My Story, 4

On Monday morning, we went to school. Well, some of us did. Mum went first, of course, she was gone over there before 8am. Teachers have to start earlier, don’t you know. You didn’t? Well, they do. Think about it; someone has to set up and get ready for the day’s classes.

There was no sign of Gran. She was still in bed, probably snoring her head off. I wasn’t quite sure that she was alone, but I was not about to check. I’m pretty sure that I heard voices during the night, long after Mum and I had gone to bed.

At a couple of minutes before 9, I picked up my bag and went to school. I was looking forward to it actually – a new beginning in a new school, new people and who knew what adventures lay ahead? Fool that I was, I was even thinking that maybe I’d get back on the right track with Joel. I was more than willing to try again if he was. He wasn’t.

I knew where to go; the school secretary had given us a guided tour, the day before. I sorted my books into the locker and went to find my first class.

No-one spoke to me, but everyone was looking.

‘So I’ve got long hair, get over it. Pack of Hayseeds!’

Joel, with a couple of others, came around the corner, stopped and looked at me. He was looking good, of course – all fresh and glowing from his morning shower and with his hair gelled and carefully styled.

“Is that the one?” One of the boys with him asked.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Take him down to the river and he’ll be begging you for it. Queer alert, Guys. The pansy has arrived. Watch out for your dicks.”

And, having totally destroyed my reputation and having made sure that my life was going to be hell, he walked away. What a prick! No-one believed him, of course.

The hell they didn’t! They didn’t even ask for my side of the story. I was the long-haired cissy-boy and Stafford was the local – I was just an outsider, a queer outsider.

Red-faced again, I stood there trying to ignore the looks. I would’ve liked to lash out, but couldn’t. There was just me, all alone, and I couldn’t fight the lot of them.

Then it started. “Fuck off, Fairy.”

Faggot, Queer, Arse-bandit, Fudge-packer, Shirt-lifter. Do you have any idea how many ways there are to insult a gay-boy? You should spend a morning at Tiroroa High. I must’ve heard the whole bloody lot, several times over, and that was before lunchtime!

On the way out for lunch, three girls stood looking at me. One of them scoffed. “There’s not much to it, is there? But, Denise will be delighted.”

“It will!” One of the others agreed. “A playmate for the Queen! At least they can’t breed.” They laughed and walked away.

Who or what was ‘Denise’? I hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. Fuck ‘em. I wasn’t going to hang around to be a target for their abuse. I went home for lunch.

At 2 minutes before 1 o’clock, I went back over for a couple more hours of it. At 3.30, the buses were lining-up out the front and everyone was hanging around, talking and laughing. Everyone except one, that is. I walked straight out of the school and across the road to home.

I’m not sure what made me do it, but, on the way out, I decided to give them all a good look – they’d all been wondering. As soon as I was out of the gates, I eased the elastic-tie out and shook my hair out to let it loose in the breeze.

‘Now look at me, Fuckers. I’ve got hair, what’ve you got?’

Jimmy was pleased to see me anyway. I let him off the chain and we went inside to eat. I hated this bloody school. I hated this town and, especially, I hated Joel Bloody Stafford! Prick.

Gran was in the kitchen, being domestic. She’s not very good at it, but she does try, sometimes.

“Hello, Sweetie. Don’t go spoiling your appetite; I’ve got a special dinner to celebrate your first day in your new school. How was it anyway?”

“How was it? It was fucking awful, Gran – worst day of my life. I hate this place.”

“That’s ordinary awful, Mr. Potty-Mouth. I’m sorry that you didn’t have a good day, but you don’t have to come home and take it out on us.”

“Okay. Sorry, Gran. But it was horrible. Can’t we go back to Christchurch and leave Mum here on her own?”

“You know that’s not going to happen. This is where we live now. You’ll just have to make the most of it.”

Pah! She’s all heart, my Gran, and we were stuck there. I’d never thought it at the time, but now my old life, in Christchurch, seemed like heaven compared to this place. If you don’t believe in Hell, come to beautiful Tiroroa.

Life went on. At home, it was much the same as ever. Sometimes it seemed like I was the only grown-up in the house. Mum and Gran were having no trouble making new friends, they were out more often than not. Me? I stayed at home with my best friend, my only friend – Jimmy.

Somehow, I made it through the first week at school. Things didn’t get any better, but they didn’t get any worse. Well, they couldn’t, could they? I tried not to let it get to me, but it wasn’t easy.

I didn’t have a single conversation with anyone – not one. The only time anyone ever spoke to me was to abuse me and call me more of their stupid names.

I wasn’t going to give them an excuse to start beating on me, so the best I could do was to ignore them and make like I couldn’t even hear them. I really wished I couldn’t. It must be nice, in a way, being deaf, but then there’d be no music. Bugger that.

Sports? Forget it! If I went anywhere near a sportsfield, the abuse would get physical, I just knew it. So I didn’t. I refused to have anything to do with their dumb sports, which, of course, got me in even more trouble.

Guess who the Physical education teacher was? Mr. Dick Stafford, of course! – Joel’s father. (And he was a dick, a great big one). He was as big a prick as his son was. I hated him too.

Tuesday afternoon’s sports-period was the last one for the day, so I just went home an hour early. That worked fine, no trouble at all. No-one stopped me and Gran wasn’t at home, so I had an hour’s freedom. Wicked!

Thursday afternoon, I did the same thing but it didn’t go as well. Mr. Stafford saw me leaving and he came stomping over the road after me. At first he tried calling out to me, I ignored him and kept going. Damm, he could move fast for an old guy! He cut me off at the gate.

(‘Fuck. A couple more meters and I’d be home free’).

“Are you deaf or something, Boy? Where do you think you’re going?”

(“Isn’t it obvious?’). I just stood there, didn’t look at him and didn’t answer. That was a great way to rack his anger levels up.

“Dammit Boy! I asked you a question. I expect an answer. Where were you going?”

“Home.”

(That was the first word I’d spoken to anyone all day. I shouldn’t have bothered). “Home? Home?!!” He yelled in my face. “You are not! You can get yourself right back over to the school. You’ve got an hour’s sports period before your day is over.”

There was no way that I was going back. I used my best defence, my only defence - I ignored him and stood there, quietly admiring the scenery and waiting for him to go away. What could he do?

“Well? You heard me, Boy! Get back over to school!”

Red-faced and so angry, he stood there and glared at me. I refused to be intimidated. I wasn’t scared of the son and I wasn’t scared of the father either. He would’ve liked to hit me, I knew that. But if he laid one hand on me, that would be the end of his job. I knew that too and so did he, so he didn’t. I just waited, he had to go, he had a class waiting for him. Finally, he gave in and he went back.

“Right then. This is your last chance. I’m going back to school, you can come with me or you can spend the next week in detention.”

He walked away; I went into the house feeling quite pleased with myself – I won. Okay, I had a week’s detention. So what? It would give me something to do in the lunch-hours.

Detention was held in the lunch-hour at Tiroroa High. They couldn’t keep the kids in after school because so many of them had to catch the buses home. I got to know the detention room quite well.

Gran was at home, but she was busy. She was in the living-room and she had company. I never knew where she found these drop-kicks who could sit around smoking ‘dope’ with her in the middle of the day, but she always did.

It seemed that I’d be getting my own dinner again. That was okay, I had a pizza hidden in the bottom of the freezer.

I changed out of my hated school clothes, let Jimmy off his chain, and we climbed through the back fence to go through the paddocks and down to the river. I’d found another swimming hole in the river directly behind our house. It was really cool, much better than the one down by the bridge, and it was private. I had yet to see anyone else down there, which suited me just fine.

I wasn’t swimming but Jimmy was. He loved it and it kept him clean, much easier than bathing him.

When we went back, I fed Jimmy while waiting for the pizza to heat. I took it to my room to eat it there while watching TV. I could’ve sat in the living-room, the TV was going in there, but – no. I knew all about second-hand smoke in an enclosed room. I’d be stoned out of my skull, and I wasn’t having that.

I had a thing about booze and mind-altering drugs – I hated them and wanted nothing to do with them. Still don’t actually. Sheesh! In most families it’s the kids who are the stoners, not the adults. Not mine though.

Mum arrived home and came in to see me, all happy and smiling. Yeah, rite! She was anything but. She’d been talking to Mr. Stafford and she was so not happy.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You stupid little shit!”

“Doing? I’m eating my dinner. Do you want some? There’s too much for me and Gran’s ripped again, so she’s not cooking anything.”

“I’m not talking about that and you know it. What did you upset Mr. Stafford for?”

“Did I? Mum, maybe he upset me. Have you thought about that? He’s the one who came chasing after me.”

“He was chasing you because you were running away. What did you refuse to go to sports for? PE is part of your schooling whether you like it or not.”

“Like it? Mum, I hate this fucking school! I hate everything about it. I wish the place would burn to the ground. Actually, there’s a thought.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you even think about it. Oh, Honey,” she sighed as she sank down on the bed next to me. She took a slice of pizza and started munching.

“What’s wrong, Virgil? Why do you hate this school? I think it’s a great little place.”

“Yeah.? Well it’s all right for you. No-one’s giving you stick all the time. I get it all day, everyday. Nobody ever speaks to me unless it’s to abuse me. I hate them, Mum. I really hate them. I hate the whole bloody lot of them.”

“How do they abuse you?”

“They call me names, horrible names. I doubt if they even know what my real name is.”

“Well, you’re here now. It’s early days yet. What do they call you?”

“Faggot, Queer, cock-sucker – you name it, they use it.”

“That bad? I didn’t know. What do the teachers do?”

“They grin and look the other way.”

“Really? Bastards! We’re not having that; I’m going to put a stop to it. But you have to go to sports, it’s part of your schooling.”

“No! I’m not.”

“You have to. Look, there’s more than just you involved here. You’re not just an ordinary kid now, you’re a teacher’s kid and if you’re stropping up then it’s going to reflect on me. I worked long and hard to get this job and I don’t want to lose it now. Things are just coming right for us, Virgil. Please don’t stuff it up on us.”

“I’m not stuffing up anything. I do nothing. I just go to school, keep my mouth shut and get abused all day long.”

“But you won’t go to PE.”

“No, I won’t! Mum, if I go anywhere near the sports-field, I’ll just be a punching bag. Is that what you want?

“No, of course it isn’t. I’ll talk to Mr. Stafford and make sure that he keeps an eye out for you.”

“Like that’s going to happen. He’s just a prick and he hates me too.”

“No he doesn’t. He’s a teacher and it’s his job to see that you’re safe.”

“Is it? I don’t think any of the Pricks know that.”

“They do know that, or they will by the time I’ve finished with them. Don’t worry, Honey. I’m going to fix this.”

“Good luck trying.”

“I’ll do more than try. I’ll fix it. Please try to get on with Mr. Stafford. I quite like him really. His boy’s in the school too. Maybe he can help you.”

“Help me? He ‘s the worst of the lot of them – he started it in the first place.”

“Really? I thought he was a nice boy.”

“A nice boy? Shows how much you know. He’s a fucking prick – a major douche-bag.”

“Virgil, Honey, I do wish you’d watch your language. We’re not exactly prudes around here, but you’re getting very foul-mouthed.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll try, but I’m not very fucking happy right now.”

“I can see that. Don’t worry it will get better.”

“Can’t get much worse. Thanks, Mum.”

“Anytime, Honey.” She left, with most of my pizza.

‘Cool. My mother doesn’t hate me. Why didn’t I get her on the case on the first day?’

Those pricks didn’t know what was coming. My Mum’s not the perfect mother, but, Whoah! No-one beats her in a battle – ever!