The Tale of Benjamin Baxter

 "Faggot."

"Loser."

"Don't you know that no one likes you?"

     The comments resounded in my head, echoing off the inside of my skull, settling in the back of my mind like concrete. Every waking hour of mine was spent thinking of what others thought of me. It's funny, how most adults tell us that trying to fit in is all part of growing up, and yet they can all admit to have had trouble doing it. The thing is, I don't fit in, with anyone.

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     It was a Thursday. My alarm clock blared at it's usual time, wrenching me from my restless, dreamless slumber. I groaned and stretched as I groped for my thick glasses, shoving them to my eyes as soon as my hand met them. I rolled clumsily out of bed, reaching for my cellphone, to shut off the alarm. With a few swipes and taps at the screen, the alarm stopped. I checked my notifications, with a sliver of hope that someone had texted me over night. Of course, as always, the only message that greeted me was from my mom, reminding me to stop at the store on my way home from school to pick up some ingredients for dinner.

     I huffed and headed for the shower. After a dozen minutes of simply standing in the hot water, absorbed in my thoughts, I quickly washed my hair and body before stepping out into the steamy bathroom.

     I wiped the mirror with my towel and stared at my reflection. The face in the mirror looked like he had just eaten something sour, with a look of disdain on his acne ridden face. A nose that was far too large sat between watery brown eyes that had bags under them so pronounced that they looked like bruises. The face in the mirror bared his yellowed teeth that were barely visible under his braces, full of elastics and metal wires. In a word, he looked ugly.

     I tore my gaze from the mirror, my lower lip trembling. I dressed quickly, in a Star Wars shirt that was far too large, and plain jeans that were three inches too short. I slipped my bag onto my shoulders, shutting off the lights in the house as I made my way to the front door.

     The house plunged into darkness as each switch was flipped, the shadows consuming the entirety of the house as I reached the door. I took one last sweeping glance at the house, unable to help seeing the similarity between its darkness and my own. With one last shaky breath, I stepped out the door and into hell.

✹✹✹

     The walk to school was uneventful, as usual. I faked a smile at my neighbor Bathilda, who peered at me through her window. She was an older lady, and sometimes brought my mom and I cookies, normally after I had either mowed her lawn or had shoveled snow off her driveway. She always asked how I was doing, and I always nodded and smiled, unable to tell her how I really felt, in fear that I would break down into a mess of tears. Bathilda was one of the only people I truly liked, hence the smile and wave as I passed her house.

     I arrived at school at the usual time, staring at my shoes as I walked to my locker. As I spun the knob on my lock, a voice called out from behind me.

     "Hey Baxter! How's your retard dad doing?"

     I set my jaw. My father, James Baxter, had been one of most successful attorneys in my town's history. He had helped put away more criminals than any of the other attorneys in town combined. He was my superhero, seemingly unstoppable, always smiling and warm when I came home frowning. One day, he collapsed in court, while defending the innocence of a convicted rapist. An ambulance rushed him to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis- Lou Gehrig's Disease.