The Day That It All Began

The beginning of my misadventures began on the day of my seventh birthday. I was dared by the rest of my class to kiss Rachel Belmer on the lips, under the consolation that should I be too chicken to do the deed that no one would come to my birthday party. Although I, even at the age of seven, didn’t prefer the company of the other students, I knew that my Mom had to have been slaving away for this epic in social enormity for the average seven year old. So I gave in to the sickness of innocent peer pressure and at recess, I was in the back of the gym with Rachel and as she closed her eyes, I looked over to the crowd and within the immense uniformity I noticed the diverse pimple that was Derick Flyside. Derick was nine and was the only one within the lot whose company I rather favored. He had a distant look in the eyes most of the time and often had his arms crossed, with his chin down as though he had a lot to ponder on in his ripeness. But on this occasion- Derick had his eyes focused on me and his frown seemed deeper buried into the creases of his baby face.

At any rate- Rachel was still standing there with her eyes closed and waiting for me to pucker up and take the poison. So I decided closing my eyes and getting it over with was the best option. Unfortunately I did not take into account the untied shoelaces that I never seemed to find enough convenient time to knot and as a result the whole affair ended with me essentially spitting on the poor girl and receiving a busted lip from her indignant rage. Normally my social awkwardness would have pushed me to crying- but I only wanted to leave and no longer dwell on the embarrassing event that had just taken place.

So I went to the Spot- a divot that was right beside the playground that resembled a foxhole. It was always crawling with crickets and cockroaches so many kids were too scared to play near it. Fortunately Derick had a blanket that he kept at school which was used to help ease the anxiety disorders that choked him from a young age. We used his Freakout Blanket to shelter us from the harmless critters beneath us. The Spot was where Derick and I often played truth or dare (the dares all being the same- to take another carton of juice from the cafeteria while the lady who was in charge of dictating rules that prohibit the theft of second juice cartons was not paying attention.) However the truths were more fun- often Derick would challenge me by asking me questions about the material that he was learning in his classes and almost always I would never get them right. I found more joy in reading the books that his teacher would set forth for him to read (all this being information I was able to learn through our unending truths over the fine dining of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and soda that Dericks mother allowed him to bring.) So in finding a common ground- it was set forth that I would do Dericks English homework in exchange for him doing my math work.

At any rate- I was at the Spot and as I sat waiting for the scuff of boots to come from the rubber concrete directly behind me, I thought about my audacious feelings for the idea of kissing Rachel Belmer. All the boys kissed all the girls and all the girls kissed all the boys, so it seemed irrelevant to feel uncomfortable about kissing Rachel as she was a perfectly normal girl. But why was I so concerned about emphasizing the gender role that she identified as at the time? Why was anything important in the grander scheme of things?
If only I could sit the Rachel Belmer and I of then with the Rachel Belmer and I of now and explain why it all didn’t have to be done; why the roles and the feelings became so harshly public.

I snapped out of my trance when I felt the plop next to me and the usual sigh that Derick initiated our conversation every day.

“Wow, I can't believed you really kissed Rachel Belmer,” came the crackled voice from my side, “Girls are gross. I would have just told them not to come to your birthday party.”

“She was okay, and I mainly don’t want it to be just us at my party. My mom is going to flip when everyone shows up.”
She was going to flip, but unfortunately the flip will cease to be for the reason of any positive meaning. But I didn’t realize this now, all I knew was that a flex came from Derick, and when I looked over he had a pained look on his face.

“Why can’t it just be us?” I didn't want to look at Derick because I did not want to see him cry. Seeing him cry was a very sad thing for me- and crying was a sad thing.

“It’s not that Derick, it’s that my mom is probably working hard for a large party and I didn’t want to hurt her if no one were to show up. At least now there is a chance.”

“I guess. I wish it was just us.”

One voice.

“I wish we lived in the Spot”

The other.

“I wish I got to kiss you instead of Rachel Belmer.”

To say that one of us said this and the other did not is hard to do because we both felt the same way and as a result I would have to ask Derick what truly happened. Unfortunately I can’t even ask him to get me apple juice.

I do remember the pause. The agreement of the other party.

And that’s the day when it all began.

I wake to the sound of the harsh repetitive clang of the alarm on my dresser. For a second, I consider the possibility of not getting up. Of the unimaginable consequences that would result in me not getting up and going to school. Unimaginable not because of the horrid consequence, but because I would never muster the courage to see what exactly my punishment would be, and with this in mind I got up and pressed the OFF key, only to press it again to switch my alarm back on.

At this point, my father enters my room. He hasn’t shaved for a week and as a result his hangover is more potently obvious than it would be had he bothered to look presentable. After setting down my lunch (a ham and cheese sandwich and Chex Mix) and breakfast (a honey bun that you get in the large packages at Sams Club), he then presented to grunt his good morning and close my door.

Luckily for me- this would be the last of my dad that I would see for the rest of the day. Once I get out of school- I’ll stay in the public library and do homework and read until my curfew hits (which would not be regulated, but why risk the chance of ruining a day that he may be sober enough to acknowledge my disobedience?

The rest of my morning is a quiet blur as I try my best to refrain from making any possible noise so as not to wake the beast that is my father and start the morning off with a fresh start of problems. At any rate I usually pick up coherent behaviors once I arrive at my school.

There is a dark irony in calling Southbound High a school considering the fact that its foundation was the previous home to the only prison in my town. However you wouldn’t be able to tell a difference based on the faces of those at the rustic building that hovered over me now, just like the other misfortunate beings that existed in my allegedly irrelevant life. But morbid focus on the misfortunes of my existence is something that I do not have to focus on. Instead- I look around and notice the vast contrast in social convention amongst the plethora of similar faces. Each one reflected the same image- a young, strong face. One that insists on the misconception of perfect teenage lifestyle; however the irony strikes me funny and I smile as I notice the true faces behind the masquerade. I see the closeted gay sneak to catch the slightest of glimpse at Gabriel’s body. I notice the insecure beauty escape to the confines of the stalls inside the schools bathroom and bid farewell to the honey bun she earlier met.

These people- these animals- they sit in their environment and act as though they have dominance over one another. But unfortunately they do not realize that much like any other species- we are ruled by a single alpha that defines the standards for the remaining culture. What we have failed to recognize is who this alpha is. Who is running us and what are we being led into?

These are the thoughts that run through my head as I am tripped in the middle of this social convention. I hear the laughs and I absorb them, I internalize them because that is the best cure for pain. My Mother used to tell me that as long as I smiled- the bullies would never be satisfied and if that was the case, they would eventually lose interest and leave.

My Mother is wrong about many things.

I slowly get up and try and figure out who tripped me. Obviously it could have been anyone considering I didn’t have any allies in Southbound. I was the Outcast of the social convention and much like jokers of medieval times- I was the clown of this place.

“Get up Faggot- show us who you think that you are,” I hear from behind me. But before I am able to get my bearings and confront my assailant- I am met with the giant hands of his great mass.

I realize who you are.

Remember that I will always remember who those hands belong to.

“God the freak can’t even get up because he is such a spaz,” I hear from behind me. He laughs and then his girlfriend laughs.

“This is probably why you don’t have a girlfriend- because you can’t stand up for yourself. Plus you can’t kiss well- but that was always an issue wasn’t it?” I hear from behind me. I wince- but it is not important. Or was it that I am not important? Or was it that nothing truly was important when you analyze it in the grander scheme of life.

“It’s mainly because he’s a faggot- isn’t that right?” I hear from behind me. I wince again- but this one is important. It is important because he knows that this is important.

“Whatever, leave him alone Derick- he isn’t important,” says Rachel Belmer from behind me. I wince and then that’s when I realize I am not longer able to hide the pain. So I leave.

I leave.

I wish I hadn’t left. If I hadn’t left- then maybe Derick Flyside would still be alive.

I do not remember leaving the campus of Southbound High School and walking to the greatest building in my whole town. I remember sitting on the roof of the greatest place in my whole town. I remember crying because I wished that the greatest place in my whole town was not also the worst building in my whole town. I remember pulling out the razor and rolling up my pants sleeve and only being able to reach my mid-thigh. I remember slowly slicing my skin and repetitively reminding myself of my status in the world. The freak, the fag, the outcast, the mistake, the Reason, the teenager, and the me. I hated The Me the most because if I hadn’t been me then I wouldn’t be the freak, the fag, the outcast, the mistake, the Reason, and the teenager.

I remember thinking these things as the blade of the razor penetrates my scarred skin and as the blood gently flows down the chilled roughness of my obnoxiously large thighs. I remember looking at the clock and realizing that I spent the day here- thinking about the idea of jumping off the ledge. I remember thinking that it was pointless to remain alive. But I also remember cleaning the blood off my legs and slowly walking to the old apartment. Luckily the walk from the Best and Worst place of my town is not far from the apartment. I put in my headphones and sink into the cold rhythm of nothing and I allow one more tear as I walk away from the Spot.

I walk into the apartment and immediately I realize that my Father has yet to come home from work. So I walk to the answering machine and methodically delete the message reciting the same monotone message of my absence in my classes. I then walk into my room and close the door. I lock it because should my father come home drunk and decide that I should be the source of his anger- it will be exceedingly difficult for him to break in without me grabbing my overnight bag and backpack and leaving through the window.

I sit on my bed, searching online for the homework that I missed in my classes so that I can turn it in and refrain from any drop in my grades. I am on the computer and then hear the buzz of the doorbell being rung. Either my Father is so drunk that he does not remember there are spare keys in the fire escape or the landlord has come for the rent that he was not given. So I get up and I check to see who it is and when I check the peephole I gasp.

I close my eyes and look away. And then I look again at the keyhole.

I open the door.

He is crying.

He is saying that he is sorry.

He is hugging me.

We are hugging and I am crying.

I tell him that I can’t forgive him and he tells me to please forgive him.

I tell him to leave.

He does not leave.

I wish that on that day- Derick Flyside had left the apartment.

I am closing the door of the room that I stay in while I live inside my Fathers apartment. I forget to lock it because Derick Flyside is telling me that he is angry because he likes me. He angry because he loves me. He is angry at me for letting him hurt me because he is angry that he loves me so much. I sit down on the bed next to him. He is now holding my hand and I am now crying because I love Derick Flyside more than I love my Mother and more than I love God and more than I love anything else on the world. I am telling him that he has two choices because riding the fence is not possible for me to stand. I am rolling up my pants sleeves. I am crying. He is crying. We are hugging.

Derick Flyside pulls back his head and we rest our foreheads on each other. I am telling Derick Flyside that I love him. Derick Flyside tells me that he loves me. I love Derick Flyside so much that I lean in and kiss him. I feel Derick Flyside’s facial hair on the soft flesh of my upper lip and I feel him rub my back. I am crying and can taste our tears amongst the intimacy that we are sharing.

I tell Derick Flyside that I hate him because I love him so much even though Derick Flyside makes me want to jump off the roof of elementary schools. Derick Flyside whimpers and I lean forward and I allow myself to sink into my complicated love. I feel warm and I wish that this moment would end.

Then the moment ended and the only thing I remember is that the door was unlocked and it smelled much like alcohol.

It is black and I cannot tell what is happening. Then I realize that it is dark. The window is open, but I only know because it is very windy. I sit up and turn on my flashlight.

The room is trashed. I look down and see blood.

I look up and see blood on the walls.

I do not know what happened.

It is black again.

Derick Flyside is dead.

Derick Flyside was found at the Spot and he was dead.

Derick Flyside was found very bloody.

I was found very bloody.

We were both very bloody because my Father will not allow any more sinners in his house.

I do not remember what happened after Derick Flyside’s body was found at the Spot but I do remember my father telling me that Derick Flyside came to my house and beat the bloody pulp out of me because I am a worthless faggot. I remember my father telling me to tell the police that that is all I know and that should I say anything else I shall be re-beaten to bloody pulp and I decided to tell the police that that is all I know.

However- he cannot take away from me my memories. Because I know what really happened the night that I decided that I would die for Derick Flyside. I remember what I felt and smelt and I remember the swoosh of wind as the sobbing from Derick Flyside slowly vanished from the apartment the night that Derick Flyside killed himself. I remember that my Father is the reason that Derick Flyside killed himself.

I am going to school.

I am refusing to accept the fact that everyone will know that I was the last person Derick Flyside saw the night that he died. I refuse to accept the fact that anyone will have any sympathy for me. I refuse to accept that the misfortunes of my life will be over the moment Derick Flyside is gone.

I am walking on the bus and I see that the bus driver is looking at me. There should be no reason that the bus driver is looking at me because the bus driver has never looked at me. But everyone is looking at me and it is quiet. I do not know why it is quiet because normally everyone is awake and talking and telling me to not sit next to them. But I sit down next to her and she is looking at me with tears in her eyes. She is crying and everyone else is now looking away. I tell her that I am sorry that she lost him and she is telling me that she is sorry that she has been such a cruel person.

Rachel Belmer is crying and hugging me and apologizing for her behavior and it is because Derick Flyside killed himself.

Why did Derick Flyside have to die in order for Rachel Belmer to realize what a horrible person she was being? Why did Derick Flyside have to die for the bus driver to look at me? Why did Derick Flyside have to die?

I tell her to leave me alone and after I tell her to leave me alone I get up and go to the back of the bus, where I slowly fade into the nothingness of sleep.

I am dreaming.

Derick Flyside is sitting next me and I am waiting for my Mother to bring out the cake. I am the center of this social convention and no one is tripping me. My Mother is yelling at Cassie Belmer for taking one of the candles of my cake. She is yelling at Cassie as my Father is holding her back and then I hear a scream. Derick Flyside is hugging me and Rachel Belmer is yelling at my Mother to not yell at her sister and then my Mother walked away as my Father calls her things that I cannot remember.

I am crying because I only really wanted to eat cake and sit next to Derick Flyside.

I wake up.

I am crying because everyone is looking at me as I wallow in my pain- wishing only to eat cake and sit next to Derick Flyside.

I am sitting by myself at lunch and I am listening to the talk and I am feeling the stares. I am doing homework because my grades are not going to drop because Derick Flyside is dead or because my Mother is not here or because I only had six candles in my cake that day or because Rachel Belmer had to let someone die to realize that she is a bad person.

I hear footsteps approach me, which is intriguing because I have yet to be approached by someone. I look up and see it is the most unexpected visitors in Southbound High School.

I am talking to Jasper Flyside and Tricia Belmer.

Jasper Flyside is telling me that she knows about Derick and I because as she was going through his room, she found a series of letters directed towards me and as I listen to her tell me about Derick’s notes to me- I realize that Tricia Belmer is glancing at someone.

Jasper tells me that she is mad at Derick because she loved him so much and really just wanted him to tell her so that she could be there for him. Jasper said that Derick loved me.

But I already knew that- what I didn’t know was that Derick wrote me letters.

“I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think that you would talk to me, since I’ve never talked to you and I could very well be the reason that Derick killed… that Derick is dead.” I say, resisting the urge to cry.

“Because no one here knows Derick like I knew Derick and like you knew Derick and like how Tricia knew Derick- and because the rest of the people here only want to look at you and apologize when it isn’t any of our faults that he is dead. Derick is dead because he decided to kill himself.” She replied. I am shocked that she can say that- but then I realize something.

Tricia is looking at my legs. I look at my legs. My legs are red because one of my cuts opened up and started seeping through my jeans.

“I know. I know that Derick killed himself for the same reason that you cut your skin. You feel worthless and I can’t let someone feel worthless the way Derick did. Because the one thing you have and Derick had is self-hatred. That’s probably why you guys loved each other- because you guys hated yourself so much and loved each other so much that being apart would be impossible.” Tricia says. I am shocked. I am shocked because no one has ever said anything about my cuts.

I feel the pains of my cuts sear through me. I think about the irony that my cuts are not painful due to their physical detriments that it does to my skin but rather because of the emotion pain that it is doing to me. Because the last time that I cut myself- I was angry at Derick Flyside for being so conflicting.

I do not remember what else Tricia and Jasper said to me except that Jasper gave me her phone number and I am to call her tonight because I must talk to her about how I feel. Internalizing is no longer an option for me.

As they are walking away- I begin to cry because I realize that for the first time in my life. The only person I ever truly cared about is no longer around for me to be concerned for.

I am free. I am free to care about myself. I am free.

I am free and I hate myself for being free. But maybe.

Just maybe.

Today will be the day that it all begins.