A few weeks later, Ray came to my house. We lived on the second floor of my grandmother’s house. Ray went up the stairs first and found my mother relaxing in her bra and underwear. When I sat down and ate lunch with him that day as a junior, he told all the other kids that the first time he met my mother, she was in her underwear. He would speak of this incident until we graduated.
I barely knew the other kids at my lunch table. They would refer to me as “Jewish kid” because they thought I looked Jewish. Anytime they needed their garbage thrown out, they just said, “Jewish kid,” and it was my signal to grab their trash and throw it out. It was humiliating, but I just didn’t have any other place to sit and eat lunch. I couldn’t eat by myself, and I did like Ray. He was really funny, so I just put up with it. I also got picked on because no matter how much I tried, I always walked on my toes. One time Ray was behind me and yelled in front of the crowd, “Luke, it looks like you’re walking with a pole up your ass.”
I was very motivated to get good grades and get into a good college. I was taking two AP courses and another college-level course in business from a community college that the school offered. I was nervous about taking AP English, since most students didn’t take any college-level English courses until senior year. Most high school students would agree that teachers and guidance counselors often try to intimidate students and tell them that AP classes will be the biggest challenge of their young lives. I was put at ease when I met the English teacher, Ms. Miller, who was also the class advisor. Ms. Miller was a very pretty Italian woman who was always encouraging. She greeted her class with a smile, encouraged everyone to do his or her best, and instilled a cando attitude among her students. After a big exam or paper, she would reward us with Dunkin’ Donuts.
It wasn’t long before I saw Eric, Dan, and my other former middle school friends. Eric had enjoyed a rise in popularity once he entered high school. He had a brother four years his senior who was in a band. When Eric became as widely known as his brother, he rose in the high school hierarchy.
Dan was also in my chemistry class, which was made up mostly of sophomores but had some juniors in it as well. Dan had failed chemistry the previous year. One junior, Warren, was a popular football player who was well liked by girls, and Dan, as usual, would try to impress Warren. The first half of the year we got along, and Dan was my lab partner. Then Dan started talking to a friend of Warren’s, and they would write notes back and forth to each other in class. One day I saw these notes, and a lot of what they were writing was about me. Most of it was strange—that I would have sex with goats and other bizarre farm animals. They sat right next to me and laughed uproariously at what they had written to each other. After a couple of weeks, I had enough and showed the chemistry teacher a note I had confiscated. I remember her being very bug-eyed, as she seemed quite conservative and straitlaced. That was the end of my being lab partners with Dan. My other lab partners were just a sympathy group. They felt sorry for me because I had nobody else to work with.
In November, my mother celebrated a huge accomplishment for the both of us. My grandmother sold her house, my mother and I moved into a duplex, and my grandmother moved into an assisted living facility. It worked out well for everyone involved. At forty-five, my mother didn’t have to spend hours doing tasks for my grandmother. She was able to visit with her sister and not have to lie about it, since my grandmother was always jealous when my mother visited my aunt or went out with anybody. Plus, my mother didn’t work two jobs anymore and hadn’t for the past year.
My grandmother needed people around her, too. She was always very social and loved being around other seniors. The ladies would often go to the movies, and when there wasn’t enough room in the car for everyone, one squeezed in the trunk. My grandmother ended up doing the Heimlich maneuver once and saved a woman from choking on a piece of popcorn. She even volunteered at the assisted living center’s store, where she could socialize and find out what was new with everyone. There wasn’t a time when I visited that she didn’t have a friend over.
I was very motivated to get into college when I was a junior. Toward the end of my sophomore year, I had slacked with my grades at Saint John’s and just wanted to get out of that school. To improve my resume for college, I decided to join the Key Club, a community service organization, and some other after-school groups.
At the first Key Club meeting, I saw two girls that I knew from middle school, Tori and Zoey. All of us used to be in plays together. Zoey had a great sense of humor and a loud voice—right up there with Fran Drescher. We had some classes together, too—AP English and AP U.S. History.
In AP U.S. History, the teacher made me change seats because Zoey and I were talking too much. I was moved to the back of the class and sat in front of a student named Randy. Randy had a large group of friends, of which Zoey and Tori were included. Randy was very musically inclined and starred as Danny in the school musical Grease that year. He was in a chorus group and played bass guitar, too. He was really nice; there wasn’t anybody that he wouldn’t talk to. The first time we talked I remember he was really close to me, and I made him laugh because the closeness of his face made me feel awkward and I moved back in my chair. He wanted to mention to me that scene in Austin Powers when the two characters in the tent are simulating sex. Randy and I became friends soon enough; he had a great sense of humor and a very likeable personality.
I was involved in a lot of activities my junior year. I joined the mock trial team because I wanted to be an attorney. Just like every other club in school, there was one day when we had to take a photo for the yearbook. The club advisor reminded me that the yearbook photo was going to be after school that day. I was nervous and found myself in a predicament. I was very insecure and didn’t want to be perceived as a geek. On the other hand, being an extreme people pleaser, I didn’t want to disappoint the advisor and not show up for the photo. So, my seventeen-year-old mind came up with a brilliant plan. I was going to show up for the photo, and before the light came on, run out of the photo before anybody noticed. However, I realized that I wasn’t faster than the speed of light, so when the flash went off, I went running out of the way. The photo that was used in the yearbook consisted of me running out of the frame with a bunch of studious Asian students looking at me. Instead of avoiding attention, that picture would catch anybody’s eye. Between work and clubs, I didn’t have much of a social life.
I had a little crush on Zoey. She was cute, and if I could get over the voice, I think it would have been good. As springtime rolled around, I decided to ask her to the junior prom. I was too scared to ask her in person, so I decided to look up her address in the phone book and mail her a card asking her to go to the prom. The card that I picked out was probably a poor choice, though. The front said, “I was thinking of you,” and the inside said, “I got gas.” Then I wrote, “Will you go to the prom with me?” I had no game when it came to dating. She mailed me a note back saying she didn’t want to go. I didn’t end up going to junior prom, and when Randy and other people asked, I would simply say, “I can’t make it to prom this year—I have a fencing tournament.” I never did fence; I just thought it was a good excuse.
My favorite class my junior year was a business class from a local community college called Organization and Management. The teacher, Mrs. Teague, was a Colonie High icon during the 1970s, ’80s, and ’90s. She was known for her laid-back persona and for being a grandmotherly figure. She always pronounced my name “Looseish” instead of “Lucas.” Once, when the class got off topic, one student said at twelve-thirty that marijuana was so easy to get, he could score some by two o’clock. Mrs. Teague responded, “Now, what if I wanted a hit man instead?” Mrs. Teague told every class a story about a girl who, instead of handing in her homework, handed in a suicide note. Mrs. Teague called the guidance counselor, who had the student’s phone number, and was able to talk to the student’s parents in time.
Sometimes we had to give class presentations. On
ce we had to pick an advertisement and talk about it in front of the class. My ad, which I picked out of a library newspaper five minutes before class started, was for Macy’s. However, the word “Macy’s” was cut out of the ad, so I didn’t know what it was for thirty seconds before I had to give a presentation about it to the class. Luckily, Mrs. Teague said, “Well, he doesn’t have to even say it—that’s an ad for Macy’s.” I was lucky enough to fake my way the rest of my presentation. Another time I remember I had to give a presentation and I noticed that I had a hair hanging from my chin. While I was listening to everybody else’s presentations, I vehemently started pulling at my chin hair, which I did successfully again thirty seconds before my presentation started.
My favorite part of the class was that it was very diverse, and everybody got along well. There were only fifteen students, three of whom were juniors. Another junior, Martin, was openly, flamboyantly gay—one of the few brave souls out at the time. In middle school, he received attention for tap dancing in spandex during talent shows. By the time he reached his junior year of high school, he was known for once saying to a gentleman outside of school, “If you got the length, I got the strength.” The other junior, Nora, was the class president and class heartthrob. She probably set a record for number of erections induced.
As my junior year of high school came to a close, I started to get more depressed. Colonie was a big, suburban high school that had a lot to offer, especially socially. There were always parties on the weekends that would give the students something to talk about on Monday. Occasionally, somebody would get naked or go topless or a scandalous hookup would happen. However, it was the type of school at which even if somebody did something embarrassing, the person with the worst reputation would be the person who was never invited to the cool party.
I was going to high school with kids who had spent all their lives feeling that the teenage years were supposed to be glamorous. Most kids my age had to fight with their parents to stay up later to watch Beverly Hills 90210. They were listening attentively when Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell said in one episode that high school is the best time of your life. From Pretty in Pink to The Breakfast Club to Can’t Hardly Wait to American Pie, tons of teen movies popped up every week promoting the idea that nothing was more important than having a tight-knit group of friends.
When I was a junior, I would listen to my classmates talk about parties and getting ready for the prom, basketball games, movies, and concerts. I, on the other hand, was working at McDonald’s and spending the rest of my free time masturbating into a sock.
In the spring of 2000, I told my mother how depressed I was and that I had thought about committing suicide. I didn’t have any plan, but I always felt inferior to people—always the outsider—and I was lonely. I was young, a very diligent worker, and got good grades, but I was only looking at the present moment. My mother was alarmed, but she never really took it seriously. She would ask me from time to time if I had suicidal thoughts, and I would lie and tell her I didn’t. The thought of going to a psychologist scared me. What if he or she would just lock me up in a psychiatric ward surrounded by other mentally ill individuals? So I just pretended that everything was okay. But it wasn’t.
During the summer between my junior and senior year, things got better when I started to look at colleges. I realized that there was going to be a day when I didn’t have to worry about who to sit with at lunch or what to wear. I was torn between attending Union College and SUNY Geneseo, both of which were very competitive to get into.
Since I wanted to get into a good college, and since I wanted to get a scholarship instead of paying an exorbitant amount of money for school, in my senior year I decided to take AP English, two math classes, AP Chemistry, college-level Spanish, college-level psychology and sociology, and college-level economics, for which I got credit from the University at Albany. I was able to skip Spanish 4 and rejoin my senior class thanks to Ms. Franklin, my Spanish teacher, who spent time after school preparing me for the Spanish 4 final exam. At the end of eleventh grade, I took both the Spanish 3 and 4 finals, which helped me skip a whole year’s worth of Spanish.
The first day of senior year I was one of the lucky students who drove to school. Just a month before school began, I bought a used 1994 Chevy Cavalier, for which I saved from my part-time job at McDonald’s. Since my mother didn’t drive me to school, I would often arrive late. This never happened before I started driving to school. My attitude toward my senior year was, “Let’s get this over with.” I was so ready to move on from high school.
On the first day of senior year, I decided to sit at a table where Eric and Dan were eating lunch. Although, I didn’t want to and I know I was not invited, there was nowhere else to sit. I sat at the end of the table, and they were taken aback but didn’t say anything. Eric had all this anger toward me, although I could never figure out why. He was always tormenting me and always trying to give off this masculine persona. Eric loved stirring up drama, like his life was a reality television show. What made it worse was that his group of friends, especially Dan, would agree with or do anything that Eric told them to do.
Even though I was sitting at their table, I tried to just focus on myself; but couldn’t, and was overhearing their conversations. I soon realized that not much changed between Eric and Dan. Their main topics of conversation were smoking pot and playing guitar, which were as important to Eric as breathing and having normal bowel movements are to a regular person. Eric bragged about his favorite English teacher and how he got her to say “boobies” in front of the entire class. That was a big accomplishment for him. When Eric was in eighth grade, he loved to brag that he got his Spanish teacher to say the word “balls.” Again, nothing had changed.
One new topic of conversation I noticed involved their friend Carmine. Carmine was different from Eric and Dan’s usual friends. Dan wasn’t studious at all and had to take chemistry three times before he passed it. Eric and Dan were taking tenth-grade math as seniors. Carmine, though, was taking AP classes and had already taken precalculus as a junior. Plus, he had a reputation for being a really nice guy.
Even though I didn’t like Eric and Dan, I was jealous of them and still wanted to be friends. These were my elementary and middle school friends, and now, as seniors in high school, they had a large group of friends and were admired by their peers. They liked to party and had very entertaining social lives. I was jealous, and it just made me angrier; I had become a very bitter and angry seventeen-year-old. I didn’t know why I couldn’t be friends with them. I wanted to be able to go to the parties they went to, have friends always greet me in the hallways, have girls and other friends smile and laugh with me when I first got to school.
In the beginning of senior year, I was thrilled when I was able to give my friend Melanie, on whom I had a crush, a ride home. I had known Melanie since middle school; we were in plays together, and our parents were friends and grew up together. She was a pretty girl, and I thought it was so cool to be able to drive her home. She was the first girl I gave a ride to in my car (and would be the only one for a while after). Of course, on my 1994 Chevy Cavalier, the mirrors and directional blinkers didn’t work. Soon after, I became friends with Melanie’s best friend, Taylor.
I had known Taylor through our church, Our Lady of Mercy. Taylor, Melanie, and I were all on the retreat team, which was a group of older students who provided religious education retreats to younger classmates. We used to always joke how our religious education instructor and director, Mrs. McNeil, looked like Austin Powers. When Mrs. McNeil yelled at me for being late to a retreat, Melanie and Taylor both started laughing hysterically and then gave me hugs immediately afterward. Once Eric saw that I was giving Melanie rides home, he began talking to her. Melanie had no interest in me romantically, and we were just friends.
During my senior year of high school, I quit working at McDonald’s and got a job at the Gap. I left McDonald’s because I didn’t like the smell of grea
se all over my clothes, and I wanted to work in a cleaner environment. During breaks at the Gap, I would often visit my friend Sam, who I knew from McDonald’s, at Soup Kitchens, which was a restaurant in the same mall. Beyond that, I didn’t have much time to socialize my senior year, given my work and my heavy course load. I did sometimes hang out with my cousins Alex, who was in the same grade as me, and Bob, who was nine years older than me. We would play basketball and go out to eat afterward. Bob never had any relationships and had tons of pornographic material, which I liked. Bob and Alex were closer friends than I was to them, but they would invite me to hang out.
In the beginning of my senior year, I also started having trouble during physical education class. Usually in the locker room, this huge jock would come over and whistle at me, as if I sexually aroused him. He would even bend over in front of me, so obviously he thought I was gay. Everybody thought he was just messing with me, since he was this handsome muscular athlete, but I was convinced that he liked men. Of course, even though this jock didn’t know me at all, he told all of his friends that I was hitting on him.
High school couldn’t get any worse at that point.
In high school, I’d seen boys tease other guys by calling them gay and winking at them or blowing kisses. Jake, this well-known track star, would purposefully block my way in class so that I would have to touch his ass to get by. Jake was a popular athlete, and girls liked him. Of course, nobody would think that he could possibly go both ways.
Missing the Big Picture Page 6
