BOYS

Sometimes people aren't always who you think they are.

He was the boy who sat beside me in Grade 10 History. I had always found him to be quite a loser though I wasn’t really anything special myself. I was the classic nerd: large black glasses, short blonde hair, and regular clothes but I might as well have had shorts tucked up to my belly button. No girls liked me. Though, I had never tried to find out. They were probably all s***s anyways.

I just focused on schoolwork like a good nerdy schoolboy would do. Not worrying about girls, just focusing on work.

It was in Grade 10 at Charad Secondary School when I first met Robert Spelling. In History, he seemed to never follow along with what the teacher was saying. If I could just remember the battles of World War I and not have Robert always talking in my ear, I’d be fine. This boy wouldn’t leave me alone. During attendance on the first day of class, I heard his name called out and found his last name to be quite funny. Still, I never really questioned his spelling skills.

            “Malcolm, why did Adolf Hitler start World War Two?”

            He was asking me a question that wasn’t even regarded to the lecture.

            “I don’t know,” I said, not even looking at him, “but we’re not even there yet. Why don’t you ask the teacher?”

            “She doesn’t seem to like me.”

            I wanted to accuse him of the fact that maybe it was because he disrupted the class and never paid attention, but I fought the urge and decided to answer his question.

            “It was because everyone blamed the Germans for the cause of World War One and so Hilter tried to comfort everyone by blaming it on the Jews. Instead of tackling the problem, he found an alternative.”

            “Why?”

            Robert reminded me of a curious child. Why had I become his teacher? For all he knew, I could be lying. Why couldn’t he ask Ms. Shlell or his parents? But I never pressed him with these questions. I figured that I was probably his only friend and I was never good at dismissing people. I would figure out a way to get rid of him once he found another friend, a girlfriend, anyone else that would be willing to answer these questions for him. I hoped that the day would come soon. In the meantime, I played the dummy.

            “I think it had to do with his childhood.”

            “Malcolm!” yelled my History teacher.

Though she had spoken out now, I knew that she had probably been listening to our entire conversation. Ms. Shlell was one of the best I knew at multitasking. She also had supersonic hearing and was able to teach while using this talent. I never knew a woman who could so quickly catch an inconspicuous teenage girl trying to text her boyfriend at how boring this class was. I knew that because she sat right beside me.

“You think I don’t have eyes, child?”

The girl named Isabelle had no response.

 

 

Now Ms. Shlell was looking directly at me as she said,

“Maybe you would like to share with the class what you were discussing with Robert.”

I wasn’t like many of the 14-year-olds and possibly 15-year-olds around me: I didn’t feel that awkward and insignificant when a teacher called me out. I assessed the situation with complete understanding of the consequences. In simple terms, I stood up for myself.

“Well, if the class is interested in discussing the psychology behind Hitler, then sure.”

Many stared at me with eyes of shock. Talking back to a teacher? That was a reason for being talked to after class.

Ms. Shlell smiled at my comment and just said,

“No. I would believe that’s not necessary as we’re not there yet in the course. With regards to Hitler, I mean the history. As for the psychology of the matter, that would be addressed in a different course.”

The students couldn’t believe that I would have gotten away so easily. In a way, they were probably jealous of me. Now I was probably sitting in a class filled with enemies. Oh well, at least Robert was still my friend.

Ms. Shlell dismissed the subject and tapered on with her lecture, but I had a feeling she knew the day would come when she would catch me off guard.

 

 

Robert was beaming after class. The small boy with messy brown hair and big blue eyes followed me around like our arms were attached. The boy was in all of my classes except English. Though many may call it faith, I don’t believe in that bullshit and wish I had never met the boy. Frankly, I think he was in one of my classes and then realized that he wanted to switch into every subject I was taking. Guess English was already ahead of him. Maybe he can’t spell very well.

“Wow. That was amazing the way you told off that teacher,” he said, his big blue eyes gazing up at me as if I was some god or idol he adored. I had a feeling I was his only idol.

I just smiled at him as one would if there was a fly in the house and miraculously the fly could talk.

I mean, what are you supposed to say to that? When someone praises you, the polite thing to do is just nod along unless you’re really snotty and reply with,

“I know, I’m brilliant.”

Though, I would love someone to actually say this as you might lose followers once they think you’re a narcissist. However, I didn’t say this to Robert.

Robert kept tailing me as I tried to head to English. It was our third day of History and now that Mr. Brilliant had spoken out, it seemed our friendship was blooming. Though I wanted to do well in school, a part of me wanted to just be the quiet one who never spoke up. People would leave me alone, including Robert, but I was too far along in this Grade that a sudden change would be unbelievable. Besides, Robert would never stop probably if I even cut off my nose. Why couldn’t this adorer be a girl? Then at least I could control it and maybe get something out of it. You know, flirt; be playful, maybe even kiss her. But Robert wasn’t a girl and I needed to accept that fact. I wasn’t really planning on kissing him anyway. It was so much harder to get rid of boys than girls. With girls, you just give them the cold shoulder and they usually left you alone. With boys, or at least with Robert, you probably had to punch them in the face to get rid of them. Especially with this age, once a boy finds someone they can look up to, they will want to be taught how they can change. Not all boys are like this, but the curious ones and the unsure ones are. I was the teacher and Robert thought he was my student. Sadly, I was too nice to push him aside.

Robert was talking the whole time as I made my way to room 102 for English. He was going on about his thoughts of our History teacher and I was barely listening.

“Sorry, Robert, but I’ve got to get to class.”

“Okay, but what time will it end?”

He always asked me this after History. I knew the kid could figure this out for himself, but I didn’t think he ever would.

“Three fifteen as usual.”

This was my usual response.

“Alright, see you then.”

God help me.

 

 

In English class, we were discussing the comparisons between similes and metaphors but I was more focused on how I could subtly get rid of Robert. It seemed that there was no way given that he was in all my classes except one. Though, I did know that this was the last class of the day. He seemed to be always waiting for me at exactly 3:15 PM every school day. Sometimes I wondered if he just never went to his last class of the day on the days I had English.

Leaving early was an option, but then I’d see him in Math the next day and he would ask me what happened. If I just disappeared one day of the week, he would just keep questioning me. How could I avoid these confrontations? I planned to just skip school all together but then knew my education would be in jeopardy. I wasn’t going to become one of those drug addicts or alcoholics who think that any time is the time to cure their mind, which inherently destroys it. So by the end of English, I had learned one thing: there was no way to get rid of Robert.

 

 

When I left English, he was standing outside the school doors as usual. You could also say that it was fate that we only lived two blocks away from each other. With that, I would ask God,

“What is the purpose of Robert being in my life?”

 But I never really ask God anything because I know he won’t answer me. Life, you seem to figure out by yourself. If somebody else did it, well you wouldn’t be much of you, would you?

            Robert never told me much about himself as it seemed he was always more interested in what I had to say. Though, I wished he would talk once in a while. I was thinking of just telling him that I had lost my voice. Sadly, this idea couldn’t be prolonged for more than a day or two.

            We always walked together. Now, it seemed impossible to make any new friends.

            Grade 9, I was the shy kid still trying to figure out what high school really meant. For the most part, I stuck with my studies. The move to Toronto had been hard when we had lived in Peterborough for so long. I had moved for the start of Grade 9. My parents had made the decision because they felt the need to live in a big city. I didn’t. I had been fine living in P and didn’t know much about big cities. I had friends in P but not many in TO. I mostly focused on my schoolwork and eventually lost the friends I had in P. Then Grade 10 rolled around and I met Robert who latched onto me like a leech. With the leech on my back, everyone else seemed to taper off. I wished things were different. Thank God my parents hadn’t seen Robert yet. They were always so delighted when I met friends and probably would even invite them to dinner even if they happened to be a serial killer. As long as they were friends with me, they were happy. It made sense given that they were pretty saddened when all I seemed to do was schoolwork and never saw any of my friends from P during Grade 9. The summer of Grade 9 was spent at my cottage. Boating, swimming, and seeing movies really helped me cope with the move and school.

 

 

Walking home today was a bit different than usual: Robert wasn’t talking. He had been asking me about English all the way to my locker and out the door but the minute we stepped outside, silence. Ironically, it seemed the outside had be rid him of any breath. He never said a word until we were nearing his block.

            “I was wondering,” his blue eyes filled with innocence, “if your parents would mind if I stayed for dinner?”

            I couldn’t believe this! Suddenly, him following me around seemed to be a minor issue. First off, no one ever offers themselves to be invited, they expect to be invited. Though, there are many leeches out there, but no one hangs out with them let alone invite them to their house. But Robert seemed to really want to hang out with me. Still, you never invited yourself to someone’s house. I knew my parents would love him and hardly object, but I also knew that if I did, that would bring new thoughts into his head; thoughts of friendship and the last thing I needed was Robert thinking he was my friend. We never really hung out together and one of the first bonding steps is inviting them over. It’s a test for the person in question to see if they are worthy of your hospitality. If they fail, they will probably be ignored, avoided, and eventually dismissed. You can test friendships other ways like travelling with them or sharing a joint, but travelling evokes a sense of living which kind of brings you back to the whole house issue, while smoking a joint, only tests whether your bud’s a stoner or not, or just likes to smoke. If not, that could mean complications, but you could still remain friends. But if you have a total jerk in your house, it’s usually not accepted unless this jerk was really cool. For Robert and I, this was a BIG step.

“Yeah, sure,” I said.

I felt that I had been pushed into a corner.

            “Oh, thanks.”

He looked rather relieved that I had agreed.

            “My parents are out for the weekend and they told me that it would be best if I could just stay over with a friend.”

            I knew he only had one friend but that wasn’t the issue here: he was now implying that I allow him to stay overnight at least until his parents came home. I had forgotten that today was Friday and that tomorrow was Saturday. Maybe Robert was a leech, but still, I felt that I had been pushed into this.

            “Yeah, man,” I said. “How long are they gone for?”

            “Until Sunday.”

            So I had a whole day with this guy? Friday was practically over.

            “Alright.”

            “I hope your parents are fine with it.”

I almost laughed at him. They would be thrilled. He really should have hoped them not to be too ecstatic which was what I was praying for.

 

“Mom, dad, this is Robert.”

            “Hi,” he said in his sweet high voice.

            My parents were beaming. I was already realizing this was a bad idea. I knew my parents would be talking up a storm when I was alone with them. In Grade 9, I had never invited anyone over so I couldn’t be heckled.

            Dinner was delicious as always and Robert became the son my parents never had. He was so polite and so considerate that I wanted to tape him to the floor and leave him there until we finished eating. The cute boyish voice and the politeness had my parents enraptured. I had thought of a new way that Robert could be out of my life: I’ll kill him.

            But as I contemplated this new method of action, I realized that there were many flaws: I didn’t know where to buy a gun, I had never been good at handling sharp objects such as knives, and where would I dump the body? The only place I could figure out was underneath my house and I was never a skilled digger nor did I want a dead body underneath my house. Soon, I had scratched the idea of killing Robert.

 

 

After dinner, Robert hadn’t brought any sleeping attire with him so my parents gave him a pillow and my sleeping bag I took to camp. He would sleep beside my bed. Soon, night had fallen and we were both getting ready to fall asleep. The day had passed by pretty quickly and we hadn’t done much except watch TV and play two board games: Chess and Sorry.

            Robert was given a toothbrush that I had gotten from the dentist (they always gave me one when I was there whether I need it or not) and once our teeth were brushed, we were soon longing for sleep to overcome us. Well, at least I was. Once I was underneath my covers and Robert was in my sleeping bag, a question was asked by Robert,

            “Do you believe in love?”

            Another thing about friendships is the late night conversations. They are the ones that, if you’re comfortable, bring out your true thoughts. It’s usually at night that they occur. Maybe we believe that being secluded and comfortable in the dark allows us to say what’s on our mind. I’m not so sure, but Robert was getting a little bit too comfortable in my home.

            “Yes,” I said. I wasn’t going to get into the details, but I had a feeling this conversation wasn’t over.

            “I’m not so sure,” was his response. “My parents don’t ever seem to be around and I don’t seem to really make much of a connection with girls.”

            I wondered if he even tried. I knew I couldn’t just fall asleep and pretend to listen; he was expecting a response from every statement he made.

            “Well, it’s only Grade Ten. I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” I said, hoping that would deplete the evening chatter.

            “Do you worry?”

            “Well, not really. I mostly focus on school work.”

            You can never lie in these things because the other one would always know or find out very quickly.

            “Yeah, I’m not so good with school,” he said.

            “Well, you can always get better.” I paused. “I could help you.”

            “That would be great.”

I knew his blue eyes were sparkling right now.

            “Maybe you could help me with something else as well.”

            Oh no, I thought. I knew I had wandered into a trap.

            “I was wondering if you could maybe help me with girls as well. You seem so good at it.”

            I was curious as to where he got that idea. If he wanted advice from me about this subject, he would soon envision them as all s***s as well.

            “What makes you think that?”

            “You seem so comfortable around anybody. Girls must love that,” said Robert. I knew he was looking up at me like some innocent puppy in need of love.

            “I’ve never kissed one, let alone really had a deep conversation with one,” I said quickly.

            I was talking about girls as if they were mere objects. Right now, in this conversation, they were.

            “Yeah, but it would be easy for you. You’re probably always thinking about it.”

            “Not really,” I said.

            Girls were barely on my mind these days.

            “Well, how do you masturbate if you don’t ever think about it?”

            I was really hoping this wasn’t the topic of the conversation, but again, I couldn’t lie.

            “Well, that’s different,” I defended.

            “How so?” Robert questioned.

            He seemed to be interrogating me.

            “Well, because I’m looking at magazines or girls on the internet who have been hired to please my interests anyway. I don’t fantasize about girls in my school. If I did, well, let’s just say boners would become an issue.”

            Though, my attempt at humour/a signal to “move on” to a different topic didn’t really settle with Robert.

            “I don’t really masturbate. I find it kind of disgusting,” he said.

            Was I now becoming the sex teacher?

            “It’s a common bodily function,” I explained. “We all do it. If you keep holding it in, that can present blue balls and other uncomfortable situations.”

            “Yeah, but I do, do it, just not as often as most. It’s so hard though, sometimes. What if my parents know?”

            “Why does it really matter?”

            “I don’t know. I never want them to catch me doing it.”

            “Well, when do you do it?”

            I couldn’t believe I had just asked that.

            “At night, don’t most?”

            “I wouldn’t know, I don’t ask them.”

            Another attempt to humour was met with an awkward lull. Who was this kid?

            “That’s true,” he finally said. “And yeah, they’re downstairs and all but I’m worried they still might come up.”

            “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It might affect your performance.”

            Now I was sounding like some sex teacher or a doctor. God, why couldn’t we move on to a different topic or just go to sleep?

            “Thanks.”

            Finally, but Robert wasn’t finished.

            “Do you watch girls or guys?”

            Now what kind of question was that?

            “Girls,” I said, trying not to sound too matter-of-factly.

            “Yeah, same.”

            But by the way he said it, I wasn’t so sure. “Though, it takes so long to find the right one. Sometimes then, it doesn’t work. Don’t you ever wonder about those guys who f**k those girls? They have the perfect body. I wish I saw one with the natural characteristics I possess.”

            When he swore, it did not sound like it suited him at all.

            “Well, I don’t really think about it to be honest.”

            “You ever wonder about homosexuals?”

            “No.”

            Now I had a feeling where this conversation was going and not to be stereotypical or anything but it sort of made sense. Here was this boy named Robert Spelling who seemed to be more interested in boys than girls.

            “I do,” he said, but he paused before continuing. “It seems that it’s easier to be more intimate with a guy than a girl. Though, the sex part always makes me wonder if it’s worth it.”

            Now it was time for me to ask the question.

            “Have you seen videos of homosexuals?”

            “Yes,” he replied.

            “And what did you think?”

            “There’s less yelling and more intimacy, I guess.”

            I wanted to laugh at the “yelling” part but knew that this was a serious matter.      “So, do you think you like guys more than girls?”

            Now I was becoming a sex therapist. Why couldn’t we just go to sleep? I was so tired.

            “I think so. I really like you, Malcolm.”

            Whoa. We were treading in uncharted waters now and I was really hoping to drown. “But I don’t think you have the same feelings for me,” he said quickly, as if guessing my reaction. “Though, you may be as unsure as me but afraid to admit it.”

            Robert was trying to tell me that I was gay, but I knew that I wasn’t. Girls had hit on me, but I had always rejected them because I wasn’t interested in them. Until Robert, I had never had a boy hit on me and I had never thought one would. Rejecting a boy, again, was harder than rejecting a girl especially when it was Robert. But I wasn’t questioning my sexuality for I knew I wasn’t interested in boys. As my mom said, homosexuals usually know they’re homosexuals. Though they may try to hide it, you can never really hide who you are. I knew Robert liked boys and that wasn’t awkward for me. I didn’t hate him either. My parents had taught me to accept people who were different and Robert was very different from me. The problem was showing this without hurting him.

            “Well, you’re a good friend to me too, Robert,” was all I could think of in the moment of silence.

            “You can call me Rob. My parents do. But I’m not going to call you, Mac.” He laughed at this but I couldn’t. Now it was his turn to feel awkward. “I like you more than a friend though. You seem to know what you want and how to get it. I sometimes seem to be so weak and helpless. You’re not afraid to tell people how you feel.”

            Where had he decided this was true? Well, it didn’t matter; I knew I had to tell him.

            “Rob, I’m not gay.”

            I didn’t think there was any other way except stating it bluntly. Silence filled the room and I almost felt guilty in saying that. Finally, I heard a very innocent but awkward,

            “Oh.”

            “Yeah man, I’m sorry. But it’s cool.”

            “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

            “Of course not.”

            “Thanks, Malcolm.”

 

The next day of class was one of the most awkward experiences of my life. Robert acted as if nothing had gone on Friday and I was trying to forget the entire evening. Saturday, Robert had left at around 11 AM saying that his parents were back. I didn’t believe him but thought that he had a house key. My parents though, were suspicious. They asked me why Robert had left so quickly and I hadn’t known what to say.

            “Maybe he’s lonely here,” I said.

            My parents just raised their eyebrows but didn’t pester me with questions.

 

Isabelle was twirling her long brown hair around her manicured finger when Robert walked in and took his seat. It was 2:00 PM and I was ready for History to get started. I needed to absorb my brain with historical facts on World War I.

            When Ms. Shlel walked into the classroom at exactly 2:10, she was carrying a DVD case.

            “Today, I thought we should watch a movie.”

            Everyone in the class smiled as she flashed the DVD case of Passchendaele before us.

            Soon the projector screen was pulled down and the projector was wheeled into place. Isabelle put her cell phone away to actually watch the film and as soon as the movie began playing, Ms. Shlel left the room.

            I tried to get captured by the film and ignore the boy behind me.

            When the movie was done, I felt I knew more about Passchendaele and the various wars of World War I.

When I left the class, Robert didn’t follow me. Isabelle did, though.

            “Hey Malcolm, I was wondering if you took notes during the movie.”

            I nodded. My black backpack was slung over my shoulder and I waited to hear what Isabelle had to say. Her dark green eyes were glazed with blue eye shadow. I could see through the door way that the rest of the class was getting up and leaving.

            “Oh, good,” was Isabelle’s reply, “because I didn’t. Didn’t have time.”

            I was wondering what she had been wasting her time doing. Probably texting her boyfriend when I wasn’t looking. “I was just wondering if you could email me your notes.”

            “Sure,” I shrugged.

            “Thanks,” she smiled at me, looking relieved.

            I hadn’t thought it was a big deal.

            She then pulled a pen out of her purse and asked,

            “What’s your email?”

            “MalcolmX at Hotmail.com,” I said.

            “That’s good,” she said, as she proceeded to write that down on her right palm.

            “K,” I said quickly once I saw Robert leave the classroom, staring at the floor. “Send me an email with your name on it so I know it’s you.”

            “K,” she beamed.

            Girls were so strange.

            I left Isabelle fumbling with her blue purse as I rushed out to see if I hadn’t missed Robert. I found him heading down the hall.

            “Robert!” I cried just as the bell rang, signalling the end of Period 3. He hadn’t heard me and I watched him turn the corner and disappear down the hall. I ran after him, heading the exact opposite way of my English class. I couldn’t watch Robert walk so glumly away from History.

            “Robert!” I cried again when I saw his blue backpack in sight. Robert turned around and faced me. Tears were welling up in his eyes and I almost stared at the floor, not sure of what to say.

            “What do you want, Malcolm?” he asked, trying to remain calm.

            “Um…well…I’m sorry.”

            “Sorry for what?”

            “For Friday.”

            That’s when John Marker and his friends decided to walk down the hall. They were the class clowns of the school. Everyone thought they were a riot but I just thought they were airheaded idiots.

            “What about Friday, Malcolm?” cried out John as his two friends Steve Lennox and Jerry Davis passed us.

            “Nothing,” I said quickly.

            It was never good to talk to someone in a hall; there were always listeners.

            “What did you do to Robert, kiss him?”

            John and his friends were in my History class and I was shocked that he even knew Robert’s name. But what I was more shocked about was John’s comment towards me and before I could think it, it came out of my mouth,

            “F**k off, John.”

            I could see that Robert was uncomfortable with this conversation and John was taken aback by the sudden profanity.

            “What? Wow, Mac, didn’t think you had it in you.”

            I couldn’t believe this. I barely talked to this guy. What made him think he could just insult me?

            “Why is Robert crying, Mac?”

            His words provoked me: I clasped my right hand into a fist and made sure my knuckles crossed his nose. The sudden impact threw John off balance and his friends caught him just before he hit the floor.

            John glared at me.

            “Let’s go Robert,” I told my friend.

Reviews

[Marie]

I felt I really didn't have time to read this, and yet itfascinated me. Good story.

[Andy Ruffett]

Love when writing does that.