Chapter 1: Humorous Story
It was a hot day. I had generally found that, during the summer, most of these otherwise dissimilar days shared a common thread: extreme heat. Perhaps this is related to the season, perhaps not. However, whether or not this was the truth, or even related, is inconsequential, as it has hardly anything to do with the story at hand. The story which I am now going to relay to you, in fact, would occur just as easily in the winter, were it not for winter's predisposition to cold weather.
But I'm rambling. The story takes place in the summer, this much is clear. I was very much uncomfortable due to the heat, as was my friend Brint. His last name was Childs, making his full name Brint Childs. He was a great friend of mine, despite his being black. Now, you may perceive this as blatant, out-and-out racism, and you would be correct. Coming of age, as you will see, is bound to have some adverse effect on your innocence and naivete.
In any case, Brint and I were great friends in those days, and we were both very warm. In an attempt to escape the heat, we decided to enter the library on the grounds that we were interested in reading. Now, those who knew us in those days would laugh heartily at this façade, as we were known to engage in many acts of debauchery, none of which involved reading. We were morally opposed to the act of reading the written text. We were much more predisposed to buy pornographic magazines than read them.
So there we were, in the library, pretending to read while secretly making eyes at the summer intern, Ashley Franks. She was our age and also ridiculously attractive. Sometimes, when Brint and I were together, we described what lewd acts we would perform on her (and make her perform on us) were we given the chance. I thought I saw her staring at me behind my book, but I was too busy staring at her breasts to really know for sure. Hours later, we left.
It is here where I leave you. Surely you found my anecdote both amusing and enjoyable, and will understand the innocence implied by it. Understand, however, that this is not the end of the story, and is merely a stepping stone on my journey to adulthood, and all the pain and suffering that goes with it.
Chapter 2: Cataclysmic Happening
You will recall, here for my humor, that Brint and I were great friends. We engaged in many acts, both legal and illegal, both tasteful and crude. But you know this already, as I have not very long ago relayed to you one of our greatest exploits. You will also recall, from this exciting tale, that Ashley Franks may or may not have wanted to have my babies. These are both crucial to the event that happened next.
It all started when I took that toke in the boy's room. I knew I was bound for trouble right then, as I was walked in on and caught by George Fink. Fink, as you might imagine, was the conveniently named tattle-tale of our school. We used to call him Fink. In any case, it was Fink and I, me with a reefer in my hand, him with his Hall Monitor sash on tightly. Not wishing to be caught while in possession of this rather incriminating cannabis, I pulled him into the bathroom.
What happened next can only be described as "beating the shit out of him." This is certainly the most appropriate description, as he spontaneously defecated due to the pain I inflicted on him. He was, however, not dead. I finished my toke and headed out to class, leaving him moaning and crying on the floor. There was no blood, as I did not desire to kill him, just incapacitate him enough to get me the fuck out of there. Little did I know the trouble my gratuitous violence was going to get me in.
Still slightly high from my pre-academic day encounter with the marijuana I had bought, I was called to the Principals Office. At the time, I was unsure why this was occurring, as my senses were still slightly blurred. I needn't go into all the unpleasant details of exactly what I felt as I walked to the office. All I was truly aware of was an overwhelming hunger and a seemingly contradictory urge to vomit on the floor. As I took my seat, I acted upon neither of these.
I now recollect very little of that day, except that I saw a very bruised and very gay looking George Fink staring at me the entire time my principal lectured me. Occasionally I responded, but I can't remember what I said. However, I know what came out of it, as I woke up today barred into my room. Apparently, I was expelled. Certainly, though, every one of my friends understood. They must have. However, looking out my window, I saw both of them, from Brint to Ashley, arranged in perfect angry mob form and making catcalls at me. It looked to be the start of a very awful day.
Chapter 3: Alone in a Room
I realized, right then, that due to the inherent danger of stepping into a throng of extremely pissed off teenagers, that I would have to remain in my room. This was quite alright for me, as I had spent many a day alone in my room before today. In fact, the aforementioned cache of pornographic material was in my room at all times, so I knew that I'd have a day quite like any other. That is to say, nearly every day I found myself attempting to emulate the act of consensual behavior without the second person. If this wording confuses you, then I shall put it another way: I always found time to act out coitus with myself. If I am still making myself unclear, I pleasured myself daily.
Unfortunately, my inability to maintain the prerequisite for this admittedly inappropriate action hampered my efforts. This disappointment was only augmented by the fact that my "munchies" (as the proper colloquialism has the hunger associated with street drugs pinned) had yet to subside. Typical of my laziness, I neglected to go downstairs to obtain real food, and instead pulled month-old candy from under my bedsheets. Chewing on these, I reflected upon what had happened. What had gone wrong? What had I even done? This would require some soul searching.
Chapter 4: Soul Searching
I delved deep into my psyche that day. Delving deep into anything is difficult, but when it's something abstract instead of something not abstract, it's much more difficult. Some would even call it challenging. That would be an understatement if they did. I know, as I did so that day. But I ramble, allow me to get to the brunt of my soul searching.
At first I didn't find very much, just perverse thoughts and a vague sense of commitment. Commitment to what, I didn't know, as I was too impatient to pursue this train of thought. At this point, I realized that I was once again hungry. I dug into my closet for more adequate foodstuffs, coming out with pizza from merely five days ago. From finding this most delectable of eats, I grew greedy and dug back in for some soda. Instead, I inadvertently brushed my hand against my drug stash.
Immediately, my opened state of mind transported me back to a time when I was 5 years old. This was a simpler time, when all I knew were things far simpler than those I know now. However, this particular memory to which I was transferred was neither simple nor innocent, a veritable antithesis to these qualities, if you will. It was of a man smoking pot. I had wandered from my mother, in the typical fashion of 5 year old boys, and somehow managed to end up in a deserted back alley. There was but one man, smoking the aforementioned psychoactive, who offered me some. I took it, and put it to my lips.
Coughing, I pushed this memory away. "Holy shit!" I said, taking in the realization that I was a pothead when I was but 5 years old. Chewing once again on expired Red Hots, I pushed this epiphany away, as I did not wish to upset myself anymore than I already had. Instead, I began focusing on what I had done to require the soul searching eponymous to this chapter. I then looked back on the day before the day I was currently in; that is to say, yesterday.
I wanted to get high, that much I hope I have made abundantly clear, as I have nary a word to spare. However, the bathroom, I at this moment recalled, was not my original place of choice to get high in. In fact, I wished to do so in Brint's home the afternoon after. However, him being the non-drug-addicted person that he is, said "No. You're being a fucking idiot and I won't have it!" I still do not understand what he meant by this angry statement, but I did realize one more thing: it was Brint's fault that I got caught.
Which brought me to what is surely one of the most groundbreaking epiphanies that has ever been recorded: it's all the black's fault. From my initial addiction to the imminent repercussions, it was the fault of people that were not of Caucasian ancestry, nor of Asian or Native American ancestry, and were from a places different than the vast continents of Eurasia, North America, and Australia. This greatly angered me, and I found myself pushing things over with abandon. I had just emptied my closet of my vestments when the policemen walked in, claiming that they wanted to ask me some questions. They, naturally, saw my hidden stash of compromising material. I walked out of the house in handcuffs, catcalls at a cacophonous roar.
Chapter 5: Heartfelt Monologue
Months passed. Within this interval, I found that time passed rather slowly, as life is dull in jail. The case against me for assault dragged on, and my father disowned me. A very sad event indeed, this came to pass in an extremely remarkable way that I will not share for you in this tome. Instead, I will share what I consider the paramount of my maturing into adulthood, an occurrence not at all diluted by my imminent imprisonment. It happened during my press conference, at which time I punched my lawyer to the ground and said this:
|“||I have become aware of certain facts which I can no longer withhold. I have learned, completely through my own means and with no outside intervention, that this mess I am in is completely and utterly the fault of those with colored skin. Yes, that's right, the blacks, the drain upon society that are the Negroes. I know it, you know it, we all know that were these menaces dealt with in a fashion that would make Herr Hitler proud, the world would be a better place! And furthermore....||”|
At this point I was tackled by three rather large security guards. In my 15 previous years of life, this had yet to happen to me, so I was not prepared for the bone-jarring and -crushing that is instantaneous when tackled by three men of the previously mentioned size. The pain I encountered from this experience was, needless to say, greatly painful, and rendered me immobile for the rest of the week. I was barely conscious when the verdict of guilty was read at my trial, and the first thing I felt was the non-consensual activity that occurred during my first night in the penitentiary, an act which would be rude to relay to you in this medium. However, I soon grew used to it, and after a while it was simply routine, though the diseases that came after certainly left me disquieted.
Chapter 6: Bittersweet Ending
At this moment, you must be thinking to yourself "Jesus, your life is awfully shitty. Certainly you must be exaggerating some aspects of the story." I assure you, my friends, that this is not the case, and indeed that I have glossed over the more gritty parts of it to preserve whatever innocence your mind still has left. Surely, also, you must be thinking to yourself "Jeez, there can be no happiness in this ending." Once again, you would be incorrect, as you will soon see.
As it turns out, Ashley Franks was also incredibly racist, and shared my opinion on the blacks. After a short battle with the prison, we were allowed conjugal visits every so often, during which we engaged in coitus. Certainly, this is not something you wish to read about in any more detail than I have already shared, and indeed I do not wish to share these most intimate of details anyway. Suffice it to say that any allegiances that I would've had to her were I not incarcerated, I was exempt from, to her very real dismay.
So this is where my story ends. Perhaps you think that my story is touching, most likely not. But regardless of your opinions on my admittedly unusual coming of age tale, it is what it is, and there is no way around that fact. Perhaps you've found my telling of it concise, most likely not. Again, it is impossible to change this fact, and I'll be damned if anyone even tries to simplify this tome, as it wouldn't do the story justice. And that is all. Until I come of old age, I shall have no more interesting tales to tell. A sad fact indeed, it leads me to contemplate suicide. It would certainly be a step forward.