronger emotions and feelings and all that sort of thing than adults. I know I’d gone to school that day feeling pretty good about things. Now, I was feeling about as low as I possibly could. I didn’t see much reason for hope about anything. I hadn’t before falling asleep, and I didn’t now that I was being awakened.
The shoulder shaking kept on, and was getting annoying, so I finally rolled over. My dad was sitting on the bed, but it was dark enough that I couldn’t really read his eyes.
“What was that all about?” he asked. His voice was soft and gentle.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You need to talk about it, Matt. I can’t help you if you don’t. Neither can your mother. What’s wrong?”
“I told you what was wrong. I told you.” My voice got louder on those last three words. I guess anger is one way to try to cope with what I was feeling. Him acting like he had no idea what was upsetting me turned my depression into something else. Just that fast, I was angry. I rarely got angry at my father. But now I was angry.
“I told you.” I was almost yelling now. “I told you how embarrassing it would be to have some freshman paging me and me having to run to see what I had to do for him. I told you. You said do it anyway. You smiled, probably thinking how funny it would make me look. You didn’t care what I thought, how I felt, how I would be treated by everyone at that goddamn school once I started being some goddamn freshman’s personal slave boy. You think you know what goes on at that school. You weren’t the one who had to go through everything I went through the last two years there, because of you. And what I’ll have to go through this year, now, because of this goddamn punishment you thought up. You don’t care.”
“Whoa! Where is all this coming from? You don’t really believe that, do you? Matt?”
I was silent. The fact was, once I’d said that, I knew I didn’t really believe it. Well, maybe some of it, but I was way overstating it. Saying it the way I did took away some of my anger, because it made me realize that I did know he cared. But if I wasn’t angry, if I wasn’t allowed to be angry, how was I supposed to feel, or to deal with how I felt? Did I simply have to accept the rest of it, that I was going to be left in the hands of this kid, that he had my whole life at school in his hands, to do with as he wished? No, I couldn’t accept that. I just couldn’t. Just when my life had turned around, just when it was looking like I could be a normal kid this year, I wasn’t going to give it all up this easily.
I didn’t answer his question. Instead, I simply rolled back over, stuck my head in my pillow, and was quiet. He sat there, on my bed. I lay there, silent. After a while, I heard him sigh, and then he put his hand on my back. I couldn’t help it, it was involuntary, but I shuddered, then stopped, and I just lay still. With his gentle hand on my back.
Eventually, he took his hand off me, and I felt the bed rise as he stood up. I assumed he left. My room has thick carpeting, and I couldn’t hear him leave, but the room suddenly felt emptier. And I felt alone.
A few minutes later, the bed sank a little again. Not as deeply, so I guessed it was my mother.
“Matt?”
I didn’t answer.
“Matt, your father’s upset. What did you say to him?” Her voice wasn’t soft and caring as it so often was. Instead, it was firm, almost severe, and she was expecting an answer.
I didn’t answer, however. I knew I couldn’t keep this up long. I could get angry with my dad, though I didn’t very often. They were both caring parents, and we got along fine. So I had no need to get mad, not seriously mad, at either one of them. But I could, at my dad, even if it was wrong to do so. My mom was a different story. If I got mad at her, and didn’t have a rational explanation about why, she’d talk, and talk, and talk, and ask questions, and be sort of sympathetic maybe, but keep up the questions till I felt like some lab specimen or something and after ending up screaming in frustration a couple times because I wasn’t getting away with just being mad when I wanted to, I’d learned it was better not to get mad at her in the first place.
When I didn’t answer, she poked me. In the back. Have you ever been poked in the back? I mean. You can’t just lie there when someone’s poking you in the back. Not if it’s in the muscle of your lower back, along your spine. You can’t.
I couldn’t, and wiggled away from her.
“Matt! Talk to me. Your father’s upset. We need to talk about this. Now sit up. Right now.”
So I had a choice. I sit up, or she pokes me in the back some more. Did anyone ever tell you life’s not fair? This is the sort of shit they were talking about.
◊ ◊
We were sitting in the kitchen, at the table we have in there, five minutes later. My mom had told me to wash my face and then come out and talk to them. She hadn’t said it like maybe possibly this was something I might consider doing. She said it like I was to be in the kitchen directly after washing my face and that was that. My dad is a pussycat, except when he’s mad at me. Other times, even if I get angry at him, he’s real docile, and if something upsets him, he tends to just walk away, then brood about it a little. Which is good because if he does get mad, really mad, then watch out. But maybe it’s because of how he is when he’s really angry, he doesn’t let himself get that way very much. My mom isn’t that easy. You don’t want to provoke her. Trust me on that.
My father was the one to speak first. I was sitting at the table with them, but not meeting either of their eyes. I wasn’t sitting with my head down, but I was looking past them, not at them. I didn’t know what I was going to say.
“Matt, I’m sorry you’re so upset. But frankly, I still don’t quite get it. Those things you said to me in your bedroom. I know you had some problems two years ago, and even a few last year, but that’s behind you. We talked about them when they were happening, you got through it, they’re behind you. I don’t understand why you’d bring them up again. If they’re still bothering you, if anyone is picking on you or teasing you about me, I’m not aware of it, and I think I would be. You haven’t said anything, and you’ve been happier lately, not nearly as tense as in the past. So I don’t understand you bringing that up that way.
“So let me ask you, are you still being hassled at all?”
“No. But I will be once I start jumping up every time this kid snaps his fingers.”
He looked at me then, I could tell somehow even though I wasn’t looking at him, and I raised my eyes to meet his, and just looked back at him.
Finally he asked, “Are you upset about the marching band, too?”
“Yeah. You know I don’t want to do that. Giving me a punishment making me do something you know I don’t want to do is just plain mean. You did it to hurt me. But I can live with that. You want to be mean, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll make do. It’s the other that’s going to ruin me. I’m finally doing okay at school. I even have some friends this year, and I haven’t heard anyone snickering behind my back or calling me anything. I don’t see groups of kids who’re talking and watching me and who then turn away when I look at them. I’m just another kid this year. But all that’s going to change, and it’ll be just like it was before.”
He didn’t respond to that. He was thinking about it. My dad’s good that way. He actually listens to what I have to say. He doesn’t think he’s always right and I’m always wrong, like I’ve heard some kids say their fathers act.
Then he said, “So the reason you’re upset isn’t the punishment itself, it isn’t because you have to help Kevin. The real reason is what you think will happen because of it. You’re projecting what’s going to happen, and that’s what’s really upsetting to you, upsetting you enough that you just cried yourself to sleep in the middle of the afternoon. What you’re telling me is that what happened the past two years bothered you a lot more than you told either your mother or me, that it’s still bouncing around inside you, and you’re worried that it might happen again. Is that right?”
I thought about that, and saw that he was right. I just couldn’t live through all that again, not after I’d got a taste of how school could be. I wouldn’t.
“Yes, that’s right.” It was the truth, so I might as well say it, I thought.
“Matt, do you remember what I said when we first talked about this?”
“What do you mean?”
“When I told you what you were going to have to do.”
“Not really.”
“What I said was, if Kevin abuses his ability to get you to come help when he needs it, we’d talk it over again. Do you remember that I said that?”
I had forgotten that, I realized. But then, that was a little different from what I was upset about, too. And I realized, just like I wasn’t sure why I’d pushed Kevin, I wasn’t really clear why I was as upset about the thought of helping Kevin as I obviously was. I just knew I didn’t want to talk about it. Still, I had to respond to my father.
“But Dad, that isn’t the same. I’m going to be laughed at just for helping him. Just for coming when he calls. Even if he really needs help, kids will see him paging me and me running to him to help, and I’ll get teased for that, and laughed at, and the whole thing will start all over. And you don’t know Kevin. He’s going to have a blast in pushing that button. He’ll be doing it all the time, and kids’ll see it.”
I was getting upset again. Just visualizing what would happen, just thinking about that, and thinking about the last couple years, was enough to do that to me.
My mom saw that, saw I was getting upset, and she jumped in before it went too far. I guess she didn’t want to see my lying in bed again and needing another poking. Maybe her finger was sore.
“Matt, John, let’s stop this for right now. We know what upset Matt, and you and I can talk about that, John. Matt, you know we want you to be happy. You know we love you. We want to do the right thing here. You’re getting all upset again and that won’t help anything. Your dad isn’t going to make you do something that will hurt you like you were hurt before. You have to remember, though, this Kevin you keep talking about—you hurt him today. He was hurt because of something you did. We still haven’t talked about that, but you and I are going to. Dad says you didn’t understand why you pushed him. We’ll discuss that, too. But not tonight.
“I held some dinner for you. I’ll heat it in the microwave. You should eat it, then maybe go to bed.”
My dad got up, but before he left the kitchen, he moved over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. He waited till I raised my eyes to his.
“Matt, you said I smiled when I thought about you being humiliated by Kevin. That really hurt me, that you’d think that of me. And if you thought that, it must have hurt you, too.
“Matt, I wasn’t smiling thinking about you being embarrassed at all. I was thinking about something else, something entirely different, but that’s not something for us to talk about now, because it would just lead to another discussion, and that discussion, if we have it, isn’t for tonight. But I want you to know, I’d never be happy if you were being humiliated. I think you know that, I think you were just angry and getting stuff off your chest, but I have to be sure you hear this from me. I’d hate for that to happen to you. You know that, don’t you?”
He was looking intensely into my eyes. I looked back, then gave him a small smile, even though I was feeling some moisture in my eyes. Damn, I’d have thought I’d have been cried out by now!
“I know, Dad. I’m sorry I said that. And it did hurt me, when you smiled.”
He smiled in return, a sad smile, squeezed my shoulder, looked like he was going to say something else, but then I could see he changed his mind. He kept looking at me, said, “I’m sorry about that, Matt.” Then he simply left the room.
I wasn’t really hungry, or thought I wasn’t, but when the plate was in front of me, I ate everything on it. Funny how that works.
After that I went to bed. I’d slept about four hours that afternoon and early evening, yet I didn’t have any trouble falling asleep that night, even though it was a little early for me.
◊ ◊
The next morning, I was eating my bowl of cereal when Dad showed up. You know how your mood’s always better in the morning? How things always look better? Somehow, this morning seemed an exception to that rule. This morning seemed like an extension of last night. I felt just the same now as I had then. No improvement at all. Of course, the same problems sat squarely in front of me. I had no reason to feel better.
Dad made himself some toast, poured a cup of coffee, then sat down next to me. I hoped he didn’t want to talk. Talking is way overrated.
“Matt, I did a lot of thinking last night. And I made a decision. I need to tell you about it. And before you get all upset, I need you to think about what I’m saying. Really think about it. Then we can talk about it. Will you agree to hear me out? And think about it?”
I wanted to be sarcastic. I wanted to say, ‘Yeah, right. Like it would do me any good to say no.’ But I didn’t. I simply told him yes.
“Matt, I thought a lot about what you said, and I did a lot of remembering about how I felt when I was sixteen. And about how my father treated me. I thought about a lot of things. I didn’t get much sleep, if you’re interested.” He might have smiled then, but I didn’t know because I didn’t look up, but there was a slight pause before he continued, and I could imagine him smiling. “I thought this through, and this is what it finally came down to.
“You’re worried about what will happen when Kevin pages you. I can understand that fear. It’s not a silly fear, it makes sense and you have some reason for it. And I know you’re very upset by it. So I’m not discounting it. However, it’s also just a fear. It’s not reality, it’s what you’re imagining. You’ve got this whole scenario worked out in your head, and you’re running away from it before it even happens. And you want me to change what I decided to do because of your fears.
“The problem I see with that is, if I agree to it, I’m letting you give in to your fears. Not to any real dangers actually confronting you, not to something that we can see is an actual problem, but just to what might happen. And I don’t think that’s the right thing to do. You’ve taken a little thing, a boy paging you because he needs help, and turned it into this huge dragon that’s going to eat you up and you’ve decided you’re defenseless against it. It’s all powerful, and you’re weak little Matt. And you want me to support you in this.
“And I almost can agree to do it, because I don’t want you going to school scared. But it would be wrong, Matt. We can’t let our fears control us. We need to be smart, and react correctly to real danger. But if we let fear keep us from doing things that should be done, that are the right things to do, we become weak, and we don’t develop any sense of self-esteem. If we don’t try something because we’re afraid of it, then we deny ourselves the opportunity to deal with the thing when it happens and so prove to ourselves we were strong or smart or resourceful enough to deal with it. We let the fear control our actions. You can see that, can’t you?”
He paused, looking at me, wanting a response. I looked into my cereal bowl and didn’t say a word.
When he saw I wasn’t going to respond, he continued. “You hurt Kevin. He probably will need some help with some things because he’s hurt. It’s right for you to help him, because you caused him his problems. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Another pause, another silence.
It didn’t seem to deter him any. “So I think we should go ahead with what I said yesterday.” I felt my shoulders sag when he said that, but didn’t raise my eyes. If he saw my body language, he didn’t react to it, but just plowed ahead.
“I think we should set up the paging system, and let him call you when he needs to. If he needs you, you should be there for him. That’s the proper thing to do. For him, whom you hurt, and for you, to overcome your fears and prove to yourself you’re strong enough to do it, and to take responsibility for handling the consequences of your actions. At the same time, you and I need to monitor the situation. Because if what you’re worried about does begin to happen, we need to nip it in the bud. I’d hope you’d be able to do that all by yourself, as it would be good for you. But if not, I’ll help. I absolutely don’t want you getting hurt. I absolutely do not want you afraid to go to school.
“If what you’re fearing does happen, or even if you see it looks like it’s going to happen, then we’ll deal with that at that time, and we’ll be dealing with reality, not worries. But what you’re worrying about isn’t going to happen all at once. He’s not going to page you one time, and have you respond, and have your whole life as you know it fall apart. It simply can’t work that way. So we’re going to do this. And evaluate it as it goes along. And Matt, I’m not doing this to hurt you, or embarrass you, or to cause you misery, or to be mean. I’m doing this so you can help Kevin, who will probably need that. And I’m doing it so you can see the consequences of your actions and take responsibility for them. And I’m doing it so you can overcome some very real fear you have.”
He said that, then sat back and looked at me. I’d stopped eating. Actually, my stomach had become a hard knot, and swallowing no longer seemed possible.
So he was going to do it. He was going to throw me to the wolves.
At least I didn’t start crying. What I did instead was stand up and go up to my room to collect my things. I was feeling a little shaky, a little spacey. I wanted to argue with him, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. I knew I’d have to at least give this a shot. He thought he knew kids, he thought he knew how the school worked. He didn’t understand how little it took for a kid to go from being a cool kid, or just an average, ignored kid but at least one that fit in, to being a pariah or a joke or a target. Everything he’d said had sounded so reasonable, so damned adult. But kids don’t react like adults expect us to. We don’t think like adults. It was fine and good to talk about facing up to your fears, not giving in to them. It was especially fine and good when they weren’t your fears, but someone else’s, and you were talking to him, not being him.
I knew he believed what he’d said. But I was the one who had to live with it if all his reasonable thinking blew up in my face.
I got my things and came back down stairs.
“Matt?” He was calling me from the kitchen. It was probably childish of me, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I just opened the front door, stepped out, pulled the door closed, and started walking to school.
◊ ◊
At gym, I didn’t dress out. Instead, when I walked into the locker room, my dad was waiting, and he told me to go into his office and wait for him. I did that. I walked in, and it was empty, so I sat in one of the chairs.
A few minutes later, he came in and he wasn’t alone. He brought Kevin with him. Kevin had a bruise on the side of his face that was discolored, and his left wrist was in a cast and he was wearing a sling. I winced when I saw him, and my stomach felt queasy. I’d done this. I’d hurt this kid this badly. This was the reality of what I’d done. Standing there, he looked even smaller than I remembered. For that moment at least, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and thought of what he was going through, and I felt like a pile of shit.
He glanced at me when he walked in, then quickly looked away. My dad asked him to sit down. The only other chair besides my father’s was right next to me. He looked at it, then reached out with his good hand, took hold of the back of it, and dragged it away from me as far as he reasonably could, then sat down, never looking at me the entire time.
My father watched him do this, then took his own seat behind his desk. Then, with us all seated, he looked at me and said, “Matt, is there anything you’d like to say to Kevin?”
I’d been looking at Kevin, who had his eyes looking down at his lap. “Kevin, I’m really—” I started, but my voice sounded funny, all cramped up and hoarse. I cleared my throat and tried again.
“Kevin, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I did mean to push you, but didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I don’t know what else to say, but, well, I’m just so sorry.”
By the time I finished, by voice was almost breaking. What made it worse was, he wouldn’t look at me. I was hoping he’d look up and I’d see forgiveness in his eyes, see how upset I was that I’d hurt him, but he didn’t. He just kept looking at his lap.
My father waited for him to respond, but he didn’t. Finally, my dad said, “Kevin, the nurse told me your wrist was broken. Does it still hurt you at all?”
Kevin looked up at him very briefly, then said in a small voice, a much different voice from how I’d ever heard him use before, “I have some pills.”
“Well, that’s good then. I’m sorry about this, too, Kevin. And I know Matt really means what he says. He was very upset about the whole thing last night. We talked about it for some time. What I want to do, what Matt wants to do too, is to provide you with any help you need because of your wrist. Some things will be difficult for you, and if you need help when you aren’t in class, any help at all, Matt has agreed to provide it. Here.”
He got another pager out of his desk and reached out with it to Kevin. Kevin looked up at it, then back down. He didn’t reach to take it.
My father set it on the edge of his desk, then spoke again. “This is a text pager that you can use to call Matt. He’ll drop whatever he’s doing and come if you need him. You can type in where you are so he can quickly find you. If you’re at a locker, type in L and the locker number. If you’re at the gym, type in G, and then something else to identify the exact location, like maybe NW for the northwest corner. The same way with any other location at school, just abbreviate where you are, and he’ll find you.
“You won’t be dressing out at gym for a while. You can either sit on the sidelines and watch, or you can spend the time in the library, doing homework or reading or whatever. It’s your choice.
“I guess that’s all I have to say.” He stood up, and so Kevin and I did, too. My father picked up the pager and handed it to Kevin, and he didn’t have much choice, he took it and slipped it into his pocket without looking at it. Then he simply turned around, walked out of the office, and kept going. I watched him through my dad’s office door as he left the locker room. He looked so small. He didn’t have any life in his step. His head was still looking down as he walked. He opened the locker room door, then didn’t push through it like a normal kid, but turned so his back was against it, pushed it open that way, then when he was through it, sort of rolled off it and let it close behind him. I looked up at my father, he looked back at me, and I felt a huge sadness come over me. I was no longer worried about what I’d look like to the school when Kevin paged me. I was worried about Kevin.