Love or first punch
It's hard to take control under the threat of violence
The more I write, the more messed up I think my life — or at least my childhood — was.
I got beat up all the time, treated like I was an animal, had no real friends, and my only confidant was our dog, Patches. I remember holding him, pressing my face against him, and telling him he was my only friend.
I never really thought of my childhood as traumatic, but I guess it was. Whatever normal is supposed to be, I didn’t feel it until a fleeting moment before my wife got cancer.
Woe is me.
Or, as my wife would say: Womp, womp.
Everyone has something that messed them up and that they’re dealing with on a personal, private, or even public level. I hope we can all empathize with one another and respect that. My experience was not yours, and certainly should not be looked at as which sucked more or less. Good or bad, our experiences shaped us into who we are today.
I admire those who overcame tragedy and are the strong, confident, loving people they are today. I feel for those who did not. I hope they know they are not alone. I feel the need to reiterate that with each thing I write, as it is an important part of this process and I am here to talk, listen, or help in other ways that I can.
In a previous essay, I discussed my experience of socially putting myself out there and being met with hostility. One of those instances not discussed was the threat of being beaten up. It was my first kiss.
My eighth-grade classmates hung out on a street corner by our school. To fit in and make friends, I would go there too. I failed at both of those objectives. Still, for some reason, I tried.
One night, I was standing away from everyone, wishing I could be mixed in to the conversation, when a person in my grade — let’s call him Tony — approached me. He pointed to a girl who was looking at us and said, “Blue, that girl over there wants to make out with you.”
“Blue” was a nickname I was given due to the pigmentation I had on my lower lip.
I told him I did not want to. Tony responded by questioning my sexuality. I reassured him it had nothing to do with my sexual preferences. He doubted my response.
I said I was not ready to do something like that and the girl was not my type. She was pretty and sweet, but it was neither the right time nor place. None of that seemed to matter.
“I’m going to kick your ass,” he warned me. “You’re either going to kiss her, or get your ass kicked.”
So poetic. It’s exactly how I imagined my first kiss.
The girl was standing in an unlit area down the street. She was smiling and excited. I don’t know what Tony said to her, but it was clear that this was going to happen.
I did not know much about her, but I saw her walking down the school’s hallways. She was in seventh grade. I think many of her friends were in my class, though.
Tony grabbed me by my shirt and led me part of the way down the street. We stopped, he let go of me, and said I would take it from there.
“If you don’t hook up with her or you try to run, I’ll find you and kick your ass,” he warned me.
I walked down to her, occasionally glancing back over my shoulder to see if he was still there watching me. He was.
When I got to her, she was giddy. I felt like a dickhead, but I had to be honest.
I told her I did not want to do this. She said nothing, just continued smiling. I asked if she wanted to do this, or if this had happened before. No response. I think I was about to say something else when she grabbed my face and kissed me.
I don’t remember the kiss. I don’t remember what happened after it. The next memory I have is of being home and on the phone. I called a classmate’s brother, but I have no idea why.
I think I was happy. I don’t remember. Maybe it was nice to feel wanted. Despite the constant derision and beatings from my classmates, I felt less alone. Someone liked me.
We never spoke again. Every time we passed in the hall, I looked the other way. I don’t think I went back to that street corner to hang out again. Graduation was right around the corner, and thankfully, I didn’t go to the local high school. So, I never really saw any of these people again.