I know you haven’t given it any notice, there’s no reason for you to have, but I haven’t mentioned any of my friends in this, other than the two C’s I usually ate lunch with. There’s a reason for this. I don’t really have any.
Now before you start thinking I’m some kind of a loser or have personality problems or am ugly, none of that’s true. There are several reasons for not having friends, and I don’t want to go into them now. I mean, Riley moved away a couple years ago, but why would you want to hear about that, and Gerry, well, anyway, I don’t really have any friends to hang with right now. I don’t want to talk about how my mom’s always on me about that either, if that’s okay.
I spent the weekend practicing my clarinet, doing stuff around the house that my mom and dad were too lazy to do and made me do instead, talking to my mom some and then catching up on some homework I’d been ignoring.
The talking to my mom some came first. “Matt,” she started, after I’d got comfortable on the couch in her office Saturday morning, “why is your dad hearing from your teachers that you’re not doing much in most of your classes? That’s not like you. You got all A’s both years before this, and now you’re slacking off? Tell me about it.”
“Mom, I was going to practice now. I’m working on Weber’s 2nd Clarinet Concerto and need to practice. I don’t want to do this.”
“So tell me about it, and you can leave. You’re just delaying the inevitable.”
“The classes are harder, that’s all. No biggie.”
“Are you doing all the homework? Turning it in on time.”
“Of course.”
“Then why did your English and History teachers both tell your dad you weren’t? Why are you lying about it?”
“Mom! If you know the answer to the question you’re asking me, then you’re only asking it to get me in trouble. You’re being dishonest. That’s not fair, and shows you don’t trust me. Why should I talk to you if you’re not going to believe what I say? This is crazy. It’s pointless. I’m going upstairs.”
“Sit down, Matthew. We haven’t finished. We’ve hardly begun. And don’t raise your voice again. Is that understood?”
“I understand you’re meddling in my business and I don’t want you to. I understand I’ve got all A’s before so you should trust me to do it again, not have Dad go behind my back and ask my teachers about me. What I understand is, if you’ve got questions, you should come to me first.”
“I am coming to you. That’s what we’re doing right now. Dad didn’t go to those teachers, they came to him. They said you didn’t talk much in class, never volunteered, never raised your hand during discussions, and weren’t turning in your homework. They said you weren’t acting like an A student, and maybe not even a C one. No one went behind your back. So drop the attitude.
“We’re only a month into the school year. There’s still time to get caught up. But I want to know what you’re thinking, falling behind like this. This isn’t like you, but you’ve been different since school began. I’ve let it go because I thought you were just trying out a different way to do things, to act, but now you’re upset a lot and I find out you’re not performing in school. So we’re going to talk about it, and you’re going to tell me what’s going on. And you can try to change the subject, and try getting angry with me, and use all those other tricks my patients use, and you can waste as much time as you want, and then when you’re tired of that you can tell me what’s happening and we can talk about it.”
It’s not much fun having a mother who’s a child psychologist. She knows more about teenage rebellion than I do, has had more experience dealing with it, and is smarter than I am. That’s not to say I can’t outfox her at times, but I have to try really hard and have my heart in it. She can see through lying teenagers better than even my teachers can, and they’re experts. Usually, with her, I don’t even bother.
I figured I could continue beating around the bush, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. It was embarrassing to really talk about why I was goofing off, but embarrassing or not, she was going to have her way, one way or another, and while we could go to war over this if I chose, I’d end up a wartime casualty for sure, and things would be tense in the house, and in the end, I’d talk. So why not now?
I know I sound like a wimp when I say this. I keep telling you how I’m giving in to both my parents all the time. Well, you have to trust me. I’ve been there, done that. They’re bigger than I am, and it’s better all around if I cave. Someone said something about people not knowing history having to repeat it. I knew all about my history with trying defiance on them. It hadn’t been pretty.
Also, for the past couple of years, I’d got used to doing this, to caving. It was easier for me to give in without a battle because I’d done it so often before. I think she’d conditioned me, like that drooling dog Pavlov was always abusing with that damn bell. That dog must have learned to hate that bell. That might not have been drool Dr. Pavlov wrote about; it might have been rabid froth.
“I got tired of being the teacher’s son who is one of the smart kids that everyone treats like the prize dork, okay? No one wants to hang with a kid they think will tell everything he hears to all the teachers and principal. It just makes it worse if I get straight A’s. So this year I decided I was going to fit in better. I’m hanging with some kids that don’t do much, and I like it. Not much pressure, and I’m not hearing the remarks I used to hear. Instead of being the kid the other guys ask for the homework so they can copy it right before class, now I don’t have it done. They don’t ask me for it any more; they’ve learned I didn’t do it either. They don’t treat me like I’m one of the smart kids, one of the brownnoses, any more, either. It’s like I’m just one of the crowd, like everyone else. I’m one of them, which is what I want.
“They’re already starting to think that’s more or less what I am. That’s what I’m shooting for. It’s not a big deal at all, you know? I’ll let everyone get used to me being this way, and then maybe bring my grades up just a little at the end of the year.”
Silence. That was not good. It meant she was thinking, and that often resulted in bad things. Like me going calling on Kevin’s mother.
And then, “Matt, you’re telling me you’re trying to be someone you’re not. That doesn’t ever work, you know. We’ve talked about being yourself. This could be part of why you’ve been so upset lately. It never works, trying to be someone you’re not, trying to hide who you really are.”
“I’m tired of not being liked, not fitting in at school. Of being different.”
“You’d rather be liked for being someone you’re not? Come on, Matt. You know that won’t work.”
“It’s working so far.”
“The friends you make this way, the acceptance you get, will all be fake. It’ll be based on
something that’s false, and so there won’t be any honesty to it, it won’t mean anything. And it
won’t satisfy, and it won’t last. You’ll be spending time getting friends you won’t really
like, because they don’t share your interests or talents or values; they aren’t really the sort of
people you want around you. The people who you say are now accepting you, the ones you’ve made friends
with—think about them for a minute. Do you really like them? Do you want to spend time with them?”
I thought about Cliff and Chris. There wasn’t really anyone else that I spent any time at all with, and I
didn’t spend more than lunch with them. But I thought about them. We had as much in common as pineapples and
Frisbies. But they were warm bodies, weren’t a bit challenging, and I wasn’t alone when I ate with
them.
“It’s a start, Mom.”
She sighed. “I wish you’d said something earlier, Matt. I wish you weren’t so reticent. Look, I know I can’t control your friends and the way you act at school or much of anything else. You’re 16, almost ready to be on your own, on the verge of being grown up, just starting to gain some maturity, and I have to let you experiment. That’s the way you learn. I’m proud of you, all you’ve come through; you’ve kept a good head on your shoulders, you’ve maintained your spirit. You’re a great kid, and other people are going to see it. You need to find the right kids to make friends with.” She looked at me, but I didn’t reply. She sighed again. “Okay, I won’t beat that horse any more right now.
“But,” she said, recovering her focus, “while I can’t control a lot of things, I can control some things still, and one of them is, you’re going to stop this farce about being an average student or less. You’re going to start doing your schoolwork again, you’re going to participate in class, and you’re going to get as many A’s as you can, come January. You will start raising your hand in class when it’s appropriate because your dad is going to ask if you’ve been doing that and he’d better be hearing yes answers. And, I think this means you have some work to get started on.”
As I said, I spent some time that weekend catching up on some homework.
-- [] ---
I was in the band room Monday during study hall. I had gotten permission. Mr. Tollini had seen me in the hall and asked if I could come talk to him during my study hall, then had written me a note to hand to the teacher.
I walked in and immediately glanced at the board. Habit. GREAT STAFF, LEDGER LINE, DOT. Some days he’s more inspired than others. At least I wouldn’t have to pull out my dictionary of musical terms today.
He was in his office. He pointed at the chair, and I sat down.
“I just wanted to talk a while, Matt. How’s it going?”
“Great, Mr. Tollini. Hey, I liked what we did Friday night. I appreciate you having me play something other than the clarinet in the marching band. I actually had fun, playing the glockenspiel and marching with everyone else.”
“I’m glad, Matt. I was hoping it would be fun for you. I don’t see you smile as much as I’d like. We’ve still got six more weeks of marching band, more than half the season, and I’m hoping you’ll stay with us for all of it. You can even act as a band officer if you’d like. We don’t have one in the percussion section.”
“No, no, I don’t want to be anything but just another player. That was part of the fun, not having to do anything but just act like all the other kids. Ross helped me, and that made it easier.”
“I saw you talking to Becky afterwards.”
Oops! Where did that come from? And, is that all he saw? If he was looking at me when we were talking, he could have seen something else. I quickly looked into his eyes, and didn’t see anything hidden there. I hoped he didn’t see the fear in mine.
“Yeah, she helped me adjust my harness.”
“Do you know her at all?”
Huh? Why was he talking about this, asking me about Becky? I wondered if maybe this was why he’d called me in. And I had no idea what it was all about. I’d never had a conversation like this with Mr. Tollini before.
“Not really. I know who she is. We hadn’t even spoken before Friday night.”
He looked like he wanted to keep asking questions, but hesitated. Probably looking for the right words. Before he could think of them, I said, “Uh, why do you ask?”
Then he looked just a little embarrassed. “Well, it’s really not my place to even be talking to you about this, Matt. But, well, look, Becky is my niece. She’s my sister’s kid. She’s a really nice girl, but she got a boyfriend last year, and like some girls do, she fell for him really hard. Then they broke up. She’s been hurting. It’s affected her personality a little. She used to be so upbeat and confident, even a little cocky, but she’s been a lot quieter since then. And not as sure of herself. She used to be so perky, and funny. She’d tease me all the time. She doesn’t do that any more. I don’t see her smiling much.”
I was going to say something, but didn’t have the chance. He’d gotten his momentum back.
“I saw you talking to her Friday night. I saw her laugh a couple of times. That’s the most I’ve seen her do that since her break-up. It really made me feel good, and I just wanted, well, I don’t know, I wanted to talk to you about it.”
Now he looked really embarrassed.
“Mr. Tollini, we just spoke for a couple of moments. I don’t even know her. We probably won’t even speak again. You don’t have to worry about me trying to get with her at all or make a pass at her or anything like that. We’re not even friends, really.”
“Matt! No, you’re misunderstanding! I’m doing this all wrong.” He actually was blushing a little. I was confused, however. I didn’t know what he wanted.
“Matt, I don’t want to discourage you from being friends with her. Just the opposite. She needs friends. When she got with her boyfriend, she spent too much time with him, all her time, actually, and her friends started thinking she was stuck up, and that she felt she was too good for them and didn’t care about them any more, and they abandoned her. Girls can be funny that way. They can be really vicious towards each other. She didn’t mind they’d left her; she was spending all her time with Rob. I don’t think she even noticed. Well, now that she’s broken up, they’re sort of gloating about it, rubbing it in, and being even worse. That’s part of why she’s depressed. She’s hurting. She’d been moping a bit, until Friday night. That’s the first time I’ve seen her acting a little bit more like she used to since, well . . . .
He paused. I could feel his indecision.
“Matt, I probably shouldn’t have, but I called you in here today to see if maybe I could talk to you and maybe you could try to be friends with her. She needs that, and it would help her. Look, I know you. Better than most of my students. You’d be perfect to be her friend. You’re kind and sensitive and smart, and I’ve never seen you hitting on any of the girls, and that’s exactly what she needs right now, a guy who’ll be a friend and not be trying to put the moves on her while she’s recovering and getting her confidence back.”
I had never had a conversation with a teacher like this before. I was a little shocked, and didn’t know what to say. I also wondered a little about him sort of assuming I didn’t have any moves, or wouldn’t use them if I did, but knew that wasn’t what he meant. Or assumed it wasn’t.
“What exactly did you want me to do, Mr. Tollini? I’m not really into dating, I, I, well, I haven’t done that yet, and I don’t even know how to approach a pretty girl like Becky.” Oops. Did I really say that? I’d been talking too much to my mother, where I was supposed to open up like that. I started blushing.
Mr. Tollini smiled. He put his hand on my shoulder very briefly. “Matt, I know you’re a little shy. But, if I can say so without embarrassing you any more than you already are, you’re a good-looking guy; you don’t have anything at all to worry about. Becky obviously is comfortable with you already or she wouldn’t have spoken to you Friday night, and really, all you have to do is strike up a conversation, about anything, the next time you see her alone. That’ll probably be the next time you see her, because she’s usually alone. She needs friends, Matt. She’s all alone, and that’s most of the problem.”
“All right, Mr. Tollini.” I gulped, at least figuratively. I was awful at this. What did I just commit myself to?
He sighed, a faked huge sigh, then chuckled. “Thanks, Matt. I was embarrassed, calling you in, talking about this. I really didn’t have the right to do this, and I know I’m taking advantage of our relationship. But it’s working out just as I hoped. I really appreciate you giving this a try, Matt. For both me and Becky.”
He stood up and stuck out his hand. I wasn’t used to shaking hands with adults, but that’s obviously what he wanted, so I stood up, and we shook. Then he clapped me on the back and thanked me for coming in to talk with him, and I went back to what was left of my study hall.
◊ ◊
I’d picked up my tray and was walking to my table when I saw Becky. She was eating her lunch, but no one was sitting with her. I hesitated. I really wasn’t good at barging in. Mr. Tollini had told me I was shy. He was a really good guy, and I liked him a lot, but he didn’t know shit about me if he thought I was shy. I’m not shy. I’m just real cautious is all. I’m one of these strong and silent type men, and I don’t like to impose on other people, or interrupt them if they’re busy, stuff like that. I had all kinds of reasons why I acted like it did. My mom called them justifications, but what did she know, really?
Becky was busy eating. She might not like some kid she hardly knew just walking up to her.
Okay, even I could realize that was bullshit. I should stop doing that. She was eating by herself, and having done that a lot myself, I knew how embarrassing it was, how it looked to other kids. I remembered how glad I’d been when I’d taken a chance and sat down with the two C’s and they hadn’t made any remarks about it. Becky would probably be happy if I’d sit down with her. I thought to myself that I could sit down with her and probably make her happy, or I could sit down with the two C’s and Cliff might grunt at me and probably Chris wouldn’t even bother to do that.
It still took me a moment to gather my courage. I was always a little afraid of rejection. But I made my feet walk in her direction, and then I was there.
She looked up, and smiled. Actually, it was a pretty big smile.
“Hi, Becky. Could I sit here?”
“Hi, Matt. Sure.” I could hear enthusiasm in her voice, which took some of my tension away.
Now I had to think of something to say. Quickly, before there was a pause. Think. Think. I glanced at my tray. “What’s the meat today?” Yeah, that was clever.
“I think it’s road kill.” She giggled. “I saw the janitors out in front of the school today with shovels and a pail. Definitely road kill.”
“Harvesting again this morning, huh? Hey, I hope I got the possum! Last time it was the squirrel and it was a little bony and a lot gamy and, between you and me, I don’t think it was all that fresh. Probably been percolating in the sun awhile. What really put me off was that one of the eyes kept looking at me reproachfully. The possum should be better. I hope they got all the hair off today.”
She laughed outright. I smiled. I loved it when I could make someone laugh.
She was looking at me when she laughed, looking into my eyes, and then she started blushing. I couldn’t figure out why, and she saw the question in my eyes, because she said, “I was thinking of Friday night, in the band room.”
Then it was my turn to blush.
“I’m sorry, Matt. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. The picture just came to mind, and I blushed. I won’t think about it any more, okay?”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’ll think of something else. Hey, you’ve got Carstairs for AP Math, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I’m in the same class you are, dummy!”
She laughed, and we started talking about some of Mrs. Carstairs’ idiosyncrasies, of which there are a lot, and then other things. While we were talking, I took the opportunity to really look at her. She was totally pretty, with dark brown eyes that seemed really intense, short cut dark hair that was slightly curly and looked messy in a cute and controlled sort of way, and a dark complexion that seemed to glow. I couldn’t figure out why such a beautiful girl with an engaging personality like she had wouldn’t have friends. Kids can be so weird for the nuttiest reasons about other kids. Way too soon it was time for our next classes.
My mom always told me it was easy to make friends. You just have to start talking to someone. I hate it when she’s right.
We walked to the window and deposited our trays. As we were about to walk back inside, I suddenly realized, I’d gone the whole lunch period without thinking of Kevin. Wow! This was the first time I’d done that since he’d been hurt. I glanced back over my shoulder to where he’d been sitting recently, and he was there. He wasn’t just there, he was there and he was staring at me. And if looks could kill, I’d be well past the last rites stage.
◊ ◊
I slammed the door when I got home, but for the first time in the recent past it wasn’t out of anger, depression or frustration. I was in a hurry and just swung it too hard.
My mother looked up from some papers she was reading. “Matt?”
“Oops, sorry. It slipped. I’m just changing clothes, grabbing a bite and I’m off.”
“Well, you’ve always been a little off.”
“MOM!”
She laughed. She was smiling at me, and I wasn’t sure why.
I went into the kitchen, got a can of Dr Pepper and a banana, then went up to my room and changed. That might seem weird, because I took off my jeans and tee shirt and put on jeans and a tee shirt. But the ones I wore to school were my good jeans and tee shirt, and the ones I put on now were my comfortable jeans and tee shirt. My after-school jeans and tee shirt. Maybe you have to be 16 to get it.
I was headed out when my mom asked where I was going. I did not want to be questioned about it, or even to discuss it, but years of training prevented me from lying.
“I’m going over to Becky Spargas’ house. I’ll be back before dinner.”
“Okay, have fun.”
What? That was it? I didn’t wait to see. I was out the door then, in case my real mom happened out of wherever she was hiding to replace this imposter.
I’d learned that Becky lived only a few blocks from me. I rode my bike over and was there in less than five minutes. I felt a little funny when I got there. But I’d been invited, and it wasn’t as if I was calling on a girl like this was sort of a boy/girl thing. It had been fun talking to her at lunch, and she’d asked me to come over after school, and I was doing that. If there was any sort of romantic tension, I was missing it. And from what Mr. Tollini had said, I didn’t think there was. I think she needed a friend, and I was willing. Maybe, just maybe, and excuse me, Mom, I needed one, too.
Still, it felt funny. When I was younger, I’d ride my bike to my friend’s house, drop it anywhere on the front lawn and not give it a thought, then bounce up to the door and ring the bell, or sometime even just holler. Now, I couldn’t just drop my bike on the lawn; it seemed sort of undignified. I kicked down the kickstand and stood the bike out of the way next to their steps, then walked up onto the front porch stoop and rang the doorbell.
Becky answered, a big smile on her face. We went into the kitchen where she had already made sandwiches and had them waiting.
“Do you want to eat them here, or take them up to my room?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Let’s go upstairs. My mom’s home and I don’t know when she’ll pop in here, and I want to show you my room anyway.”
We each grabbed our plates and drinks and went upstairs.
Her room was a girl’s room. You knew it as soon as you walked in. It was a teenager’s room, but a girl teenager. The colors of the walls, the furniture, the decorations, the smell, it wasn’t a boy’s room. In one regard, it was the same. It was messy. Papers were on the desk and the floor and the chair and the dresser. Clothes were strewn around, too. I even saw a bra on the floor. She saw it too and kicked it under the bed. She saw me looking, and started to blush.
“Hey, you saw much more than that, Friday night. I lived through that, though it still surprises me that I did. Seeing a bra on the floor is much less than that. Don’t worry about it.”
“I guess that was something of an icebreaker, wasn’t it? Matt, I want to say something. Thanks for coming over, and thanks for sitting down at lunch. And thanks for being the friend you’re going to be. I’ve watched you, and think I know you. But before we go any further, let me say, I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I don’t think you’re looking for a girlfriend, either, but if you are, I wanted to be up front, telling you that’s not what I want right now. And it doesn’t have anything to do with you. You’d make a great boyfriend. A really great one, actually. But I’m not ready. What I want is a friend I can talk to, someone I can trust, someone I like and who’ll be there for me, and I can say anything I want and it’ll never be broadcast to the rest of the school, and who I can treat that way too. I used to have a best friend, and I lost her, and I miss that. I guess I don’t miss her, exactly, because I learned that she wasn’t the friend I thought she was. But the feeling I had, when I thought she was my best friend, I really need that. I think we can be like that, if you want.
“Maybe I’m coming on too strong. Maybe I should just let us be together a little and see if it grows that way. I didn’t want to mislead you, however, and I think it would be easy to do that if I didn’t say this first. I think people should be honest with each other. You’re so good looking, and smart, and you don’t have anyone, and I could fall for you so easily, but that’s not where I am right now. I need a friend much more than a boyfriend. A friend with no thoughts of sex involved.”
Then she blushed, and said, “I think I’m sounding like my mother, or a TV show. I don’t know how else to say this, though, and I want to be very up front with you.”
She stopped. I was watching her as she was saying all this, and marveling at her courage. I might feel that way about some things, but would never be able to say them, certainly not to someone I didn’t know very well. Becky always had seemed to me to be someone who said what she thought. I really admired people who could do that. They had way more self-esteem than I did.
I’d always thought that good-looking people just naturally had more confidence. Becky was sure good looking. She was gorgeous, actually, one of the prettiest girls in school. She was slender with a really attractive build, not too big, not too little, she dressed nicely, she had short, very dark hair that sometimes looked like there were reddish highlights in it, sometimes didn’t, and that was always shiny and was sometimes brushed out in a cut that was more a boy’s style than a girl’s, but more frequently was as it was today, just sort of all over the place and messy, but didn’t look as messy as it did really good. I don’t know, I don’t know how to describe girls’ hairdos very well. I’ve never tried to before. So shoot me. Her face was beautiful, or maybe just awfully cute, I wasn’t sure about stuff like that, but I know it, she, was really attractive. She was in the top ten girls in school for looks. Maybe the top five.
She was looking at me, expecting me to say something. So I did. “Becky, I’m not the most articulate kid around. I can’t talk like you can, say everything I’m thinking. I don’t talk about myself much. But one thing I can do is be your friend. I seem to be just like you, out of friends at the moment, and I’d like someone to hang with too.
“As far as the other thing, I’m not looking for a girlfriend. I think you’re one of the prettiest girls at school, so it’s sure possible I’ll feel differently one day, but being able to be friends, and talk about anything, and not worry about us being together in that way, I’d really like that. And I like the fact I know you’ll talk about anything you want to talk about, like, well, like what happened Friday night. I’d never be able to talk about that, even though it’s just a normal thing. But if you start talking about things like that, then I can join in. I never would, otherwise. So being with you will be liberating for me, and I think I need that.”
“Uh, Matt, is that an example of you not being articulate, of you not saying what you think? Because if it
is, I wonder what a person who likes to talk about his feelings would be like?”
She grinned, and I sort of blushed a little. But I felt comfortable with her, really comfortable, and that was
unusual for me. I wondered a little if it was because she’d seen me with a boner. I didn’t know. I
hadn’t had enough experience around girls to know if that made any difference or not. I did think her
matter-of-fact attitude, not being afraid to discuss it but not teasing me or making a big deal of it, helped.
I hadn’t had a friend for a couple years. I felt so good, talking to her, being relaxed with her. We talked about school, about band, about kids we both knew. She had strong opinions about things. I did too, but never was able to express them. It was all in my head. Tentatively, I began saying things I’d kept inside. It felt strange at first, and I did a lot of testing of the waters, looking for reactions from her.
When I left, a couple hours later, I rode home in the best mood I’d been in for ages. I couldn’t really remember feeling this happy before. I had a friend now. And because of that, I was feeling something else, too. I was feeling joy.