The guy was a babe magnet. So I should have counted myself lucky to be his friend, right? Because I could catch his throwaways, right? Sure, I was grateful on occasion for Jack’s scraps. But tragically for me, we had something else in common.
Our taste in the same girl.
Her name was Elizabeth Mackenzie, but it might as well have been Goddess. Whatever her name, it rolled off my tongue like honey, and she became my life’s obsession.
She’s the lump in my throat that refuses to go away. The minute that I saw her in Eighth Grade, every other girl in the world stopped existing. It was love-at-first-sight in a way that can only happen when you’re thirteen years old. In my heart I knew that she was going to be mine. And every guy who talked to her was in danger of being sucker-punched. I was intensely smitten with her, and immensely jealous because of her.
She had gentle brown eyes and soft, straight, flowing brown hair (my hand brushed against it ‘accidentally,’ more than a few times). Her angelic face had a small mole on its left cheek and her smile lit up a room whenever she entered it. Full, sensuous lips, straight white teeth and a cute little button nose were the final, sublime brush strokes on her canvas.
I thought of her, every lonely night in bed. Her, me and a jar of Vaseline. But my obsession wasn’t just pure adolescent whim. Elizabeth was a religion to which I eagerly converted. This religion’s Dogma was quite simple: worship her or perish in the inferno of Hell.
Accursed religion! Like so many religions do, it lied to me. For I did – and still do – worship her. It saddens me now, while I wait for my guaranteed searing place in the howling abyss.
Like most teenage girls, her body developed almost overnight. She was slender, and even thick sweaters couldn’t hide the soft curves of her hips and rapidly-developing breasts. Between Eighth and Ninth Grades, they erupted in a deliciously-pubescent way.
It marked the beginning of a long and devastating war. The battlefield was defined by the onslaught of perfumed hair, firm, round asses and long legs that met at the base of every boy’s fantasy. But the trumpets that announced the onslaught of battle were sounded in twos.
Prior to early teens, little differentiates males and females; little to make a boy look twice. But suddenly there they are: larger than life, redefining the Rules of Engagement in a most insidious way. It’s an evil trick that nature perpetrates on the male species. It’s not enough that the changes and raging hormones cause a raft of confusion, curiosity and insanity. The inevitable transformation makes adolescence a minefield of unending pain and torment.
The new enemy approaches as a friend, coming in a pleasant form. While young male soldiers are lulled into a false sense of calm, the enemies’ bodies morph into something more. Suddenly, we’re outnumbered, and massive casualties occur as the enemy doubles in force. I’m genuinely surprised that more teen boys don’t just jump off a cliff.
Chiropractors must love the first day of Ninth Grade. Heads twist necks as they turn everywhere, suddenly and without warning, to spy on the enemy. They’re everywhere: the things that turn schoolmates into more than just schoolmates. They become the object of pubescent Wet Dreams. And they turn teenage boys into wild, unruly, savage warriors.
I too was a victim of the malicious monster called adolescence. I too became a savage. For Elizabeth had developed. It drove me insane: what happened? It was like she’d gotten implants over the summer. God! My neck hurts, even today.
The day began with warming rays of excitement, but quickly changed to heavy showers of misery. I was filled with anticipation, because the summer was dull and uneventful. Little occurred worth speaking of, and I was excited to return to school and the friends that we hadn’t seen for two months. Well, that’s what I told people. In reality, I didn’t give a shit about seeing anyone but her. During our ride in the limo, Jack and I talked about girls – who was hot, who was not. And in a moment of stupidity, I admitted the truth to him.
He was sick of hearing about her. He used to say ‘shut the fuck up!’ and punch me in the arm. Really hard. And Jack never pulled punches, literally or figuratively. He’d roll his eyes and say things like ‘she’s just a piece of ass,’ and ‘you’re pathetic.’ Nonetheless, I was excited as I prattled on about my obsession.
“This is the year I’m going to ask her out! I just know it!” I waited for a response. I suppose that I needed him to be my backbone, the support that I so desperately needed. He looked at me and replied like I had mustard on my collar.
“Not going to happen.” He stared out the window, as if he didn’t need to look to inflict surgical precision with his slicing words. My sense of inadequacy required validation, but I wasn’t about to get it from Jack. Ivory towers crumbled and I lashed back with a tremulous, confused voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” A heart exploded like a bubble bursting. Silence wandered after my angry tone while I waited for him to say something. Finally, he turned his head and his eyes glinted along with one corner of his mouth.
“She’s wayyyy out of your league. You have a better chance with Kathy Ireland. There are lots of chicks at school. Forget about Elizabeth Mackenzie.” His words digested inside me like spoiled meat.
“Besides, I promise you. She couldn’t find first base if she was walked. She’d never put out for you. Set your sights on someone who would. I’d be happy to point them out.” His wink was no less infuriating or painful than the shot in the arm that he gave me. It hurt, almost as much as the words that tore my insides. What’s he saying?
“What the Hell are you talking about?” As I shouted his chauffer shot me a look through the rear-view mirror. I was as flushed as the raw meat that he compared her to.
I wasn’t sure which to hate first: the laissez-faire attitude or his patronizing manner, so I decided to be an equal-opportunity hater.
He shrugged and punched me again. “Look, if you want to fuck around and jack-off over her, then go for it. That’s your business. But if you want to have fun and actually get some action, then set your sights lower. I can name a dozen girls who are yours for the taking. Just tell me who and I’ll make it happen. They all do it and you won’t have to work at it. A pint of Panty Remover and you’re in there.” Panty Remover. Lemon Gin. The date-rape drug of the 1990’s.
“Christ, stop wasting your time over someone you’ll never get. And for fuck’s sake, stop being so pathetic.”
Hot tears welled, but I fought them back. Words spoken without empathy or feeling tore at me like tiny claws. I wasn’t about to acknowledge that he got to me, so I stared out the window so that he couldn’t see my face. I briefly thought about returning the verbal fire that he so casually shot across my bow. But I didn’t have the strength or the guts.
“We’ll see.” Sardonic words didn’t hide my mood, but they didn’t try to.
We didn’t speak until we got to school. I couldn’t look at him. He had pissed me off. The wind that he deftly stole from my sails and the ill-founded words crushed my teen resolve. The more I knew him, the more I expected and accepted that unsavory part of Jack’s nature. But acceptance didn’t mean I had to like it, and a necessary evil of our relationship, it would incubate over time.
The bustling environment of a new school year awoke my excitement though, and it wasn’t long before Jack and I joked and laughed again. I was willing to forget his razor-sharp words, because I knew that he was wrong. So when we discovered that we were in the same home-room we high-fived; but when I discovered that Elizabeth wasn’t in my home-room, the setback was palpable. Gloom painted my face like a sad clown and hovered over me like defeated clouds. After last class, we wended our way to the south door, where all the ‘cool’ people hung out – our group. Still depressed, I high-fived a few of the guys and winced when Jack occasionally nudged me and gestured at girls. The maddening all-knowing smile and raised right eyebrow. I’d be happy to point them out.
I grudgingly acknowledged the girls, but was reminded of his comments about Eli
zabeth. My anger was piqued every time he gestured at another one. I wasn’t interested in anyone else, dammit! Mine was a single-deity religion.
All day I scoured the hallways, just to get a glance of her glorious face. But she was nowhere to be seen. That, coupled with Jack and his oblivious, arrogant nature, drove me mad. And just when I thought I couldn’t take the frustration any longer, she appeared like an angel descending out of heaven.
In the distance: someone blocked her but then moved. Even though her back was toward me, there was no mistaking her. I could have picked her out of a raging mob from two hundred yards. My eyes soaked up her hair, her slender figure and the coy way that she carried herself. But they feasted on her ass like my eyes were thick slices of bread mopping up gravy. Modestly-tight jeans tried impotently to conceal her puberty, and I couldn’t look away.
She turned and walked toward me as the entire host of heaven echoed a magnificent song in my head. Rays of holy light shone down upon her, and cherubs spread lily petals at her feet. The only source of frustration: her books clasped closely to her chest.
To look upon her was to look upon Venus. As she grew closer she smiled, and my heart pounded in reverberating claps of thunder. This isn’t happening! My head screamed like a banshee, and I shook uncontrollably as my mind swam with the singular gaze that this angel aimed at me.
The host let loose with the Hallelujah Chorus when she lowered her books and tucked them under her arm. I had dreamed about them all summer, and now the enemy made itself known.
Her breasts were magnificent. There is no way to describe what a boy of fourteen feels when he gazes upon the unknown and feels that amazing, frustrating twinge in his pants. Her breasts suggested a brave new world that I was about to conquer.
I fought to maintain my composure. I tried to look casual, so I gave Jack a shot in the arm. Typically male and pretty dumb at that. I had to swivel around to do it, since my back was to him. There was no rhyme or reason for my clumsy posturing. I gulped and smiled in disbelief while she made a beeline for me. Steeling myself for the conversation that I was about to have, for a fleeting moment my religion promised redemption in heaven. It was a place called Elizabeth.
I fought the urge to tuck or preen myself. Unable to decide what to do with my hands, I let them hang limply by my waist. And while I did everything that I could to look cool, I was exactly the opposite of that. I put a hand on my hip while my goofy smile was painted on like a storefront mannequin’s. Dammit! Boys will be morons.
She was so close to me that I could revel in her glorious scent, and I had no choice but to engage the enemy. I wanted this, but I wanted to turn and run even more. No more time to think. Go time. I smiled my goofy smile and started to speak.
“Hey, El…” The ‘L’ hung on my tongue like a fish hook attached to a ten-pound weight.
“Jack!” Ruby lips and a sweet, gentle voice ripped me. A jagged rusty knife tore through my chest and glistened crimson as it sliced deep into my pounding heart.
He turned. He had been hitting on another girl. My raging mind fervently wished that he’d keep hitting on her and leave Elizabeth for me. But the prick half-smiled. A weak gesture, he almost turned back and I began to gasp relief.
But the rusty knife stabbed again.
“How was your summer?” In a passing, complimentary gesture, she looked at me. “Hi Malcolm.” Blood, plenty of it. Oozing out of multiple stab wounds, pumping incessantly. She brushed past me and sidled up to him.
Biological levels change. No, they don’t decrease. The flush was still there, the nervous tension, the shaking. But it had new meaning. Intense sexual tension reverts to intense confusion, jealousy and hurt. A car going 80, suddenly thrown in reverse.
He nodded at the other girl. He’d catch up with her later. Yeah, right.
“Cool.” Nonchalant. “You?”
I hoped that the disinterest he conveyed was genuine. But the chatter ensued – mostly hers – and I tuned out. My head swam with nothing in particular, because I couldn’t think. I couldn’t rationalize and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was frozen, stuck. I couldn’t walk away because I’d be giving Jack full access to her. And even though the enemy’s victory cry blared in my skull, I was prepared to die on the battlefield.
Was I an idiot? Of course I was. I thought that it would be rude to leave. I should have. But I couldn’t. I was stuck in one of many uncomfortable moments that would define my life. She chattered and Jack nodded. He looked around and avoided eye contact. Genuinely bored. Once again, her back was toward me and I hovered there like a limp puppet. I could hear her chatter, but I didn’t hear what she was saying. Then, when I thought the knife had ceased its assault on my heart:
“My parents are letting me throw a back-to-school party at our house next weekend. Do you think you can make it?”
The sound of a young male’s heart being forcefully ripped from its ribcage sounds exactly like her words. The sound of it being stomped into the ground with football cleats sounds more like this:
“Yeah, sure. Sounds kinda fun.” Now being assaulted by two attackers, the asshole stabbed me when he punched me in the shoulder. Right in front of her. It hurt more than ever and I winced. “C’mon, dude, let’s blow. C-ya.” He tossed a look at her and walked away, and I followed like a dog who heels. Every dream, every youthful fantasy of happiness and ecstasy slipped away.
But at least the stabbing stopped.
During the drive home, Jack laughed and joked. Mostly about how our friends’ faces had erupted in acne-infested Hell, and whether we would win the championship this year. I said one-and-a-half words and they were both ‘yeah.’
Just when I thought that I was going to make it out alive but maimed, the ultimate insult completed my Hellish first day of Ninth Grade. When we got to my house, Jack asked if I wanted to hang. I replied that I did not. Just like that: ‘no, I do not.’ I wanted to escape as quickly as I could. He shrugged and said that he’d call later. I nodded, but I wasn’t agreeing. And though I shuffled away toward my front door, I wasn’t about to get off that easily. He stuck his head out the window and yelled at me.
“Hey! Do you want to go to that party she was talking about?”
I lowered my head. I didn’t turn to look at him. I suppose I nodded and shrugged my shoulders as I kept walking.
When I got inside I ran straight upstairs, turned the volume up and threw myself on the bed. I must have sobbed into my pillow for hours before I fell into a fitful sleep, fraught with a most disturbing dream.
I was outside a house. I don’t know if it was my father’s house, or if I was somewhere I’d never been before. Part of it was familiar but other parts were a horrible distortion. Like the house oozed and swelled, in and out. As if breathing.
It was night as I stumbled around the perimeter of the house. I wanted to get away from it, but a large moat coursed around it and horrible beasts poked their heads out of the murky liquid, snapping and snarling at me with razor-sharp teeth. I stumbled and fell, nearly into the jaws of an indescribable creature that darted its head out of the liquid. Pulling myself to my feet, I ran in no certain direction. Then I was at the back of the house. No light, nothing to see, except dark creeping shadows that encroached upon me like ravenous beasts of prey.
I cried out, but no sound came from my mouth. I struggled to find my vocal cords, but it was as if my voice was stolen from me. I looked at the moat and then back at the house. I couldn’t flee because the moat hindered me, but I didn’t want to go toward the house. It mutated and beckoned as it swelled. Unsure what to do, I watched helplessly as creatures stumbled out of the shadows. They crept toward me in lunging, crawling, lurching steps.
The house was my only salvation. I ran to the door and tried the knob, but it was locked. As they closed in on me I tried to cry out. Then I felt their hot breath on my neck…
I was screaming when I woke up. Peering around the dark room, I curled up in a ball against the wall. Shadows made m
e wonder if beasts were waiting to lunge at me. I sweated profusely, but it didn’t explain why I was soaked.
I quickly realized that it wasn’t sweat. My hand found my stomach as fingers wandered downward. Unsure what happened, I rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger. Warm and sticky. I crouched in the darkness for an hour, before fatigue finally overcame me and I fell back into an uncomfortable sleep.
The next morning, I had to peel off my clothes. They were practically pasted to my skin and while I didn’t realize it at the time, I now know that I had my first Wet Dream.
Although it was years before I was able to understand how it was linked to the nightmare that I had, I know. I know what the dream meant, and I know why it was inextricably linked to my adolescent orgasm.
Chapter 3
If I went to the party to watch them neck all night, then I had a great time.
It was like a Solar Eclipse. I couldn’t look directly at it but I kept trying to catch glimpses. Glimpses of what should have been me holding her, me rubbing her back, and me tasting her lips.
Finally, I came to my seriously dysfunctional senses. Rather than go blind, I wandered around and feigned interest when someone talked to me – which was rare. Group discussions were easier because I could hover quietly with one foot in and one foot out. Eventually, I wandered outside and sat on the grass that overlooked the Detroit skyline. Nursing my wounds and peering at the stars.
It wasn’t fair. He didn’t care about her. He’d never treat her the way I would. Never treat her like the Goddess that she was. Around Midnight, I decided to cut my losses and had Jack’s chauffeur take me home.
The House that Jack Built Page 2
