Interlude
III: Burning
Tuesday,
August 2, 1983. Reagan Strongly Defends Policies On Minority
And Women's Rights
I'd had enough. I was done being a freak. Goddamn it- I was a MAN (on the edge of
seventeen!), and it was time I started acting like one!
Puberty finally kicked in about a year before, but I was still much shorter than my peers. And still looked like I was twelve, which meant getting a date was all but impossible. I used to go to dances with a friend named Cheryl, but I screwed that up a year before as well. She'll probably never speak to me again.
I was tired of being bullied by
neighborhood kids, by my brother, by everyone. So, I started studying martial arts in a dojo
run by one of my mom's co-workers. Beat
the shit out of one of my bullies, and word got out. His having a cast on his arm from a compound
fracture was a good deterrent.
I would model myself after the men I saw in comics, but also after my dad and show no emotion, but Anger. Endure no insult. Defend. Punish.
It was early afternoon when I
started a fire in the backyard burn barrel using all my girl stuff: all the
clothes, a wig I bought at Halloween in ’81, a little kindling wood, and lots
of lighter fluid. I put the makeup and
shoes in a trash bag, and deposited it in the dumpster at Burger King, where I
worked. My family were all away in
Delaware for the week, so no one would disturb me.
The hot, sticky sun beat down, as
it had all summer. As I watched and sweated, the flames rose to
the music of my Sears boom box.
Since you've gone, I've been lost
without a trace
I dream at night, I can only see
your face.
In the shade of the oak tree, our German
Shepherd Sabre lay resting, indifferent. He was an old dog at this point, and tired. As the smoke and flames consumed my shame, I
felt lost- Like I was burning a part of me I'd never get back. I felt like a heavy veil descended over me. Suffocating. Drowning out all emotions.
A week later, Sabre died suddenly
of brain cancer.
He'd been my confidante: the only
one who I could talk to about all this. I felt like he understood. Or at least, didn’t judge.
Now, I had no one.
I spiraled into a depression that
even my co-workers and few friends noticed. It's never left me, even after
decades of denial and therapy.
No one could ever know. After all…
Men don't share stupid
feelings.
I saved Sabre’s dog tag and put it
on my keyring. It’s still there.
A month later, I started my senior
year. Priority one was applying to
colleges. Drexel University was my
primary goal, but I also applied to Penn State, as well as Temple’s Tyler
school of Art.
Then in January ‘84, I met this
girl from St. Pius high school at a school dance. Her name (in my book) was Julianne. A girlfriend would cure me of that…
foolishness.
Right?
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