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In
all honesty, I should've died a long time ago.
I'm
not saying I was suicidal, though I don't deny that premise either.
The need to belong, to fit in; hell, it's painful to say, but the
need to be loved was crushing me up through junior high. I can look
back now and think, "What a dork." The boy I was is the anti-me
of today. Weak, fat, geeky, unpopular, uncool, no friends. I was
the one in sweatpants writing games on my TI-81. I was the one who
thought knowing pi out to a gazillion digits was cool.
I was
the one bawling my eyes out at night. I was the one who sat alone
at lunch. I was the one who painfully swallowed joke after joke
launched at me.
High
school hit and I took that boy out back and shot him. I revamped;
spray-painted my sad self a flat white. First thing I noticed: blue
jeans. They all wear blue jeans. Got it. Black tee shirts. They
all wear black tee shirts. Got it. Note to self: when you open your
mouth, you sound like a nerd, an ass, a geek, and a dork. Shut up.
Got it.
Within
the first week of high school I had conformed. I was silent. The
former freak with tiger-striped sweatpants wore jeans and black
tees. I kept to myself. And while I wasn't popular, I sure as hell
wasn't unpopular. The boy was dead, but so was his heart. A poet
and emotional kid had become a cold, unfeeling man within weeks.
I'm not saying I didn't care, but I pushed those feelings deep.
I listened. I watched. I drew and scribbled notes. I still wrote
poetry, but didn't share it.
My friends
were few. They were the misfits at church. The only ones willing
to take a shy guy like myself and show him the darker side of teenage
life. Sneaking out for cigarettes, snowboarding while jamming Kodiak
in my lip. Smoking pot, rolling joints and upping my vocab of the
profane became a usual Sunday task. If the good kids wouldn't talk
to me, the rebels would. And the pure and clean kid I used to be
was irreparably recast as a bad-kid follower.
In my
sophomore year, I sat with the rejects at lunch. The retard, the
black chick, the pothead, and myself in the corner of one table.
All the guys in my grade sat at another table. All the girls at
yet another. Sam Johnson, one of the normal guys yelled over, "Hey
Isaac, why don't you sit over here?" I was blown away. I forced
the emotions back down. "Aw right."
Soon
I had friends and was opening up. A group of 10 of us formed. All
different. Some popular, some unpopular. From the Jock to the ditz,
the smart to the weird. Then I went to college.
A clepto/pot-smoking/gangster
roommate. VCRs under my bed. Bongs, pipes. A massive stereo and
matching TV. Then I joined a fraternity. And drinking ensued. Days
of sobriety were rare. Drinking became a sport, a game, a daily
ritual. Keg upon keg. Drunken ramblings. Laughing. I might've been
a geek, but I was a frat boy too. A dual personality. A smart nice
guy, a drunken ass.
After
I got kicked out, moved home and resumed college nearby, I again
found myself friendless. A few lingering contacts. A couple high
school friends. Friends of friends became friends and now I feel
I belong to a few circles. But who I am has been on my mind a lot
recently. Searching for meaning and understanding. I keep asking
myself questions I never thought I would have to ask myself. When
did I become a bigot? When did sex become more important than love?
When did I become a real jerk when drunk? When did I fall so far
into debt? When did I become ugly, inside and out? And this man.
This repugnant lazy man is now searching.
I'm
searching for the boy. The boy I killed so long ago. Filled with
hopes and dreams. When was the last time I wrote poetry? High school,
junior high? Who was the last person I cared for, or really cared
for me? When did I grow dead to others? I want to find that boy.
Sit,
tell me a story. Of starships, and aliens. Tell me of strange lands.
Teach me to dream. Tell me of friends, and loves. Hand me a plastic
shovel and let's play in the sandbox. Help me forget. Let me go
back. Please, let me go back.
Copyright
© 2000 Isaac Johnson. All Rights Reserved.
Isaac
Johnson is webmaster of netizen news
(http://zebulun.org). He is a senior studying computer science
at the University of St Thomas
(http://www.stthomas.edu) and an intern developer at windchill
(http://www.windchill.com).
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