video games in the lobby before heading up to Scott’s dad’s condo.
They hadn’t even been there that long. He couldn’t remember what they had been watching on TV at the time, but they were only halfway into it, sitting back on the couch smoking cigars and swilling some of his dad’s bourbon, when they heard the key hit the lock. Instinctively, they ran, darting through his father’s bedroom and into the bathroom, crouching in the bottom of the shower stall, the opaque glass door closed tightly. Holding their breath, they could hear the front door swing inward.
“I know you’re in here!” his dad shouted, slamming the door behind him. “Get out here right now!”
Matt and Scott stared helplessly at one another, holding their breath tightly for fear of the slightest noise betraying them. Both of their faces had faded to a pale white, their hearts hammering in their ears.
They could hear the heavy padding of footsteps marching all around the townhouse, and the silencing of the television with a click.
“We’re as good as caught,” Matt whispered. “We should just get out.”
“Not yet,” Scott whispered back, his eyes wide.
It was then that the door to the shower stall flung back, slamming loudly against the wall. Its hinges nearly snapped. A large hand reached right past Matt and grabbed Scott by the front of the shirt, heaving him into the air. Matt dare not even look up.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Scott’s dad bellowed, dragging him out of the bathroom.
Matt slowly rose from the floor of the ivory-tiled shower and stepped into the bathroom, crossing the floor at a snail’s pace, following the sounds of their voices. He could hear the words, but there was no comprehension within his head. He began to slip into what he liked to call his “quiet place,” deep within his head. It was a world where he could live out his existence without the stress that always seemed to track him down wherever he went. Granted, he brought a large chunk of trouble upon himself through either stupid or thoughtless actions, but there had been so much in his life outside of his direct control that he had found the place early on in his childhood.
A loud banging at the door shocked him out of his trance, his shoulders jumping as he heard his mother’s voice outside of the door.
“Matthew Thomas Parker!” she shouted. He could see the expression on her face even though they were separated by solid oak. He had seen it far too many times in recent memory, her lips curled tightly over her front teeth, her blue eyes wild and furious. “Come out here right now!”
He could hear the front door open as he rounded the corner from the bedroom and into the living room. The muffled voices of his mom talking with Scott’s father filled his ears. He stood out in the open now, watching, horrified, as the two spoke, glancing over their shoulders at he and Scott.
Matt never even turned to look at Scott, as he knew exactly what Scott was thinking.
The conference over, Matt’s mom swept across the room and ushered him through the front door by the shoulder of his shirt, dragging him down the front steps and to her car. Climbing into the gold minivan, he stared straight through the side window from the passenger seat as the onslaught of yelling commenced.
He’d been caught, what more could he say. The situation seemed fairly self-explanatory. He’d skipped school and gotten busted, end of story. But still, his mother demanded an explanation. Matt knew full well that anything he said would be completely unacceptable as his mom had been forced to leave her classes unattended at school to come and track him down.
So he just sat there silently, staring at the passing trees as they drove onto the Air Force Academy grounds, where his public high school was located. They had parked right in front of the school and she had dragged him through the front doors to the attendance office. Throwing wide the door and leading him to the high counter where an older woman with graying hair and thin-rimmed glasses looked down on him from up high.
“Busted,” the woman said, smirking.
Matt just shook his head, suppressing the urge to either sock her in the nose or give her the finger.
The door swung open behind them, and Matt turned to look as his mother checked him in. Scott’s dad ushered Scott through the door, and stepped into line behind Matt’s mother. Matt just looked at Scott, who shrugged his shoulders.
“Go to class,” Matt’s mom said, walking out the door of the office. “We’ll decide your punishment when you get home.”
Matt walked out into the hall and waited as Scott’s dad had to make his closing comments as well before ordering him off to class.
The two walked silently towards the cafeteria as the bell was about to ring to end fifth period, and it was going to be time for their lunch anyway. Walking into the large room, the sun from the wall of glass burned into their eyes. They sat at one of the tables and waited for the room to fill up.
Neither felt particularly hungry, as they had spent the morning beefing up on junk food. Besides, they had blown their lunch money on the video games and cigars.
The bell rang. Matt sighed loudly, knowing he might as well just try to enjoy the rest of the school day and make it last as long as possible since he was going to have a very long night once he got home. Kids filled the halls from every direction, many with books beneath their arms as they shuffled off to their next class, having a different lunch hour, while others carried in brown paper sacks or headed toward the line for the food bar.
That was when his life had irrevocably changed. When his everyday life had turned to an inexhaustible hell.
And it had all begun so simply.
Friends had crowded around them, sitting down at the table beside them or hovering over the table to either side.
“What happened to you guys?” Brian had asked.
“Got caught ditching school,” Scott answered.
“Whoa, dude. What happened?”
They had regaled the group around them with the stories of their morning of decadence right up to the point where they were finally apprehended, hiding on the floor of the shower.
Over the course of the following week, the story had played off many lips. “Did you hear Matt and Scott got caught skipping school?” turned into “Did you hear Matt and Scott got caught in the shower together?”
Matt could remember the first time he had heard that particular variation. He had been hiding out in the bathroom in the middle of class, taking his time on a bathroom break. He had been sitting on top of one of the sinks, waiting just a few more minutes before heading back to class to avoid the teacher having a fit. Jim Yates had walked in and faced one of the urinals.
“So I hear you got caught,” he said, zipping down his zipper.
“Yeah,” Matt said, consciously looking the other direction.
Finishing his business, Jim zipped back up his zipper and walked right past Matt.
“Fucking faggot,” he said, spitting on Matt’s leg.
The whole thing had come as such a shock; there was no way that he could have ever really been prepared for that to happen. He just sat there, staring at the damp, dark blue patch on his jeans. The world spun around him.
From there, each day had gotten progressively worse. He would walk down the halls between classes being shoved from all sides by passersby, as they would whisper about him… and those were the kind ones. There were others who would shove him, trip him, knock his books from his arms, staring down at him, calling him a “fucking faggot.” It got to the point where he was no longer able to make eye contact with anyone, staring down at his feet wherever he went. Slouching down in his seat in class to avoid the stares, so as not to see their lips moving as they berated him, quite often in front of the whole class.
It was to the point where he couldn’t get any girls at his own school to talk to him, let alone go out on a date. He had actually even had a girlfriend at the time, Tricia, but she dumped him because all of the stress was starting to get to her. Get to her?!
Matt began walking to class around the outside of the building, even through the snow, so as to encounter as few people as possible. The parking lot monitors cut him some slack, most likely because he had become so meek and pathetic looking, allowing him to sit out in the parking lots smoking between periods.
And the torment didn’t stay at school. People called his house, day and night, waiting for him to answer, and then shouting “Faggot!” into the phone, or just calling to verbally berate him. It followed him home on the bus. Kids he had known all of his life throwing trash at him, yanking the back of his hair, and his personal favorite, the
