As I said, I have a large bedroom. Along with my computer desk, I have several bookcases and shelves where my games and CDs and DVDs and books are kept, and I also have a worktable. It’s great for studying because I can lay several books and notebooks out all at once. There are a couple of chairs that go with it. I think my Dad thought I’d have friends over to study with me, and more than one chair would be needed. I’d never used the second chair but was glad I had it now.
Kevin finally ran out of things to look at. He turned and looked at me, and didn’t say anything, just stood there looking. From his expression, I had the idea he was waiting for me to start in, but was giving me time and wasn’t pushing. I knew he was smart. I’d seen it when we were talking to his mother. I’d told him I didn’t want to do this, and he’d seen I was nervous. It wasn’t surprising he knew how I felt. What did surprise me a little was that if he was letting me set the pace here because he knew I was nervous. That meant there was some compassion in him, maybe some sensitivity I hadn’t realized was there.
I got up and walked over to my table and sat down in the chair I always used. I pointed at the other one, and he came over and sat down.
He set his can of Dr Pepper next to him. I’d already finished mine.
I didn’t know how to start. What I was going to do, right then, was to show him I wasn’t the person I’d been pretending to be. I was giving something up on the slight chance it would make him like me. I didn’t see how that was going to happen, but I didn’t see what choice I had, either.
The silence had been growing. Finally, I said, “This is hard, Kevin.”
He didn’t reply, just looked to me with those dark, deep eyes. I didn’t see anything in them. I couldn’t read him.
I sighed, and began.
“When I started ninth grade, freshman year, I was about your size. I hadn’t had a growth spurt yet. Like everyone else, I was coming from an eighth grade class where I was one of the big guys. In my case, I wasn’t much bigger than the seventh graders, but all the kids knew me at that school, knew I was an eighth grader, and treated me like an eighth grader because of that.
“I had a problem right off the bat. I’d been a little shy growing up. I only really had two friends. Riley and I were best friends, and that was enough for me. Riley had another friend, Gerry, who lived next door to him. He spent some time with us, and he became my friend too, but we didn’t have as much in common as Riley and I did, and we didn’t develop the bond Riley and I had. During the summer before I entered ninth egrade, Riley moved away. His father was transferred by his company. I hadn’t realized just how devastating that was going to be for me. I went from having a pretty much constant companion to having no one.
“After Riley left, I spent the next couple days at home, practicing the clarinet, swimming in the pool, reading, and getting progressively more bored. Finally, I rode my bike to Gerry’s house. He was a lot more athletic than either Riley or I, so he had other friends. When I got to his house, he was shooting baskets in his driveway with a couple other kids I sort of knew. Gerry was happy to see me, probably because we could now play two on two.
“I wasn’t any good at basketball. I was short, not very strong, and just not much into athletics. I got put on Gerry’s team, and we got slaughtered. Gerry wanted to change teams, so we did, and my team got slaughtered again. When we changed so everyone had had an opportunity to play matched with everyone else, the results were the same. My team always lost, and badly.
“I really didn’t care. I was with the other kids and just playing. The other three, though, were taking it more seriously. The last game, I was with a kid named Scott Tanner. He was the biggest kid there, and he’d won the first two games, and now had me on his team. Gerry and the other kid were teasing him, telling him that now he was going down, and Scott didn’t like the teasing. He was real competitive. He was convinced he was going to win, and told the other two that.
“He didn’t win. He tried. He tried by not giving me the ball on offense. He took all the shots, did all the dribbling, just shut me out. What that resulted in was both Gerry and the other kid double-teaming him, and even though he was bigger, he wasn’t good enough to beat them both. He got so frustrated, once or twice he passed the ball to me. I was wide open under the basket, but missed the two shots I took. This infuriated Scott.
“He started yelling at me, which shocked me. I thought we were all just having fun. I’d seen his growing frustration but hadn’t thought he was as upset as he really was. I sure found out just how mad he was, though. When he finally lost, he started yelling at me, calling me lots of names, and then started calling Gerry names for having a dumb-ass dork like me for a friend.
“The thing was, Gerry and I really weren’t very good friends, and suddenly there was pressure on Gerry. Should he stand up for me, be my friend, or side with Scott? I could see indecision in his eyes, but it wasn’t there for long.
“They decided to go in the house for drinks. I was walking with them, behind them, when Scott said, ‘Hey dork, you didn’t do enough to deserve a drink. Huh, Gerry?’ and laughed.
“Gerry was caught. He didn’t want to agree, but Scott repeated, “Huh, Gerry, isn’t that right?”
Gerry didn’t know what to do, I could see it in his eyes, but knew his friendship with Scott was being put on the line. It was me or Scott, and it was decision time. He had to choose, and he did. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s right,’ he said.
“Scott now had support. He turned to me and said, ‘Why don’t you get out of here. We don’t want you around. Beat it.’
“I was stunned. It was suddenly three against one, and I was the one. I’d never had much confidence anyway in social situations, and now I was looking at three boys, only one of whom I knew well, and none of them gave any sign they wanted me there.
“What could I do? I simply looked at Gerry again. He had a blank expression. I turned around, went and got my bike, and rode home, feeling really empty inside. I’d never been rejected before. But there was even more than that. As of that moment, I didn’t have any more friends. I felt really bad about myself.
“It was a week later that school started. I didn’t know anyone, really. I knew the names of some of the kids that came from my eighth grade, but I wasn’t really friends with them, and they all had their own friends. So I began high school, ninth grade, at a large school not knowing anyone, being small and not athletic, and not very good in social situations. I guess by that I mean, I was still shy. And I didn’t have the slightest idea how to make any friends.”
I stopped. Kevin was looking at me steadily. He appeared to be transfixed by my story. At least he hadn’t got up and walked out on me yet. I took that as a good sign. I must not have looked as pathetic as I felt.
I knew I had to keep going. If I stopped, I didn’t think I could get started again. At that time in my life, in ninth grade, I’d learned to hate myself. Talking about it was bringing the black feelings back.
“I was pretty much a nobody at school. That isn’t so bad. A lot of kids are nobodies. There was only one place where I felt I could hold my own, and that was band. I found out even there, I was still a nobody. I played in the marching band, because that’s what they have early in the year. They don’t have concert band till football season is over. So I played in the marching band. The officers are kind of hard on the freshmen. I’d heard they used to be much harder than they were in my first year, but Mr. Tollini put a stop to much of the harassment. But I still got yelled at a lot because I didn’t know what I was doing. It hurt, because I was looking forward to kids seeing I could play. I was proud of my ability to play clarinet. Then I found out, I couldn’t be heard, so whether I could play or not didn’t make any difference. All they cared about was that I marched well and could remember to get where I was supposed to in the formations and get there quickly. And I couldn’t do either.
“I guess when I say I wasn’t very athletic, I was still overstating it a bit. I really was sort of clumsy. I was just starting puberty, my body didn’t seem to do what I wanted it to, and marching eight steps to exactly five yards was difficult for me. It was especially hard with some big senior yelling at me when I didn’t do it right. And I don’t know why, I mean generally I’m pretty bright, but I had a hard time remembering where I was supposed to be in each formation. I think it was simply that I was scared of screwing up, but I kept forgetting, and was confused a lot, and during practice the officers did a lot of reminding me what a dork I was. I learned to hate marching band. I started worrying about going to it before I had to go, which made being there even worse. It was terrible.
“I did okay in my classes, but instead of this being good, the other kids decided I was a kiss ass. I raised my hand a lot and answered a lot of questions, till I found out the other kids thought I was playing up to the teachers. Some of the jocks let me know I shouldn’t be doing that so much. A couple elbows in the ribs in the halls, coupled with remarks about, ‘Maybe you shouldn’t be putting your hand up so much, asshole,’ and I figured it out.
“So nothing was working out too well for me, and I started hating school. My dad and mom and I have always been close, and they expected me to do well at school. I was embarrassed that I was having problems, and when they’d ask how I was doing, I sort of told them everything was fine, and they believed me because I’d always told them the truth in the past. But in reality, I’d come to hate going to school. The other kids either ignored me or actively disliked me and let me know about it. Band was awful because I was intimidated and hated all the marching and no one cared whether I could play or not, the one thing I was proud of, and I didn’t have anyone to eat with at lunch, and, well, it just wasn’t a happy time for me.
“And that’s when I did something really stupid, something that I’m still living with.”
I stopped. Kevin’s eyes were still glued to me, like he was hearing the best story he’d ever heard. I told him I needed more to drink. My voice was a little shaky. I asked him if he was still thirsty and wanted anything more, and he shook his head. I told him I’d be back in a minute, and went downstairs. I did want the drink, but I wanted a break, too. I got a can out of the refrigerator, and then used the downstairs bathroom, too. I have one off my bedroom, but used the downstairs one. It seemed more private.
I wasn’t feeling real good. I was telling this, but reliving it too, and that forced me to revisit the feelings I’d had back then. I’d put all those feelings behind me. Opening them back up again was like pulling a scab off a partly healed wound. The wound had started hurting again, and with what was coming next, it would soon be bleeding.
I went back upstairs with my drink. I put it on the table. Kevin didn’t look like he’d moved.
“You want to hear more?”
“Yes.” A pause, and then, “Please?”
I frowned. This wasn’t fun. But I just had a little more, and I could look forward to being done with it.
“I’d been there a month,” I said, continuing, “and still didn’t know anyone. I never had anyone to talk to. I think maybe being small was part of that, and of course I was shy so couldn’t really just start talking to someone else. I lacked the courage to do that. I also didn’t think much of myself so just knew if I did get the nerve to speak to someone, they’d just ignore me or laugh at me or just turn around and walk away. So I was unhappy and had developed a sour mood that accompanied me at school.
“And then came the fateful day. Up to then, the one place where I didn’t have any problems was gym. Most guys like me, they dread gym. If they’re small and awkward, they don’t fit in at all in gym. But my dad was the gym teacher, and somehow all the other kids knew that. So I was left alone. Entirely alone, without being teased. Where there were group activities, I participated the best I could, and other guys just accepted me. No one said anything. I was just one of the kids, like everyone else. So I kind of liked gym. I wasn’t quite so alone, even if no one was talking to me as an individual. I felt like part of everyone else, even if in fact I wasn’t.
“It can be really bad, if you’ve been treated like I had been so far at school, if you have no friends, if things are pretty unhappy for you, and you have some expectations that things are going to be good in your next class, and then suddenly they aren’t. And that’s what happened to me. I’d been looking forward to gym. It was Friday, the end of another bad week, and I knew at least gym would be okay. We were going to run relay races that day. I was going to be on one of the teams. Each team had eight guys. And the way it turned out, I was on a team that had both Scott and Gerry on it.
“Just like when we were playing basketball, Scott wanted to win. He was real competitive, and liked winning. When he saw me on his team, he made a sarcastic remark to Gerry, who turned to look at me. Gerry saw me, and he scowled. Scott said something else, and both of them laughed. And I got pissed.
“I don’t get mad very often, but I’d been looking forward to gym, and now this, on top of another bad day in another bad week. There was no excuse for it, I was wrong, I should have just turned away and ignored them, but I didn’t. It was totally unlike me, but I walked up to them and challenged them. I said, ‘What the hell are you laughing about?’
“They both looked startled. I never was that way, and I was a head shorter than either of them. Scott then looked at Gerry, Gerry looked back at Scott, and Gerry said, ‘Is it talking to us?’
“‘Can’t be,’ Scott answered. ‘It doesn’t have the
balls to.’
“Gerry laughed then. “‘You’re right about that. A couple of years ago I went swimming with him and Riley in his pool, and we all changed into our suits together. I looked. He doesn’t have any balls.’
“They both roared with laughter, and I got red in the face. It was just a silly remark, and I should have known that, but it was just on top of everything else, and I didn’t treat it like that. He said it, and it stung, and I couldn’t take any more stings right then. I didn’t know what to do. I got even more upset. One of the other boys walked over and asked Scott what was so funny, and Scott started to tell him. I was devastated. I was already smaller than most of the kids, and now, in my mind, I saw it was going to get around school I was deformed, that my balls weren’t right. In my mind, I felt kids were going to believe it, believe that was why I was small. I didn’t shower, like most of the freshmen, and I just knew people would start saying that was why.
“I couldn’t let him spread this around. So I did the worst thing I could have. I grabbed Scott and
yelled, “Shut up!” He looked down at me, and he could see the fear in my eyes, I’m sure. It
turned him on. He’s that type, the type who loves to have control over someone else, loves it when
they’re scared of him.
“‘I’m just telling him about your balls,’ he said, a mean glint in his eyes, then turned to the other guy.
‘He doesn’t have any balls,’ he said. ‘He’s deformed.’
“That was when I did it. ‘I’m going to tell my father,’ I said. Scott stopped. Gerry had been grinning, and he stopped doing that, too.
“‘I’m going to tell him what you’re saying, what you just said.’ I said this with anger in my voice and eyes, then turned and walked away. I was shaking. I knew as soon as I turned around, I’d committed a sin you just don’t commit. You don’t tell the teachers on other kids. We all learned that in third grade. Some of us, it took till fourth grade, but we all learned it by then. I knew this was deadly. The further I walked, the more I knew I’d just made a horrible mistake.
“And I had. From then on, I was ostracized. Before, at least I’d simply been ignored by most everyone. Now, as word quickly got around that I’d tell the teachers what was going on with us kids, I was actively shunned. Now, if I put my tray down on an occupied table to eat lunch, the other kid or kids would either tell me to go somewhere else, or get up and move themselves. When I’d walk into the bathrooms, I’d get jeered at or everyone would go silent and stare at me till I left. If a teacher was assigning partners for a project of some kind, whoever would get assigned to me would go tell the teacher they had to have a new partner. Sometimes the teacher would comply and I’d work by myself, and sometimes they’d insist the kid work with me. That always resulted in him doing part, me doing the other part, with no contact between us at all. When I was outside among other kids, they’d turn their backs when they saw me. I was a stranger, not part of anything. They made it clear I wasn’t welcome in their presence.
“Even in gym activities, kids would find ways not to participate with me. They’d lose games just to not be involved with me. It was pretty obvious, and Dad saw it happening. So he asked me about it about a few days after it had begun. I didn’t know what to do. Tell him, and be the squealer everyone thought I was, or live with what was happening?
“I tried. I told him there was a problem and I needed to work it out myself. I never had told him what Scott had said he was going to spread around. I didn’t know if Scott had done it or not. Since no one was talking to me at all, or even around me, I didn’t know what was being said about me.
“I tried to live with it, but it’s hard, when you’re thirteen, to live absolutely alone among all those other kids, feeling their scorn, knowing they hate you, knowing you’re all by yourself. The worst time was when I’d got used to being so isolated and someone would actually say something to me. When they did, it was always vicious and mean. I could usually walk away, but then, on one of my worst days, a remark hit me at just the wrong time, just when I was feeling vulnerable. Everything had been coming to a head, it had been getting to the point where I was going to break, and it finally happened. This kid, one of the football jocks, said something awful and I reacted. I let it penetrate my defenses, and it hurt. It hurt too badly for me to just walk away. I started to cry. You can’t do that. I did. The kids loved that when they saw me standing there, crying. They absolutely loved it. A crowd gathered to laugh at me weeping.
“I think I’d have happily died right then. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t stop, and I felt about as small and worthless as I possibly could have. The crowd was cheering me on, yelling things at me, and finally I sort of collapsed, slumping down onto the lawn where I was, crying harder, sort of rolling up into myself, moaning and wailing, trying to loose the hurt deep inside me, and the crowd’s jibes and chants got louder. That’s when my father pushed through the crowd to see what was happening.
“The crowd stopped, and then there was a general scattering of kids, and we were alone.
“I couldn’t stop crying, even then. He knelt down and pulled me into his arms. He held me, hugging me. Eventually I stopped crying. You always do, eventually.
“I didn’t have any choice this time. That night, Mom and Dad spoke to me, and I was forced to tell them what I’d been going through. I had to tell them everything. About Scott and Gerry, about the isolation, about who the kid was that had said the thing that got me crying that day, and what he’d said, just everything. I figured after my display today, I was dead at that school anyway, so what harm would it do?
“I didn’t go to school the next day. Evidently, Dad spoke to the principal, and he called Scott and Gerry and the other kid in and spoke to them. They didn’t bother me any more. They didn’t talk to me, but they didn’t bother me, either. I still don’t know what the principal said to them, but it sure worked.
“I had to go back to school. I think I’d have rather have had a leg cut off, but I went back. My mom can be very persuasive. She told me how to react if I was teased about my crying jag. She told me how to make friends. She told me the teachers had been informed to watch if I was having any trouble. She told me going back was absolutely necessary for my self-esteem. I told her I didn’t have any, but she didn’t seem to hear that.
“That first day was bad, but I was used to bad days. In my first period, one of the jocks yelled, ‘Hey, the crybaby’s back. I thought they’d sent him back to elementary school.’ The kids started laughing, and the teacher, a big guy named Mr. Tennley, slammed his book down on the desk. I mean, he slammed it. He slammed it hard, and it was loud, and all the noise the kids were making suddenly and absolutely stopped. Mr. Tennley’s face was red with anger. He looked at all of us, fury in his eyes. He called the jock up and chewed him a new one in words I’d never heard a teacher use and sent him to the office. The kid got suspended for one day, and the rumor went around afterwards that he’d been told if he ever said anything derogatory like that to anyone again at the school, he’d be expelled. It didn’t even have to be to me. Mr. Tennley told the kids in the class they should be ashamed of themselves, and if anything like that happened in his class again, he’d personally kick the kid out of his class, permanently, and if they had to make it up in summer school, that was fine with him. Then he began teaching to the quietest classroom I’ve ever been in. No one said a word to me as they filed out when the bell finally rang.
“This didn’t make me popular, but word got around, and I was back to being ignored again. It seemed to me the ostracism had ended. I wasn’t being actively shunned any longer. I don’t think anyone felt bad about what they’d been doing to me, I think they just got bored with it. It takes a lot of energy to do something like that.
“There was no way I was going to make any friends now, and I resigned myself to that. I was a squealer, and I cried just because of something someone had said to me. I was out of bounds. No kid wanted his own reputation ruined by associating with me. So I finished out the year, pretty much alone. Dad and Mom were as supportive of me as they could be at home, and I needed that, but school was another matter.”
I stopped. I felt empty. I was surprised when Kevin said something for the first time in what to me seemed like hours, though it hadn’t taken nearly that long.
“Why didn’t your parents put you in a private school? You can obviously afford it, and things would have been better for you.”
I smiled, at least it felt like a smile. I’m not sure what it looked like. Probably one of those death grimaces you read about. “That was my fault. After I’d gone back, mostly I guess because my mom wanted me to prove to myself I could, my Dad kept as close tabs on me as he could, and he knew I wasn’t happy there, that I didn’t have any friends and was all alone. He talked to my mom, and two weeks after I’d gone back, they asked me if I’d like to transfer, get a fresh start somewhere else. I said no.”
“Really? Why?”
“I guess I have a stubborn streak in me, Kevin. When I went back, and survived it, I started to get just a small feeling of pride. I realized, I could do this. If no one wanted to talk to me, I could live with that. And I learned how to do that. I was lonely, but I wasn’t going to let them beat me. I was going to stick it out, not give up and go to another school. I put my energy into my schoolwork. I decided I was going to get all A’s, and I did. Both my parents are smart, so I got some pretty good genes from them. I used them. I got all A’s both semesters. It was a matter of principle to me that I do that. I did it.
“I did something else, too, that I still don’t know how I got the courage to do. A couple months later, when everyone was simply leaving me alone, I decided the hell with it, and one day after gym, I undressed all the way and took a shower with the guys who always did that. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was a freshman, I wasn’t as developed as they were, and I knew they could have a field day teasing me, but I was going to do it, to prove to myself I could. And you know what happened? Nothing! No one said anything, and other than a curious glance or two, I wasn’t bothered at all. They didn’t care that I was showering. I was just another kid taking a shower after gym. No big deal at all to them. I’ve been showering ever since, and it’s one thing I’ve been able to feel good about myself over.
“The following year, I was still ignored, but I didn’t feel the hostility I’d felt the year before. I still didn’t have any friends, but that was me as much as it was anyone else. I actually decided if I’d had the guts to stick it out last year, I’d have the guts to try to make friends this year. It didn’t work, but I can’t blame anyone else for that. I was still shy, no matter what I told myself, and when the first couple efforts I made to talk to one or two other kids didn’t result in my making friends, I just stopped trying. I got all A’s that year, too, and it was a little better than the previous year, but not what you’d call good. I guess the worst part was the loneliness.
“That summer, last summer, I decided I was going to fit in better this year. Somehow, I’d do that. I decided maybe the other kids didn’t like me getting all A’s, so I wouldn’t do that. I also decided I was going to be a grown-up. I decided maybe one of my problems was lack of confidence, and maybe that came from not thinking very highly of myself. So I started giving myself pep talks. I started telling myself pretty constantly that I was an adult now, I was mature, I wasn’t a little meek kid any longer but actually one of the big guys. I’m still doing that. It doesn’t work as well as I’d like, but I’m still trying.
“In order to try to make friends, I decided I’d sit with other people at lunch, and the best chance I had not to be rejected would be to pick some kids way at the bottom of the social scale, and I did that. I ate with two guys the first month of the school year. Until my mom found out what I was doing and why. I don’t eat with them any more.”
“And all this was working pretty well. Kids weren’t running up to me, begging to make friends, but I didn’t expect that. What they were doing was just sort of leaving me alone, but only to the extent kids always do that, and without any special interest in me being anything different from anyone else. If I’d speak to someone, they’d reply. No one in any of my classes seemed to be making sarcastic comments. I was being accepted as just another kid at school. Except in gym, where this one little blond-haired kid seemed intent on harassing me. My problem was, it was difficult for me, with the history I had, of knowing just how to deal with that. And I didn’t really understand what he was doing, whether it was friendly challenging or there was something else behind it, although this kid didn’t seem mean as much as he was cocky, and why would a freshman want to hassle an upperclassman, anyway? I just didn’t know how he meant it, or why he was doing it. I was coming out of this ordeal I’d lived through, and this kid could have been doing what he was doing as part of that, or it could have been entirely innocent, and I didn’t know. But I was afraid other guys would see him doing it, and they might jump on the bandwagon, and I didn’t want to be in that sort of position again, and I knew I didn’t have enough social skills to deal with it if it happened.
“So I was afraid of what was happening, and at the same time, I was sort of intrigued by it, because something about this kid was getting under my skin in a good way. But he was putting me on the spot, sort of reminding me what it had been like as a freshman, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
“That’s probably why I snapped when we played Duck Duck Goose. That day, playing that game, I was just thinking about and dreading being humiliated. The game itself seemed humiliating for someone my size to be playing. Then, suddenly, I was chasing after you, and you were sort of laughing at me. It felt a lot like that day two years ago.
“I was so sorry after I pushed you. I felt really, truly awful, and wished I could have those few seconds back.
“And then it was funny, because after that, I missed what we’d had in gym, the sort of challenging give-and- take we’d had. Because at least, with you, I was interacting with someone, and I didn’t have anyone else at school I was doing that with. And as I said, you’d gotten under my skin. But I missed you, because now I didn’t have anyone at school I was connecting with.”
“Yeah, you did; you had Becky. You were eating lunch with her.”
I got a huge smile on my face. “Yeah, I eat with Becky now. But that’s now. I didn’t even know her then.”
“How did you become friends?”
“I don’t really know, Kevin. She spoke to me in marching band. She was nice. Then I saw her alone at lunch and I sat down with her, and we seemed to hit it off. I still can hardly believe it. After having no friends for so long, it’s like a miracle. In fact, I’d have felt really good for the past couple weeks, except this one kid I know, this kid that was a pain in the ass in gym, he keeps acting like he hates me, and I have no idea why, and I’ve had two years of people ignoring me, some of them disliking me, some of them hating me, for no reason, and it hurts when some kid I know hates me and won’t tell me why. Especially because I sort of like this kid.”
I looked at him. He looked back, and squirmed. I was laying a guilt trip on him now, a pretty heavy one, and it looked like it was working. But more than that, it was his turn to talk now, and he knew it.