Alpha, Not

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Avery

Having Dave, Clay and Jacob frequent the cafe regularly brought back some of the worst memories of my high school years. Memories I had thought were finally boxed up and locked away deep in the darkest corners of my mind. Memories I never wanted to even have to think about ever again. What did I do to deserve this? Was I some bad guy in a previous life? Was this the universe getting even for some terrible deed I had committed that I wasn't even aware of? The karma of 100 lifetimes filled with misdeeds all rolled into one awful existence? Why did these three jerks have to reappear in my life?

<Flashback>

High school had been hell ever since the three most popular boys from the football team, Jacob Pitt, Clay Davis and Dave Smith decided that it would be fun to pick on 'the gay kid'. Problem was, that gay kid was me.

I'm sure I wasn't the only gay kid in the school, but I was one of those kids where it was just plain obvious to anybody who bothered to pay attention even though I never "came out" and I certainly wasn't openly gay. Some gay men are naturally masculine and can hide behind their masculinity. Some are iffy, and by that I mean you could guess they might be gay or straight; you just couldn't be 100% certain unless they told you one way or the other. They were usually, though not always, left alone and not bothered too much. And then there are the gay guys, like me, where it was just obvious. You've all met someone like that. It wasn't necessarily anything we did or said or even how we acted; it was just obvious. Everybody's gaydar went off when they were around me, even straight people's (do straight people have gaydar I wonder?).

Since our school was not that large, I stood out. I was "different"; most of the other kids couldn't have said just how I was different, just that I was. I'm 5'6" tall, only a few inches below average and weigh in at maybe 130 pounds on a good day; soaking wet. I guess part of what set me apart was that my voice is soft and sounds a little bit girlish no matter how hard I try to pitch it deeper. Some people would call it 'soft spoken', others would just say it was 'gay'. Puberty didn't help and my voice didn't change all that much; to my everlasting regret. I had hoped that it would at least deepen some. It didn't. Because of all this, I became the target of those three jocks.

I tried to avoid them as much as possible but they always seemed to know exactly where I would be and when. If I gave them my lunch money without any fuss I might get off with being shoved into a wall or to the floor. Who am I kidding, I was lucky if I ended up with only a shove into a wall or to the floor and few bruises to go along with it - usually it was more than a few. They liked listening to my cries of pain and I learned early on that it wasn't worth it to try and hold it all back as that always made the beatings worse.

I tried packing a lunch instead of bringing money but when I didn't have any money I was beaten up worse so brought both. Money and lunch. I never brought much money though, only ever enough to buy the cheapest thing in the cafeteria, but it was enough to get them off my back. Once they took the money and left, I would pull my packed lunch out of my locker and find a quiet place to eat by myself. I didn't have any friends to eat with and no money left to buy anything, so why bother going to the cafeteria?

The teachers at the school even knew what was going on because Mr. Jones, the history teacher has seen them beating me up at least twice and did nothing. I saw him as he ducked into an empty classroom, pretending he didn't see anything, even though our eyes met just before he ducked out of sight. He was probably afraid of Coach Dickinson getting on his case. I wonder if teachers get bullied too? The jocks were all popular and the coach was a real bastard when any of his players were affected by one of the other teachers. It was rumored that the coach had literally shaken Mr. Alcott's false teeth right out of his mouth when one of the star players got detention and wasn't able to make it to practice for three days. Ever since that, none of the teachers wanted to mess with Coach and took pains to ignore the problems the athletes caused in the school.

I don't have any friends left, at least not any who are willing to risk their own safety by being near me. Anyone seen being friendly to me became a target themselves, so everyone avoided me like I carried the plague. Nobody even says 'Hi' anymore, and it was a rare thing when someone made accidental eye contact.

Even my best friend, Andy, took pains to avoid me. At first when he saw me in the halls he would turn and go another direction. I finally stopped trying to talk to him and now when we're in the hall we just pass one another as though the other doesn't even exist. It still hurts; we had been best friends ever since first grade. Though, I guess I can't blame him; I might do the same thing to avoid getting beaten up myself.

There was a silver lining to being friendless - now I have a lot more time to study, and my grades have improved, so much that I'm now at the top of the class. Yeah, like that's a real bright spot.

So, school life was hell. At least I had the safe haven of the cafe to escape to. Mr. and Mrs. Strong ("call us Beth and James") were the best. They hired me to work in their shop after school and they were the nicest couple you could ever meet. Beth always said I was too skinny and made me eat a sandwich and a bowl of her fresh soup of the day, which she made from scratch. She talked about those other diners that sold canned or frozen soups with disdain. She was teaching me how to make them whenever I was in the kitchen instead of out front at the register. They were like the grandparents I had never known, my own having passed away before I was born. Working in their shop was the highlight of my day.

My mom and I shared a small, two-bedroom apartment, and she often worked late as a nurse at the town's small hospital, so eating at the cafe was nice because I didn't have to eat alone. When I started working, I told my mom that she didn't have to give me lunch money anymore because I made my own money now. She was so proud of me, but also a little sad because she thought I was growing up too fast and didn't need her anymore. She said she didn't want me to have to use my own money, but I knew how tight the budget was and so I insisted I could buy my own lunch. I know it helped out even if it was only a little; and that way it wasn't her money being taken every day by the three bullies.

<End Flashback>

Thinking about the past and high school always left me feeling depressed. Since there wasn't anything I could do that was going to improve my mood tonight, I drank a cup of warm chamomile tea, put on my pajamas and climbed into bed. One of the disadvantages of being alone was that at times like this, there wasn't anyone I could turn to; not even Beth would be able to cheer me up when I got like this. The best thing I could do was go to bed and hope that tomorrow will be a better day.