This moment where I lay naked on top of my sheets, the cool breeze from my windows tickling my skin as I lay alone listening to George Winston's piano filling my room. These moments I never thought I'd live.
I left many things to come here. To be in this moment, alone, at night, the twinkling Christmas lights that delicately light my room as I contemplate both my existence and my happiness...and my alone time. The moments to ponder where my love has gone and why instead it has turned to something somewhat empty and cold, yet easy and underrated.
Maybe it's Chico. Maybe it's that I finally get it, or maybe it's my fears...the fear of being broken like I once was. Maybe these same fears keep me complacent in my current state...or maybe they hold me to something more. Something more than chasing pipe dreams and fantasies that were only once fulfilled when I was younger, more naive and living in the city where opportunities were bountiful. Unlike this town where you grab on to what you can get because there isn't much else. And the fear of being needy because there is no plan B because there are so few options in this town.
The idea of that is frightening.
I had a young friend of mine, a beautiful young 21-year old guy who I drove home the other night who brought to my attention the reality of being young and alone.
"I don't like summer in Chico. I don't like that all my older friends have just left. I used to stroll up with 15 friends and I could turn in any direction and know everyone. Now I go with 5 or 6 and it's scary to imagine not knowing people at the bars". He literally had that epiphany as we were driving and I saw his heart break and he said to me "I don't like this kind of growing up" and my heart broke for him because all of a sudden he saw how big and scary and lonely the world really is...
I smiled at his innocence and the reality he was so fearful of. A reality that, to me, was exciting and adventurous, but to him was the end of his youth and the beginning of a fate almost worse than death....a fate where the world around you is new and knows nothing of you and you have to actually step forth and be present in someone else's moment...and that was terrifying to him.
In a way I pitied him, yet almost envied him for his youth. A youth I was trying not to grow out of. A youth where the entire world was still at my finger tips and there were no limits, except my own fears and insecurities. Maybe I grew up in a different world than him, but I had always been content in starting new things and almost crave it at times. It's those adventures that have given me my boldness and my ability to handle my solidarity with composure and a masked confidence.
We are all afraid, though some of us hide it better than others. We also sometimes realize, in the end, we are all human and are all alone to some degree, but it is what we do with that solidarity that makes us who we are.
If you fear change, you will never grow. If you crave change, you will never be content. But if you embrace change and accept it as what makes life so beautiful, you my friend, will not only be successful, but will find a happiness so few will ever understand.
I loved a boy who always gave me visions of the ocean. I never understood why when I would close my eyes and his hands would caress me that I would always see the ocean, and I was always in it, letting the sea foam green wash over my body, the sweet smell of the ocean, the soft green of the warm Pacific. It was always so refreshing, but I never understood it until that touch became turbulent and my heart was shattered into a thousand pieces by the same man who brought me such peace.
Why always the ocean...what was I trying to tell myself?
When I used to surf in Hawaii and SoCal, the thing I will never forget learning was that you never turn your back to the ocean, you always go with it and never fight the current, it will only exhaust you. When you go with the ocean and let Mother Nature play with you, it becomes almost a religious experience. And that is a lot like life.
And that is what I should have done.
The changes in life are like the ocean. Embrace the waves that come, dive beneath what you know you can't handle and let it wash over your back. But no matter what, do not fight it or it will drown you. Trust that in the end you will float to the top where you can take your breath and maybe catch the next wave in.
Always remember, you will gain more control when you just let go. Go with the change and that will make all the difference.
So as I lay here, I reflect on the depths I have seen and the triumphs I have rejoiced in. I imagine all the ways I drowned myself by fighting against the currents that were trying to bring me somewhere else. Did I make the right decision? Did I embrace the waves or did I take them for granted? Did I lay in that moment and hold it close so that I never forget it? Or did I look past it for the next wave, rather than enjoying the ride of the one I was currently in. I worry I may, out of fear, looked past all the beauty that was right in front of me. Except now. This moment where I lay here, sprawled carelessly on my bed and enjoying every little detail of this night. I plan to embrace these moments and hold them close so that when I feel like I might drown, I will always remember when I floated to the top and took the next wave in...
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
We Can't All Be Winners (K.T. Chpt 1)
"Oh gross! It’s Kayden!" Kristen Peters cried out as I went to sit next to her on the lunch bench. She jumped out of her seat and bolted to the other side of the lunch area. Her friends followed, snickering. I didn’t realize I had sat next to her, which I knew better than to do, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy looking to make sure none of the guys were around because they always love to bother me when I’m eating.
As Kristen and her friends bolted across the lunch area, my face turned hot and I blushed. I was embarrassed which is weird because this is a daily occurrence nowadays. No matter how many times someone does this to me in a day, it never fails to make me feel horrible.
Kristen was one of the cheerleaders on our Jr. High basketball team. She wasn’t very good but she was pretty and she had a lot of girlfriends who were afraid of her, so when she did anything, the rest of the girls would follow. Kristen was one of “Them”: the group of kids currently making my life miserable, for reasons I’m still not sure of yet.
Her and the guys do this to me all day long. They whisper when I walk by, sometimes laughing and pointing. Sometimes they try and stick stuff in my hair when I am sitting in class. Some days they throw random things at my head when I walk by. A couple times the guys have cornered me in the boy’s bathroom and held my arms behind my back and taken turns punching me in the stomach or putting my head in the toilet. That’s the worst! The bathrooms are so gross! It’s because of this I only go to the bathroom in the locker room because Coach Johnson is there and the guys are too afraid of Coach to do anything to me in front of him. On the days they aren’t whispering as I walk by, they are calling out things like, "Hey Kayden, how is your baby penis?", which is a creepy thing to ask because, one, they have never seen me naked before ever (nor will they) and two, who asks about another boy's penis? Are they really that interested?
As much as I want to come back with some type of witty rhetoric, I know that in the end my words will be used against me, so I stay silent.
That is how it has been since I got to this school…and I hate it more and more.
I used to have friends at my old school. Tons of them. It was great. I felt loved and popular, like I was something. Then I came to this school, Rosemont Jr. High, and my life has been pure hell. Some days are worse than others, but most are the same: The Jerks say mean things, others laugh, people stare, I go home and cry to myself. I never let others see my hate or agony, but I know it permeates through the air...that awkwardness of me just sitting there, taking it. Some day I fear I might snap and hurt someone, just to make them stop. I want them to be afraid of me more than I am afraid of them. I want to rip one of them apart just so they can feel the same hurt I have been feeling for the past two years.
"Hey Dicktard," Marcos Toscano’s voice interrupted my thoughts. Marcos was the jerk behind all of the bullying. He was the one who started picking on me the first few weeks I got here. It was hard enough adjusting to junior high, let alone dealing with him. I clearly remember the first day he started in on me. My neighbor Sally Jenson and I were sitting having lunch together in the lunch area outside. It was a crisp autumn day and we were making jokes about something when Marcos walked up to us.
"Hey, shithead!" he called out, startling both Sally and me because it was a name we had never heard, let alone been called. My heart was beating in my throat at that moment. Sally and I exchanged glances.
“Yeah, shit head, I'm talking to you!” he continued. I could feel eyes on us from the other kids around us. "You’re sitting in my seat, you turd!"
Sally and I exchanged glances again, this time out of confusion. What was he talking about, “his seat”? Sally and I have been sitting in this same spot for weeks.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"I told you, that's my seat, now move!"
Sally and I weren’t sure if we should laugh or walk away slowly. Marcos’ approach was so out of the blue it was bizarre.
"Hey, me and Sally sit here every single day, so I am not sure what you are talking about"
"I said move!" Mario yelled and he grabbed my shirt and pushed me off the bench. Sally tried to get up, but Mario sat down next to her and said, "You're fine. You can stay here. It's him!” He said leaning away from Sally and pointing at me as I sat on the ground, confused. “This is my seat! Don't sit here again!” He growled.
I stood up and said, "Hey! I don’t care, I was here first!" But little did I realize the power in numbers Marcos had over me. At that moment his two friends appeared, as if summoned by sheer will. Sally and I looked at each other and then at the two guys as Marcos stood up.
"I don’t care if you were here first!" He growled again. “This is my table, now leave before I sock you in the mouth!" I went to approach him but Sally pulled on my arm for me to go with her. And it was that moment when my new-found fate would take place. I would now become the most hated kid in school. For no reason other than sitting at a table I sat at with Sally for weeks. It will never make sense to me. Ever.
"Hey, Dicktard, I was talking to you!” Marcos interrupted my thoughts again as he and his two goons approached my lunch table.
"Shit!" I thought to myself. Am I in his seat? Is there any part of this stupid school that he doesn't ruthlessly claim as his own? I hate this guy. I absolutely pure hate him.
“What’s up, Gay-tard?” Marcos called out as he and his two friends headed towards my table.
I cringed at the sound of Marcos’ voice.
It was early spring and we were finally able to sit outside and eat lunch at the lunch tables. The sun was warm, but the air was still cool. The trees in the lunch area were budding, the flowers still in their cocoon, just waiting for it to get warm enough to open. I was sitting by myself at this point since Kristen and her friends left.
Marcos’ voice was like nails on a chalkboard to me. He approached my table. Kids at the other tables in the designated lunch area started to take notice.
“Hey! Gay-tard! I was talking to you!” Marcos said louder as he crawled onto the bench beside me, his friends joining on either side of us. My face grew hot as they started leaning in to my lunch and grabbing tater tots for themselves. The other kids kept watching.
“So, Gay-tard. What’s going on?” His breath was hot and smelled like sweat socks against my face. It made me want to gag.
I’m not sure why it is that 8th graders forget that there are toothbrushes and deodorant out there. Marcos most specifically. His dark thick hair was always a little too greasy. It was long, just a little past the lobes of his ears, a deep dark black which would compliment his olive skin if it wasn’t constantly broken-out from not showering enough. He wasn’t ugly, rather, a good-looking Italian boy, but he didn’t follow through with hygiene and soap which was a waste of what he was blessed with. His eyes were a dark green, almost brown.
He caught me looking at him.
“Hey! Gay-boy! What are you looking at?!” He said, leaning back as if I had made some kind of advance towards him. I blushed, as if I had done something wrong. The other kids looked over at us again. My face grew even hotter. He was starting to get on my last nerve.
Marcos did this every single day. Every day. And it wasn’t always the same. Sometimes he would just walk by and smack the back of my head. Some days he would trip me as I walked past with a tray. Some times him and his friends would throw grapes or raisins as I sat alone and ate. I have been getting both used to it and tired of it, but I also know there is no way to stop it. Teachers never catch him and if I tattle on him it will only make matters worse. The only thing I can do is take it.
And that infuriates me.
“I was talking to you!” Marcos interrupted my thoughts and shoved my plate a little. The gelatinous goo that was supposed to resemble gravy jiggled, my tater tots rolled into the ketchup. I just stared at the plate. The jiggling, rolling plate. Even my food was being pushed around. Even my damn food was being bullied!
All of a sudden something inside me snapped. I could feel it in the back of my head as Marcos and his friends started pushing me, asking me why I was so gay and what I was going to do about it. I just sat there for a moment, stiffening as I began to clench every muscle in my body, trying to hold back all the anger and fury brewing inside me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, my body began to shake and I could feel a cold sweat beading down my brow. My fists slowly balled and I could feel my short nails digging into my palms. They want me to do something about it? Then fine! I’ll do something about it!
I reached for my tray, picked it up and turned around on the bench, bringing my feet out from under the table, as if I were going to leave. This made the boys stop for a moment as they looked at each other laughing. I looked over to Marcos whose mouth was open in a hearty laugh.
In that moment I took the tray I had in my hands and I smashed it into his face, pushing with both hands and all of my body weight. This shoved them both back, tipping the bench, the tray hitting the ground and bouncing; the plate of thick mashed potatoes still stuck to Marcos’s face as all three of them fell to the ground in a heap.
Before the tray had even hit the ground I was already running away from the lunch area that was nestled in between two enclosed hallways and a classroom. I ran as fast as my small skinny legs could carry me, heading past the basketball courts and to the playing field. I could hear the kid’s laughter behind me and Marcos’s curses and his two goons trying to help him out as he called for my death. I mustered the strength to run faster, my heart beating in my throat. As my shoes hit the grass, I realized that at the end of the large playing field was a large chain-linked fence. I could hear Marcos and his friends’ feet on pavement as they scrambled after me.
I ran faster.
As the fence came closer, all of a sudden something landed far in front of me, as if it were thrown at me. As I ran past it, I saw that it was a sandwich.
“A sandwich?” I thought to myself. “What in the…” all of a sudden an orange flew past my head and landed closer to the fence. They were throwing food at me!
As I ran to the fence I took a large leap, but I jumped too soon and didn’t end up as high on the fence as I had hoped. I scrambled up, as quickly as I could when an apple whizzed past my ear, hit the fence and splattered; apple pieces and juices hitting my face and shoulder. My heart skipped as I paused a moment, seeing the apple wedged into the metal diamond. Had that hit my head it probably would have knocked me out cold.
All of a sudden something soft and thick hit the back of my head with a thud and then there was an explosion of lettuce, cheeses and mayonnaise, which began to drip down my shirt. A plastic cup of open pudding bounced off the chain links and splattered me in the face.
They were getting closer.
I climbed quicker.
As small carrots, a soft banana, a couple more sandwiches and a can of soda pelted me from behind, I finally reached the top of the fence. I reached up and got both my hands on the top bar and started to pull myself up when I suddenly got real heavy. I pulled up harder, just to feel myself being pulled down in the opposite direction. I looked down and there was Marcos, one of his hands wrapped around my ankle. I tried to kick him off, but his other hand grabbed on to it as well. I tried for one last final pull, with all of my strength, but at that same moment Marcos pulled on me with all his weight and I lost my grip. I fell off the fence, my back crashing into his face, both of us hitting the hard grass with a strange “thunk”.
Marcos pushed me off and I landed on my stomach. At that moment I looked up and half of the school was already swarming, some with hands full of food, Marcos’s goons leading the pack with arms full of whatever they could steal off of tables and out of the garbage I’m sure. As they approached they continued to lob food at me. Marcos stood up, kicked me in the ribs and grabbed an apple from a kid and threw it at my back. It hit, but not as hard as I had thought it would. My long-sleeved, button up, plaid shirt now resembled a modern piece of art as kids continued to pelt me with food stuffs. I just lay there as grapes rolled into my pants, my hair sticking to my forehead from soda, and my hands covered in the gelatinous gooey gravy.
I put my head down and took it. I could feel different objects bounce off my head and back. Some kids didn’t have good aim from where they stood in the back and ended up missing me all together or hitting my legs. I looked up for a moment and caught a glimpse of Sally Jenson looking at me with her pitiful honey brown eyes. She didn’t stop them, but she also didn’t join in. She just stood there…it looked like she might cry. I thought I might too.
“Mr. Johnson is coming!” Someone in the far back cried out. I could hear feet shuffling in the grass as they scattered like cockroaches. I looked up and parting the sea of kids was Mr. Johnson, a tall, well-built black man with stunning looks and a voice that would scare the paint off walls. He was Rosemont Jr. high’s basketball coach and History teacher. Most of the kids called him Mr. J, but when he was storming towards you like a bull, you ducked and cowered and responded with a mousy “yessir”, looking at nothing more than your feet as you compared them to his large feet, which were always in nice, clean penny-loafers.
I could hear Mr. Johnson telling kids to “scat” and to “get back to the yard” and kids started running, silent in their fear. Marcos had long since left after he kicked me in the ribs, leaving no evidence of his presence except a lingering ache in my side. I laid my head back in the dirt, laying my cheek down as I watched Mr. Johnson’s nice shoes as they approached me quickly. I could have gotten up, which I would have done normally, quickly and ready to “yessir” him. Instead I just lay there in a pathetic heap, covered and surrounded with food. A sad pile of food and boy. I imagined all the mothers who so caringly packed their child’s lunch, unaware that a sad, pathetic boy would be lying in it later.
As Kristen and her friends bolted across the lunch area, my face turned hot and I blushed. I was embarrassed which is weird because this is a daily occurrence nowadays. No matter how many times someone does this to me in a day, it never fails to make me feel horrible.
Kristen was one of the cheerleaders on our Jr. High basketball team. She wasn’t very good but she was pretty and she had a lot of girlfriends who were afraid of her, so when she did anything, the rest of the girls would follow. Kristen was one of “Them”: the group of kids currently making my life miserable, for reasons I’m still not sure of yet.
Her and the guys do this to me all day long. They whisper when I walk by, sometimes laughing and pointing. Sometimes they try and stick stuff in my hair when I am sitting in class. Some days they throw random things at my head when I walk by. A couple times the guys have cornered me in the boy’s bathroom and held my arms behind my back and taken turns punching me in the stomach or putting my head in the toilet. That’s the worst! The bathrooms are so gross! It’s because of this I only go to the bathroom in the locker room because Coach Johnson is there and the guys are too afraid of Coach to do anything to me in front of him. On the days they aren’t whispering as I walk by, they are calling out things like, "Hey Kayden, how is your baby penis?", which is a creepy thing to ask because, one, they have never seen me naked before ever (nor will they) and two, who asks about another boy's penis? Are they really that interested?
As much as I want to come back with some type of witty rhetoric, I know that in the end my words will be used against me, so I stay silent.
That is how it has been since I got to this school…and I hate it more and more.
I used to have friends at my old school. Tons of them. It was great. I felt loved and popular, like I was something. Then I came to this school, Rosemont Jr. High, and my life has been pure hell. Some days are worse than others, but most are the same: The Jerks say mean things, others laugh, people stare, I go home and cry to myself. I never let others see my hate or agony, but I know it permeates through the air...that awkwardness of me just sitting there, taking it. Some day I fear I might snap and hurt someone, just to make them stop. I want them to be afraid of me more than I am afraid of them. I want to rip one of them apart just so they can feel the same hurt I have been feeling for the past two years.
"Hey Dicktard," Marcos Toscano’s voice interrupted my thoughts. Marcos was the jerk behind all of the bullying. He was the one who started picking on me the first few weeks I got here. It was hard enough adjusting to junior high, let alone dealing with him. I clearly remember the first day he started in on me. My neighbor Sally Jenson and I were sitting having lunch together in the lunch area outside. It was a crisp autumn day and we were making jokes about something when Marcos walked up to us.
"Hey, shithead!" he called out, startling both Sally and me because it was a name we had never heard, let alone been called. My heart was beating in my throat at that moment. Sally and I exchanged glances.
“Yeah, shit head, I'm talking to you!” he continued. I could feel eyes on us from the other kids around us. "You’re sitting in my seat, you turd!"
Sally and I exchanged glances again, this time out of confusion. What was he talking about, “his seat”? Sally and I have been sitting in this same spot for weeks.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"I told you, that's my seat, now move!"
Sally and I weren’t sure if we should laugh or walk away slowly. Marcos’ approach was so out of the blue it was bizarre.
"Hey, me and Sally sit here every single day, so I am not sure what you are talking about"
"I said move!" Mario yelled and he grabbed my shirt and pushed me off the bench. Sally tried to get up, but Mario sat down next to her and said, "You're fine. You can stay here. It's him!” He said leaning away from Sally and pointing at me as I sat on the ground, confused. “This is my seat! Don't sit here again!” He growled.
I stood up and said, "Hey! I don’t care, I was here first!" But little did I realize the power in numbers Marcos had over me. At that moment his two friends appeared, as if summoned by sheer will. Sally and I looked at each other and then at the two guys as Marcos stood up.
"I don’t care if you were here first!" He growled again. “This is my table, now leave before I sock you in the mouth!" I went to approach him but Sally pulled on my arm for me to go with her. And it was that moment when my new-found fate would take place. I would now become the most hated kid in school. For no reason other than sitting at a table I sat at with Sally for weeks. It will never make sense to me. Ever.
"Hey, Dicktard, I was talking to you!” Marcos interrupted my thoughts again as he and his two goons approached my lunch table.
"Shit!" I thought to myself. Am I in his seat? Is there any part of this stupid school that he doesn't ruthlessly claim as his own? I hate this guy. I absolutely pure hate him.
“What’s up, Gay-tard?” Marcos called out as he and his two friends headed towards my table.
I cringed at the sound of Marcos’ voice.
It was early spring and we were finally able to sit outside and eat lunch at the lunch tables. The sun was warm, but the air was still cool. The trees in the lunch area were budding, the flowers still in their cocoon, just waiting for it to get warm enough to open. I was sitting by myself at this point since Kristen and her friends left.
Marcos’ voice was like nails on a chalkboard to me. He approached my table. Kids at the other tables in the designated lunch area started to take notice.
“Hey! Gay-tard! I was talking to you!” Marcos said louder as he crawled onto the bench beside me, his friends joining on either side of us. My face grew hot as they started leaning in to my lunch and grabbing tater tots for themselves. The other kids kept watching.
“So, Gay-tard. What’s going on?” His breath was hot and smelled like sweat socks against my face. It made me want to gag.
I’m not sure why it is that 8th graders forget that there are toothbrushes and deodorant out there. Marcos most specifically. His dark thick hair was always a little too greasy. It was long, just a little past the lobes of his ears, a deep dark black which would compliment his olive skin if it wasn’t constantly broken-out from not showering enough. He wasn’t ugly, rather, a good-looking Italian boy, but he didn’t follow through with hygiene and soap which was a waste of what he was blessed with. His eyes were a dark green, almost brown.
He caught me looking at him.
“Hey! Gay-boy! What are you looking at?!” He said, leaning back as if I had made some kind of advance towards him. I blushed, as if I had done something wrong. The other kids looked over at us again. My face grew even hotter. He was starting to get on my last nerve.
Marcos did this every single day. Every day. And it wasn’t always the same. Sometimes he would just walk by and smack the back of my head. Some days he would trip me as I walked past with a tray. Some times him and his friends would throw grapes or raisins as I sat alone and ate. I have been getting both used to it and tired of it, but I also know there is no way to stop it. Teachers never catch him and if I tattle on him it will only make matters worse. The only thing I can do is take it.
And that infuriates me.
“I was talking to you!” Marcos interrupted my thoughts and shoved my plate a little. The gelatinous goo that was supposed to resemble gravy jiggled, my tater tots rolled into the ketchup. I just stared at the plate. The jiggling, rolling plate. Even my food was being pushed around. Even my damn food was being bullied!
All of a sudden something inside me snapped. I could feel it in the back of my head as Marcos and his friends started pushing me, asking me why I was so gay and what I was going to do about it. I just sat there for a moment, stiffening as I began to clench every muscle in my body, trying to hold back all the anger and fury brewing inside me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, my body began to shake and I could feel a cold sweat beading down my brow. My fists slowly balled and I could feel my short nails digging into my palms. They want me to do something about it? Then fine! I’ll do something about it!
I reached for my tray, picked it up and turned around on the bench, bringing my feet out from under the table, as if I were going to leave. This made the boys stop for a moment as they looked at each other laughing. I looked over to Marcos whose mouth was open in a hearty laugh.
In that moment I took the tray I had in my hands and I smashed it into his face, pushing with both hands and all of my body weight. This shoved them both back, tipping the bench, the tray hitting the ground and bouncing; the plate of thick mashed potatoes still stuck to Marcos’s face as all three of them fell to the ground in a heap.
Before the tray had even hit the ground I was already running away from the lunch area that was nestled in between two enclosed hallways and a classroom. I ran as fast as my small skinny legs could carry me, heading past the basketball courts and to the playing field. I could hear the kid’s laughter behind me and Marcos’s curses and his two goons trying to help him out as he called for my death. I mustered the strength to run faster, my heart beating in my throat. As my shoes hit the grass, I realized that at the end of the large playing field was a large chain-linked fence. I could hear Marcos and his friends’ feet on pavement as they scrambled after me.
I ran faster.
As the fence came closer, all of a sudden something landed far in front of me, as if it were thrown at me. As I ran past it, I saw that it was a sandwich.
“A sandwich?” I thought to myself. “What in the…” all of a sudden an orange flew past my head and landed closer to the fence. They were throwing food at me!
As I ran to the fence I took a large leap, but I jumped too soon and didn’t end up as high on the fence as I had hoped. I scrambled up, as quickly as I could when an apple whizzed past my ear, hit the fence and splattered; apple pieces and juices hitting my face and shoulder. My heart skipped as I paused a moment, seeing the apple wedged into the metal diamond. Had that hit my head it probably would have knocked me out cold.
All of a sudden something soft and thick hit the back of my head with a thud and then there was an explosion of lettuce, cheeses and mayonnaise, which began to drip down my shirt. A plastic cup of open pudding bounced off the chain links and splattered me in the face.
They were getting closer.
I climbed quicker.
As small carrots, a soft banana, a couple more sandwiches and a can of soda pelted me from behind, I finally reached the top of the fence. I reached up and got both my hands on the top bar and started to pull myself up when I suddenly got real heavy. I pulled up harder, just to feel myself being pulled down in the opposite direction. I looked down and there was Marcos, one of his hands wrapped around my ankle. I tried to kick him off, but his other hand grabbed on to it as well. I tried for one last final pull, with all of my strength, but at that same moment Marcos pulled on me with all his weight and I lost my grip. I fell off the fence, my back crashing into his face, both of us hitting the hard grass with a strange “thunk”.
Marcos pushed me off and I landed on my stomach. At that moment I looked up and half of the school was already swarming, some with hands full of food, Marcos’s goons leading the pack with arms full of whatever they could steal off of tables and out of the garbage I’m sure. As they approached they continued to lob food at me. Marcos stood up, kicked me in the ribs and grabbed an apple from a kid and threw it at my back. It hit, but not as hard as I had thought it would. My long-sleeved, button up, plaid shirt now resembled a modern piece of art as kids continued to pelt me with food stuffs. I just lay there as grapes rolled into my pants, my hair sticking to my forehead from soda, and my hands covered in the gelatinous gooey gravy.
I put my head down and took it. I could feel different objects bounce off my head and back. Some kids didn’t have good aim from where they stood in the back and ended up missing me all together or hitting my legs. I looked up for a moment and caught a glimpse of Sally Jenson looking at me with her pitiful honey brown eyes. She didn’t stop them, but she also didn’t join in. She just stood there…it looked like she might cry. I thought I might too.
“Mr. Johnson is coming!” Someone in the far back cried out. I could hear feet shuffling in the grass as they scattered like cockroaches. I looked up and parting the sea of kids was Mr. Johnson, a tall, well-built black man with stunning looks and a voice that would scare the paint off walls. He was Rosemont Jr. high’s basketball coach and History teacher. Most of the kids called him Mr. J, but when he was storming towards you like a bull, you ducked and cowered and responded with a mousy “yessir”, looking at nothing more than your feet as you compared them to his large feet, which were always in nice, clean penny-loafers.
I could hear Mr. Johnson telling kids to “scat” and to “get back to the yard” and kids started running, silent in their fear. Marcos had long since left after he kicked me in the ribs, leaving no evidence of his presence except a lingering ache in my side. I laid my head back in the dirt, laying my cheek down as I watched Mr. Johnson’s nice shoes as they approached me quickly. I could have gotten up, which I would have done normally, quickly and ready to “yessir” him. Instead I just lay there in a pathetic heap, covered and surrounded with food. A sad pile of food and boy. I imagined all the mothers who so caringly packed their child’s lunch, unaware that a sad, pathetic boy would be lying in it later.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Big Fat Bully.
Sometimes we don't know why we are bullied, we just are. Sometimes all it takes is one person to hate us and then it can easily turn our entire world upside down. That hate, which stems from fear, which stems from insecurities can create such a living hell for one single, innocent person. And the fucked up part is that it might not have anything to do with the victim. Nothing at all. Nothing different, nothing wrong, just a person who stumbles onto a situation they cant get out of. Just because of one stupid jerk. And that one jerk will get others to feed into it because of their fears and insecurities. And the victim becomes completely self-aware of everything and is all-consumed with their actions, the things they say, everything that makes them who they are...or what they themselves perceive as different. And it becomes this cancer, this thing that eats at them. These names, these actions, everything hurts more and more and you become sensitive and almost psychotic over it. You hate yourself and you hate everyone and you don't know why, because when it all comes down to it, you never did anything. You just existed, and if your existence alone caused all of this horror, then maybe you would be better off not existing, and instead giving them nothing more to hate than themselves.
I have continually stalled on Kayden's Toby for one reason: I don't want to remember what it felt like to be bullied.
To write you have to put yourself in the place where you want others to go, but what's frightening about that is going back to a place you have since gotten past. A place you never ever want to go again.
I just don't know if I am ready to be bullied again.
Strangely enough, being back in Chico is like being back in a world full of petty shit and rumors. Just like high school, or worse, junior high. God I hated junior high...and in some sick way I loved it too. In junior high I was brought down quite a few pegs. I was a sassy, snobby, run of the mouth little shit. And I got what I probably had coming to me. It was horrible and definitely left a lasting impression (some would say scars) but in the end, I learned from it, but only because I survived it.
Unless you have been through it, you have no idea what it feels like.
Moving back brought back all those horrible feelings again. But not at first.
I came back into the "fun crowd", the "cool kids" the ones that everyone wanted to hang with. We were wild and fun and did stupid shit and along the way I fell in love with a boy who in turn fell for me. Unfortunately, the rest of the group was not ok with it. I was over at his apt all the time and his roommate was getting annoyed and jealous, not because he wanted to be with me, but because he wanted to be with his friend. I never invited myself over, I only came by when I was invited, but soon, even though this boy and I couldn't get enough of each other, the roommate thought otherwise. Soon, between the roommate and a friend of the group I confided in, things were getting hairy. Then the ex gf would call at 2am, and text and all of a sudden she started in. It was a matter of weeding me out.
Nothing is worse than being hated for no reason. For people disliking you out of fear of who you are. I came into that group confident, proud, ready to take on the world. Then slowly, like siblings too close in age, we got on each others' nerves and before we knew it we hated each other and then one day, it exploded in our faces, and I was thrown out like shrapnel, losing myself and everything I knew myself to be.
They destroyed me.
Maybe I needed the humbling. After all, I did move back to find myself. Little did I know I'd find myself broken and torn apart by a bunch of assholes I didn't really know. And that was it. They did not know me. And the things they thought about me were so warped and misconstrued because of their own fears and insecurities, that in the end, the only thing they knew to do was hate.
It's easier to hate than it is to love.
It's been over a year now, almost two, and funny enough, after all of it, majority of them came back and apologized. Not all, but the roommate, the one who helped initiate it all, admitted that what he did was wrong. We are friends again. Maybe a little closer than before. Maybe a little more distant. In a lot of ways, that doesn't change the fact that he and them destroyed my world, but there is some solace in knowing that he has a guilty conscious.
After finally getting my life on track after that, I look back and see all the things that went wrong and I know I am just as much at fault for putting so much emphasis on their approval. But it's human nature to want to be liked. I recently felt the sting again this past week. A young guy and I were hanging out and then things ended abruptly. I have no idea why and the curiosity kills me. It could be as simple as he is a total douche and just used me, or it could be that he heard something that unfairly depicted me, or maybe, in the end, I was the douche.
I may never know.
And I guess, it doesn't really matter. People can have their asshole comments, and dirty rumors, but in the end we are all fighting the same fight and trying to live in the same fucked up world. Maybe it's time we all took a step back and thought to ourselves, "How would I feel if someone was doing that to me?" and maybe we would finally see what it's like to feel like an outcast.
And maybe I will get the balls to finish Kayden's Toby...
maybe...
I have continually stalled on Kayden's Toby for one reason: I don't want to remember what it felt like to be bullied.
To write you have to put yourself in the place where you want others to go, but what's frightening about that is going back to a place you have since gotten past. A place you never ever want to go again.
I just don't know if I am ready to be bullied again.
Strangely enough, being back in Chico is like being back in a world full of petty shit and rumors. Just like high school, or worse, junior high. God I hated junior high...and in some sick way I loved it too. In junior high I was brought down quite a few pegs. I was a sassy, snobby, run of the mouth little shit. And I got what I probably had coming to me. It was horrible and definitely left a lasting impression (some would say scars) but in the end, I learned from it, but only because I survived it.
Unless you have been through it, you have no idea what it feels like.
Moving back brought back all those horrible feelings again. But not at first.
I came back into the "fun crowd", the "cool kids" the ones that everyone wanted to hang with. We were wild and fun and did stupid shit and along the way I fell in love with a boy who in turn fell for me. Unfortunately, the rest of the group was not ok with it. I was over at his apt all the time and his roommate was getting annoyed and jealous, not because he wanted to be with me, but because he wanted to be with his friend. I never invited myself over, I only came by when I was invited, but soon, even though this boy and I couldn't get enough of each other, the roommate thought otherwise. Soon, between the roommate and a friend of the group I confided in, things were getting hairy. Then the ex gf would call at 2am, and text and all of a sudden she started in. It was a matter of weeding me out.
Nothing is worse than being hated for no reason. For people disliking you out of fear of who you are. I came into that group confident, proud, ready to take on the world. Then slowly, like siblings too close in age, we got on each others' nerves and before we knew it we hated each other and then one day, it exploded in our faces, and I was thrown out like shrapnel, losing myself and everything I knew myself to be.
They destroyed me.
Maybe I needed the humbling. After all, I did move back to find myself. Little did I know I'd find myself broken and torn apart by a bunch of assholes I didn't really know. And that was it. They did not know me. And the things they thought about me were so warped and misconstrued because of their own fears and insecurities, that in the end, the only thing they knew to do was hate.
It's easier to hate than it is to love.
It's been over a year now, almost two, and funny enough, after all of it, majority of them came back and apologized. Not all, but the roommate, the one who helped initiate it all, admitted that what he did was wrong. We are friends again. Maybe a little closer than before. Maybe a little more distant. In a lot of ways, that doesn't change the fact that he and them destroyed my world, but there is some solace in knowing that he has a guilty conscious.
After finally getting my life on track after that, I look back and see all the things that went wrong and I know I am just as much at fault for putting so much emphasis on their approval. But it's human nature to want to be liked. I recently felt the sting again this past week. A young guy and I were hanging out and then things ended abruptly. I have no idea why and the curiosity kills me. It could be as simple as he is a total douche and just used me, or it could be that he heard something that unfairly depicted me, or maybe, in the end, I was the douche.
I may never know.
And I guess, it doesn't really matter. People can have their asshole comments, and dirty rumors, but in the end we are all fighting the same fight and trying to live in the same fucked up world. Maybe it's time we all took a step back and thought to ourselves, "How would I feel if someone was doing that to me?" and maybe we would finally see what it's like to feel like an outcast.
And maybe I will get the balls to finish Kayden's Toby...
maybe...
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Just Two Young Kids Who Wore Hats.
And we were. Always together, always something, though we never really knew what. We were just a couple of cool kids hanging out. We were thinkers and movers and kids who didn't believe in anything but were willing to believe in everything. There were those nights we would brood over the day's laments and question everything. Were we doing what we said we always would? Did we really believe in the things we believed? Was it true that love existed, and if so, did we love each other? Maybe.
I will always remember that night at that party. The one where you insisted I wear the red necklace you got me because you said it complimented the fire that burned deep inside me. That same fire you said set fire to us that night...and burned up everything. You stood in the hall and waited for me. You cornered me and asked me continuously about the strong young man I was talking to in the kitchen; the one who poured me a drink and touched my shoulder softly. The rage in your eyes that night was frightening. The jealously was off-putting and something about us broke. After you cursed at me in a way I had never heard, you walked away and left me there, broken hearted. I felt like a fool. I felt like nothing. I felt that after everything, there should have been more. But there was not.
One afternoon, many months later, I came to you. You were still mad. You sat by the window and pretended like we hadn't sat in that same room many times before...in love. As friends. Now we sit here as mortal enemies; angry about assumptions made and never really knowing what went wrong. I wore your favorite hat. I wore your favorite dress. You just looked out the window. Tears streamed down my face. I wanted to get down on my knees and beg you to let it go, but I knew you were too hurt to forget, and I knew I did nothing wrong. So we just sat there. And stared. We stared past each other. We stared out the window. The room was cold in the silence despite the nice warm spring breeze that came through the window we both so meticulously watched, maybe hoping the answers would just come in. But they did not. So we just sat there. In our pain.
That was the first night we kissed. It wasn't passionate, but it seemed necessary. Two cool kids, too cool to really fall in love, but not too cool to explore one another. Your lips were soft and sticky, and sweet. Your kisses were gentle and it made my legs tingle in a way I had never experienced. When we pulled away, you looked me in the eyes and I could see a smile begin to form on those soft lips. But then you put your sunglasses back on and laid back down and stared at the ceiling. The room was silent for a moment, and then your voice broke in. "I love you". I waited a moment for my legs to stop shaking as I sat on the floor. "I love you too". And then we sat there. So long ago.
We were kids then. We didn't know better. Just two young kids who wore hats.
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