Some adult content. Read at your own discretion.
He’s been telling nothing but lies since school started. Lies about where he’s been and who with, lies about keeping up in class and being on top of things. He’s always “fine” and “okay” and “well”, but he’s been wearing the same clothes all week, and the last time he took a shower was Sunday. He spends all night on the computer doing absolutely nothing, no one tells him to go to bed. He’s old enough to know better, sure. If you want to be treated like an adult you’d better start acting like one. Right? They don’t know his history, how he spent years trying to parent himself and his little sisters, always presenting a perfect image to the outside world. He never gave himself permission to be a kid. He never admitted to feeling helpless. He never asked for help. The worst part is that it was all for nothing. It fell apart anyway. The older guy offers to give him a haircut for free. He likes the way they look at him, he can’t help it. It gives him a rush, a sense of being in control. Sometimes it makes him hard. Big deal, he’s not immune to feeling. No girl would ever look at him this way, he’s not that special. And even if she did he’d never notice her. But the way these older guys act around him, it’s better than any high. It makes him feel attractive and wanted. It makes him feel special. He’s so eager to please them, always smiling and polite. Here, I’ll do it, I don‘t mind. He’s been craving a father figure for so long that he’d be willing to do almost anything. Telling him “no parent in their right mind would ever treat a kid this way” would be pointless, he’d laugh in their faces. He knows what guys want, and it’s a small price to pay to get what he needs. Besides, he’s not a little kid anymore. He shouldn’t have to talk around it, talk in riddles. It is what it is. How dare they say he’s putting himself at risk, when all he wants is to feel safe. To have someone love him, to mean something to someone. To be cuddled and held. To be allowed to feel small and needy. Don’t talk to me about setting boundaries or how to respect my body. The difference between good and bad touching, like I’m some sheltered 10 year-old. What love is and what it isn’t. And don’t act so shocked and surprised, like you didn’t already know. There’s no love here at all, no teaching by example. The atmosphere is so tense it makes his stomach hurt. They’ll barely look you in the eye, and the few times they’ve tried to touch him he pulled away so fast he almost scared himself. There's no law against grieving. He should be allowed to feel sad and cheated. To feel angry and hurt. To throw his clothes and bedding on the floor and scream, scream, scream until there’s nothing left in him. I can’t be that perfect kid anymore. I’m sick of trying.
9 comments:
"There's no law against grieving." No it isn't. I'm sorry for this stupid question: Are you this kid? Or just somehow?
When the duty of care falls down. It's easy to provide for the material needs, but the emotional needs just fall through the cracks.
That's a powerful story, a perspective rarely heard. Thanks for sharing it.
As always, you narratives blow my mind, Charlie.
There's a series of profound things I'd love to say in response, but they all fall flat against your writing. Beyond your innate talent, you have an instinctive passion to write out your feelings. True or make-believe, you give your readers chills, and tears, and smiles, and regrets, and after all that, you give us hope. Hope that some kid over in the UK can make a big difference in himself and subsequently touch the life of others. You've certainly touched mine.
You're a gifted writer Charlie no doubt about it but I don't like this piece. It's sloppy and it doesn't suit you.
Hey Charlie, glad to hear something from you. Your writing is just incredible - your pain really comes through but it worries me. Sorry its the mom in me. Take care.
Connie
This is nicely written. The kid in the story connects with readers on a number of levels, because I think we all sell ourselves short at times, underestimate the value we contain, often for no other reason than to assert our autonomy -- our ability to control ourselves, and therefore regulate the value of our own currency in exchange for things that weren't really worth the trade in the long run.
Just a thought, Charles.
You know... I wrote a book about a kid like that.
Writing and feelings that cut trough the soul again. Part of growing up is evolving your perceptions and your outlook on life and the world and people around you. It will be an ongoing process. I'm sure the person you write about is on a journey and that he will arrive.
There was an over-smart boy at school. Always his clothes were pristine. His mother could and did do this for him throughout his schoolboy days.
It took years for anyone to talk to him properly. It turned out that Stephen lived alone with his Mum who almost smothered him because she had no other focus for her love.
Of course eventually he rebelled and threw his toys out of the pram. He couldn't cope with being looked after to such a suffocating degree.
Very powerful, very moving, Charlie! When I went through treatment for my alcoholism way back before you were born, the psychiatrist who knew I was gay told me of the ignorance I'd encounter. He said, "There are a lot of ignorant boobs out there. Don't let them get you down." Twenty-nine years later, I'm still fighting ignorance. Still grieving. And still celebrating the life I've had with my paralyzed life partner. To hell with those who don't understand.
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