I've since abandoned fiction writing for the most part, mainly because I don't feel I'm consistent enough in my abilities to continue as an actual fiction writer, but also because the process is very lengthy and I've lost some interest in the subject as a whole to boot. But, I was intrigued by this and thought some people might enjoy seeing a different creative side of my brain.
The title of the entire work was 'The Better Part.' I've no idea what that was supposed to mean, but I assume I felt it had some profound significance to me. Whatever. Enjoy.
In the grand
scheme of things I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered whether or not I had
gotten dressed for gym class that day.
I would have preferred not to, yet ultimately was convinced via text
messaging from Maya, that the scheduled activity would not be overly
strenuous. It was a
commonly-practiced rule at my school that should a student appear in P.E.
without the appropriate uniform than he or she would be marked down two points
yet still allowed to participate in the class.
And
so it had been- we had done nothing more than a day of indoor kickball, yet I,
along with three others, was permitted by my kind teacher to simply walk the
track inside the Field House. My
dressing for class had become an inconsequential decision, but as usual I had
let my self-conscious mind concern myself with trivial matters.
I,
of course, was the first to arrive in the locker room after the gym bell had
rung; I had made a habit of rushing quickly there so as to avoid being the
awkward and embarrassed focus of cruel eyes that would judge and curt voices
that would taunt me for my overweight form and choice of clothes. My pudgy sausage fingers fumbled with
the lock in slight nervousness, but I was able to open the thing in time for me
to grab my jeans, t-shirt, and jacket and stuff myself into each roughly. By the time the hollers of excited and
rambunctious male students greeted my ears I was fully dressed and removing my
backpack from the larger locker next to the one that now contained my
uniform. My gaze darted quickly to
either side of me as the much more athletic and mostly better-looking guys
began to disrobe and pull on their regular clothes. I blushed slightly and shrugged off the feeling that someone
had noticed my desiring looks. I
focused my thoughts on other matters such as the upcoming Latin quiz in my next
class and pushed through the heavy back door of the locker room that was rarely
used due to its often unknown location.
The
hallway I entered was, for the most part, empty of students, save for the few
who had been let out early from swim class because of the extra time needed for
changing. I passed by a girl with
still-damp locks and caught a whiff of chlorine infused with Garnier-Fructis
shampoo, I wondered how she had found the time to wash her hair that thoroughly
with a sudsy cleanser that she must have brought from home. A set of doors greeted me, separating
the hallway I currently was in from an atrium of sorts that served to buffer
the transition from gym classes to the rest of the school. I pressed on, opening the somewhat
rusted aperture, and deposited myself in the semi-lobby. It was noticeably colder here, but this
was understandable, there was yet another set of doors, now visible, that
allowed entry into an outdoor passageway that eventually led to the other end
of the gym wing. Despite the
thickness of the walls and the doors themselves there was no avoiding the
pervasive Illinois winter air, which always managed to worm itself into the
smallest of cracks and reign frigid breezes down upon the unsuspecting students
who merely waited for the next bell to ring. Unlike the rest of the school, due primarily to the size of
the enclosure, the entryway was not randomly decorated with a plethora of advertisements
for different social gatherings and clubs, in fact there was nothing of great
interest in the place; if one considered pieces of hardened gum stuck to the
tile floor to be beauteous then perhaps it could be called of minor interest,
but as no one does so, so can the hallway not be called a place of required
attention.
My
overstuffed backpack sagged mightily on my now-weakened shoulders and I decided
to remove the burden upon me momentarily so as to provide a fleeting feeling of
comfort. As I did so, I
inadvertently let the load drop slightly onto the sneaker of an approaching
male student. The boy groaned
slightly in a combination of minor pain and aggravation at the possible
dirtying of his new shoes.
“What
the fuck?” the injured student exclaimed.
I hurriedly dragged the backpack off of the shoe and set it down
properly on the floor.
“I’m
s-sorry,” I apologized for the accident.
The student was taller, but younger than I, yet I was a senior and had,
though in this situation it seemed irrelevant, a certain class-oriented and
unspoken dominance over him. He
was a lean African-American student who enjoyed basketball, as was evidenced by
his jersey outfit and impeccably clean Nike Reeboks. I grew fearful of this- a sports jock surely had the ability
to inflict terrible pain upon a person that offended him in any manner. The leviathan looked down upon me and
noticed my shoes, which still prominently displayed the words: “I Love Boys” in
multi-colored Sharpie.
“You
gay?” the query was slurred slightly and given the somewhat bloodshot
appearance of the other boy’s eyes, I assumed that he had just previously
inhaled deeply of a marijuana joint.
My focus became
less on the question itself; instead my gaze became more intent. The braids on the guy’s head were
frayed and worn out, dandruff on his shoulders glistened slightly in the
sunlight as he shifted his whole body a little towards me, hoping to
intimidate, and specks of dried skin fell from his nostrils like snowflakes as
he flared them in a moment of apprehensive concern for his well-being, for he
was in the presence of a homosexual, an individual with whom he shared no
commonalities and the strongest of animosities.
Several
more students pushed open the doors behind us, the metal frames squeaked and
groaned in pain of constant use, and murmurs of girls and sports fell about the
frigid air of the hallway. I,
though wearied from an exhaustive day of schoolwork was then able to work up enough
gusto and energy to defend myself if need be. The situation on the bus had only occurred several months
ago and memories of it flashed before me.
I was struck by the random coincidence of the bullies all being of the
same race, whether this mentality was reflective of the entire African American
culture had occurred to me only briefly, I had many friends who were black and
the best of comrades in my mind, so I decided no, this was just mere fateful
chance and nothing more. I nodded
my head assuredly and answered in a weak, yet still audible voice, “Yes.”
I
saw his lip curl slightly into a disdainful sneer and his right eye twitch
momentarily as he pondered briefly how to react accordingly to what I
considered a minor declaration. My
face warmed suddenly by the new surge of pouring sunlight from outside and I
noticed his pupils dilate in response.
Like a vampire, he recoiled his head quickly into the darker, shadowy
parts of the school hallway, and exclaimed, “Goddamn!” He had made his choice and though it
saddened me some, I was more relieved in the moment to realize that nothing of
dire consequence had come of the situation. My focus returned to other trivial matters- the remains of
the school day, yet still, during the last minute or so before the bell rang I
found myself glancing back toward him both out of mild concern for my own well
being as well as genuine curiosity.
A
cohort, another young man, to whom he whispered, joined him. They both shot me darting glares of
disparaging disgust and anger and the new one, it seemed in slow motion, mouthed
the word, “Faggot,” at me. A pulse
raced through my jaw and it was set out of place in response to their near
derogatory name-calling. Yet I did
not waver from my place, I did not shout back at them or demand a teacher’s
attention. I was above them and
would not sink to any level near them.
And so the bell
rang, and we, all of the students, marched onward towards our next class. I would not fully recall the event in
the hours that followed, as I was caught up greatly in the chaos that was school
and schoolwork, yet still, thoughts of it would meander aimlessly through my
imagined sights and though I did not consider the occurrence on the same level
as say a hate crime, it did effect me some. I considered the hate and ignorance that existed in the
world and how prevalent it had become for so many different people in recent
years, but more so I realized the manner in which such disdain occurred for
individuals. Sometimes overtly
with violence and yet, in a sense, more troubling and prominent were the
unnoticed subtleties with which cruel people did and still do enact the outrage
over something they do not understand or desire to.
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