I tossed my English books into my backpack and without closing the bag I shuffled awkwardly down the hall to Ms. Jackson’s class. I began imagining how this English class would shape up. Half the girls in the class would share how A Day No Pigs Would Die made them tear up. Oh brother…the irony…it sickens me how these girls get overemotional about a fictional pig but couldn’t care less about a young thirteen year old boy struggling each day to wake up and face a day of cruel middle school torment.
Speak of the devil! As I draw closer to the end of the hall, I saw the one girl who taught me how to hate. Patricia was chatting with one of her 9th grade friends who also happened to move up to this town from the city. I looked back and saw that the section of the hallway most congested with students between classes was nearly deserted. This meant two things – class was starting soon and there would be no escape.
Patricia’s eyes glazed on me and she swooped in for the kill. My heart began pumping harder and I was feeling flushed but I didn’t notice them. These were sensations I’ve grown uncomfortably used to. Patricia flashed me a wicked smile and told me in an overly sarcastic voice, “Hey sexy baby…” I never believed her for a second. Patricia played these evil mind games on me, the unfortunate loser, and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to stand up and tell her what she was, how loathsome of a person she was, and how much I hated her but I couldn’t. I was shy and lacked the part of me that would have stood up to this girl. My friends were no hope – standing up for your buddy was not something practiced very often in middle school. All I could do was stand there and endure the sarcastic sexual passes.
What was it? 90210? Was that where Patricia got the cruel idea that this was ok? Did those over-glamorized characters pick on some Urkelesque characters on the show with this sexual innuendo? Did those exaggerated losers believe that the 90210 characters were sincere? I wasn’t sure about the roots of such adolescent cruelty but the world around me was turning ugly.
I eventually slithered my way past Patricia and into the classroom. Sure enough, the girls in the class shared their sob stories about the pig’s death. Ms. Jackson led a discussion that I sifted into and out of.
After thirty-five minutes, she gave up and considered the task of maintaining an 8th grade attention “good enough.” The class was given time to do their own work (a euphemism for opening the gates of hell). I sat in the back and sketched some pictures. I had no artistic talent but I still drew since it helped me escape reality. All of a sudden, I felt something cold slither down my pants. The girls sitting next to me slipped a pencil down my butt crack and were laughing hysterically. The bell rang and the class shuffled out while I was left standing there with my shame. Ms. Jackson approached me and with some anger and pity, asked me what happened. I wanted to tell her everything but I was too ashamed. All I could say was, “I was embarrassed.” After a moment, Ms. Jackson realized it was too embarrassing for me to talk about and let me move on to math class.
As I grabbed my backpack, I thought about building a bomb. A bomb set to go off during a school assembly would take many of us out. Sadly, I could never do that. Sunday school’s moral lessons taught me the value of human lives. Still, I found it cruel how that succubus Patricia could torment me anyway imaginable but if I were to take action against her, it would be illegal. I considered suicide but once again, I would be the one who suffers while Patricia and the others get away clean-as-a-whistle. How fair was that!? There was no escape. I knew that I could not win this battle and my only option was to hold on and try to survive emotionally.