The Scar Boys

Our House

After Billy the Behemoth "introduced" us, Johnny and I started spending a lot of time together.

I don't think there's any explanation for how people become friends. 

Maybe its pheromones (we learned about pheromones in tenth grade biology.), maybe it's kismet (we learned about kismet in eleventh grade English.), or maybe there's no reason or explanation at all (I learned about unexplained things from Leonard Nimoy's In Search Of  TV series).

With kids, there's an even greater intensity to the speed at which new friendships form. To me it seemed like magic.

I'd show up at Johnny's house most nights to join him on his training runs. 

His mother hated that I was there.

She's put on her best smile and speak to me in a loud and slow voice, like I was retarded, deaf, or both.

"Why, hello Harry. And how are you today?"

She and Johnny's dad, Mr McKenna--to this day I still don't know either of their first names--must've figured I was their son's charity case, that I was there because he took pity on me.

The more often I turned up, the less friendly they became.

Johnny didn't seem to notice, and if he didn't notice, I didn't care.

It was a small price to pay for the pleasure of his company.

I could never keep up with Johnny when we ran.

He would slow his pace just enough to let me almost catch up, and when I got too close, he'd put on the jets and pull away.

That's just who he was.

When he had run his allotted distance he would flop down on some neighbor's lawn panting and laugh and I'd follow suit.

"What are you doing for Halloween?" He asked me out of the blue one night.

Since the lightning strike, I'd made a point of avoiding Halloween. It was my least favorite night of the year.

Other kids would transform themselves into the monster I already was, going from door to door scaring people into giving them treats.

That I didn't need a costume was a miserable reminder of everything I hate about my life.

"I'm not really into Halloween," I told him.

"Come to my house," He said, ignoring my answer.

"We're going to have fun."

I shook my head no and changed the subject.

"My parents," I told him, "want to meet you."

You have to understand, for five solid years, since 1976 to be exact, I only left the house to go to school, doctor's appointments, or whatever else I was dragged.

That I was only suddenly leaving of my own accord was a shock to my parent's system.

They didn't know whether to open a bottle of champagne or call an exorcist. They took the middle ground and invited Johnny to dinner. 

It was a few days before Halloween when Johnny showed up to my house.

When I answered the door he was wearing a sports jacket and carrying flowers. 

Johnny was strictly a jeans and T-shirt kid, so at first I wasn't even sure who I was looking at.

"Aren't you going to invite me in, Harry?" he asked.