WARNING: The following literary work is a compilation of journal entries collected from three different subjects during the course of writing this series. As the author, I took the liberty of asking them for more concrete details and information and, with their consent, used the research to further complete their stories. Though, some details were irrelevant enough to not make it to the final draft, the story remains intact and unchanged. Each of the three respondents knew nothing of my association with the others. So, dear readers, be the judge of their honesty and reliability. Whether they're telling the truth or not is up for you to decide. Enjoy the second book in the "My Bully, My Buddy and Me" series!
P.S. I WOULD REALLY LOVE TO HEAR YOUR COMMENTS.
P.P.S. I LOVE YOU GUYS!
- XOXO NJ
THE BUDDY, THE BULLY AND THE BEATEN
"Rest and Relaxation"
by: The Younger Prince
17 July 2010
Henry Van Dyke once wrote, "Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice --- but for those who love, time is eternity."
If it wasn't for the unexpected events that happened months ago, I would not have believed what this Van Dyke guy was saying. It was because of those events that I began to hate everything that's happening in my life. It was because of those events that everything changed in my life; and unknown emotions were awakened from their deep, deep slumber. For most of the summer, I was contemplating only on one thing - my life. Well . . . who doesn't, right? Tell me of someone who, for not even a tiny bit, doesn't give a shit about his or her life?
No one, right?
Fuck yeah! No one. 'Cause everybody gives a crap about his or her life - no matter how shitty and depressing it may be. Well . . . I don't know how their life is, but one way to describe mine is shitty and depressing.
It's no one's fault why he or she should be thinking of his or her past. It's no other's responsibility on what he or she should be accomplishing in the present. And it's no one's bloody damn business what he or she should be doing in the near future. Because the only one who should be responsible for their own life is only themselves. Nobody else.
And, let me guess, one single question is bothering your mind --- the question "WHY?"
WHY am I telling you these? WHY am I saying such cryptic nonsense? WHY am I rambling about these insignificant, little things? WHY do you call the girls 'bitches' and the boys 'dawgs'? WHY? WHY? WHY?
Well . . . simply because I wanna give you a treat . . . or a lecture . . . or whatever you interpret it into. Let me tell you what has happened in my past, what's been happening in my present, and what I am hoping to happen to my future.
Let me tell you a story --- a story on how my best friend and I grew two worlds apart.
This particular chapter of my life started one, lonely Saturday night. . .
"This is fucking insane! This is a fucking pigsty!" my brother voiced with a breath of resignation, shamelessly waving his hands around to emphasize the surroundings. "Have you seen yourself lately? Or haven't you noticed? It's been a month since summer break started. What are you still doing lying around like a hibernating pig, man? You should be out like any normal teenager does!"
"Go away, Luke. . ." I groaned, throwing a pillow at his direction. I heard it thump on the floor, followed by my brother's heavy footsteps echoing around the trash-infested bedroom. Then I added, "And FYI, pigs don't even hibernate."
He just shrugged it off and continued his lecture.
"So, what? You gonna pull an Oprah and have a soulful heart-to-heart with me?" I snapped with a hint of mockery and a tinge of sarcasm in my voice. "Just go away, Luke." Then I returned to ignoring him completely. Seriously! I don't want to answer that. I don't want to talk right now. I don't want to think right now. I don't want to think about anything . . . especially school . . . 'cause I know that, eventually, it'd only make me think about 'him' . . . and that's the last thing that I would want to think of. Right now, I am focusing only on 'Jigsaw', ice cream, and lots and lots of rest and relaxation.
"I want to play a game," I heard Jigsaw's deep, hoarse, creepy voice bounce off my eardrums. [I gotta admit - watching every SAW movie keeps me entertained and distracted. You know, with the blood and the games and the screaming . . .]
I took another scoop of chocolate from my cup and after making loud, slurping noises, dumped the cold ice cream ceremoniously into my waiting mouth. Just to piss him off, I think.
"Okay! That's it!" he growled with finality, "I want you to get your ass out of bed and into the shower!" He practically dragged me to the bathroom and dumped me into the tub, ignoring my pleas for free will, freedom, and liberation. "No!" he sternly answered, turning the shower on then adjusting it to the right temperature. "I'm done with your moping! We're going out tonight and there's nothing you can say or do to change my mind about it! I'm not leaving for NYU without getting that thick head of yours loosened up and straightened out! Now, move!"
With a deep sigh of defeat, I showered, got dressed, and joined my brother downstairs, all in fifteen minutes' time.
"I don't know what you're meaning to accomplish with this, bro, but. . ." I sighed and thought about it - it could be fun. Right? "Well . . . what the hell! Let's go. Take me outta here."
The bar was apparently for 18 year olds and older, but Huey, Louie and Duey had their ways of getting me into it, and as soon as the clock struck eight, we were situated on one of the best tables around - constantly served with beer. They mentioned that it actually helped that I was almost as built as them for my age - with the aid of my fake ID, it made convincing the bouncer and the bartender of my age easy. The thought actually made me smile. I always looked at myself with pride. Everything that I see in the mirror is the result of my hard work and perseverance to look my best . . . and more. (Though, I still have a long way to go with my arms and my chest areas.) And, oh, before you think of it; I'm SO NOT being narcissistic here. Well . . . it just is.
"Aw, man! You should've seen the look on that guy's face when his girlfriend sucked faces with you!" Over the deafening speakers, Luke loudly remarked after slugging a drink from his beer. "Shit! He just stood there looking shocked and fucking helpless!" And the three laughed. They had had their share of beers by now, explaining their immature exploits in the bar. I, though, was watching my intake. If something bad were to happen, at least one of us would be sober enough to save the others' asses.
"I never thought you'd have the balls to freakin' do that, bro! Fuckin' A! I'll never doubt you again, man!" Jake added, laughing hard, slapping his twin brother on the back.
"Of course, I've got balls, man! What d'ya think? Unlike you, I've got two of 'em right here!" Blake answered cockily, blatantly cupping the substantial bulge buried in his crotch.
"Fuck you, man!" Jake playfully punched him on his shoulder.
Then Blake, noticing my silence, turned his attention to me.
"So, Keith . . . I hear you've been locking yourself in the highest room on the tallest tower since our Graduation day. Is it true?" Blake asked jokingly. Not getting a response, he gave me this funny, suspicious, I-am-drunk-but-I-am-fucking-happy look and added, "You still not over the fact that your best bud chose Bruce over you, aren't yah?"
The upfront and unrestrained accusation startled me, but I kept my cool and just flipped a finger and offered him another fresh bottle of beer.
"And how about Stacey, man?" he continued, undeterred, "She's a nice catch, you know. . ."
"Stacey's history, Blake." Luke answered boomingly for me, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Dumped her after that Gossip Girl blast, remember?"
"Ooooh, right. That Gossip Girl's really a bitch!" he exclaimed above the screaming people on the dance floor, "Well, how about Bruce and Danny?" Blake went on.
"Oh, come on, Blake! Leave the poor guy alone . . . he's had enough with the interrogations . . . what with Lucas here living with him under the same roof." Jake commented, ribbing a laughing Luke.
"Yeah, whatever," Blake answered seriously, "But, I got to tell you, Keith, you got to get your game back on, man. So what if your best friend has a new . . . best friend? It ain't the end of the world, man. And here's the thing! Football! Football Season starts next week. The team could really use some fresh meat, you know, now that a number of its cooler members have already graduated," he boasted. "And I think you'll be a great addition if you just get that lazy ass of yours to focus. You're in shape. You've got good looks. You're just the type. You should think about it. . ."
"Football, huh?" I quickly dismissed Blake's former comments and gave it a thought, "Huh. . ."
"Yeah. Don't worry, little bro. It'll be great. We'll give coach a visit tomorrow and we'll just see what happens." Luke added confidently.
Hearing him say that, it never occurred to me that I haven't told anyone about the team that I really wanted to try out for - Baseball. I haven't told anyone but 'him'. Urgh. NOW I'm thinking of HIM!
I looked at their expectant faces and thought, 'Well, for one, I know Blake has a point. I do have to move on if I want to go on with my life. I definitely have to move on. And what better way than to focus my anger and disappointment in Sports. I definitely have to move on.'
"So, what? You lost him. He's just your best friend. It's not like he's Stacey. SHE was your GIRLFRIEND. You should be thinking about her and not him. You have to move on." I muttered as the stereos blasted some loud, upbeat, disco mix. "He's just your best friend." I muttered again, trying to convince myself that what I was saying was a good thing. But then as I think more of it, I feel my gut wrenching as if somebody just punched it raw then twisted and turned it without mercy.
I gave a long, shaky, trembling sigh.
For now, I'm just glad they didn't know the real story behind.
"Regrets and Repercussions"
by: Yecurb Smada
17 July 2010
"Hey, man, ease up on the blame, okay? I'm sure that you did your best."
I just absentmindedly nodded and thought, 'Yeah, right.'
So . . . who among you have heard those words before? Even once. From whom did you hear them? What made them say it? And what do you think gave them the impression that they had to say it to you?
Well . . . If you have an affirmative answer for the first question, then you have an inkling 'bout how I feel right now.
Hatred. That about sums it all up.
I just truly hate it when I hear those words. Just grasping or even knowing the idea that I have failed something or someone turns my world upside-down - not to mention feeling endlessly nauseous about my whole self and constantly mulling over the things that could have been if I just did a certain this or if I just prevented a certain that from happening - but having to hear those words from the people around me makes it even more real - more obvious - that what I so proudly called my best efforts just weren't good enough.
People say that we learn valuable lessons from the mistakes that we have committed. Well . . . whoever started those rumors either really had a bad case of brain damage or he just had a great set of life experiences hidden up his sleeves to prove it. I prefer to believe on the latter. But, mistakes or not, I feel hatred upon myself for ever letting my feelings come between and destroy a friendship as great as Daniel and Keith's. How stupid could I be? Not a day goes by that I do not regret ever letting myself get caught up with my emotions that night. Emotions that I never should've encouraged in the first place. Cause every time I let my heart beat. . . .
God knows I never meant to hurt anyone.
And now, I see two broken shards trying to mend their lives together, separately, only to find out that a single piece is missing - the other. The sad part is the two of them can't find it in their broken selves to forgive and forget and take the other back in; to make everything whole again. And all of that is because of me.
If only I have waited for a bit longer, then maybe. . . .
[Gives an audible sigh. Gulps. Clears throat. And takes a heavy intake of the mild, summer night breeze.]
And then, I think about my mom. When it came to my knowledge that her life could end on any second at any day, I pretty much had had a fair share in the family's 'committed mistakes' jar. By then, I made sure that, as much as possible, I would never make another mistake ever again. I wanted my mom to see me in my best behavior at all times; just like how she wanted me to be. I wanted her to be able to look at me with pride and say, "See him? That's my boy! And I love him very much." I wanted her to be happy. I still do.
But, I made a mistake. I kept my mother in the dark. She only saw a single part of me; she only saw the other side of me - the side that I knew she wanted to see. In her presence, I was the boy that she so lovingly raised. In her presence, I was the Bruce of the forgotten past. In her presence, I was the identity that I loathingly repressed every single time I got out into the real world. At first, it was easy. Oh, yes, how easy it was! My first few months at Irvine High were what I had planned and expected. You know: picking on the nerds, giving hell to the geeks, torturing the loners, the works! Acting as the year-level resident bully, I ruled the place! It was necessary - for me, for I needed to send a message: YOU DON'T WANT TO CROSS ME. Plain and simple.
The first few months were smooth, smooth, smooth, smooth sailing. Then one ordinary day, 'Hurricane Fockins' came.
Let me tell you something, and this should be off the record: I never pegged Mockins as a short-tempered guy. Really! I never would have thought. I haven't even considered that five foot-six inches cute as an angel guy to be a violent person - but remember the punch that he threw and landed on me? Whew! Man, it was a surprise I would never ever forget! It was that day that I looked at him in a whole new different light. It was that day that I thought to myself that I should've known better. It was that day that something CLICKED inside of me. Everything started to roll when that punch landed; first, it was the detention, then the project, then the hanging-outs, the unexpected bonding, the death, the burial, the birthday, to which then led . . . to the kiss.
That forbidden kiss.
Well . . . the rest of the details you probably already know. But the most important detail was when I truly opened my eyes and let my guard down. Fact is: Daniel Mockins makes me feel safe; I feel like I can be myself when I am with him, though it took me a very, very long time to actually see it. He makes me want to go back to the time when I didn't have to act; when pretending was never a part of my daily life.
"Hey, Adams, you still with me?" he wagged his hands before me.
I snapped out of my reverie and looked at him. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was just . . . just thinkin'. . ."
He nodded concernedly. "Well . . . if you need someone to talk to, you know I'm here, right?"
I smiled at my boss. "Thanks, Curtis. That means a lot. And thanks again for the job, man. Really appreciate it."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." he shrugged. "I needed a few more hands, anyway. It's summer and the market's really busy nowadays." he added. "Anyway . . . how're you and Daniel?"
There goes. The nervous gulp went unnoticed. "Well . . . after that night, we talked." I simply stated as I fumbled with the car keys.
"And by 'talk'," he leered, "You mean?"
"You know . . . we talked. . ."
"About . . . us."
He raised an eyebrow, "And?"
I groaned and inwardly laughed, "You're really not gonna let this go, are ya?"
He gave me an impish smile and replied, "Not a chance, Romeo! You're gonna have to be open to me if you want my advice. So . . . how are you two? Are you two like an item now, or what?"
I sighed. As much as my heart wanted to scream 'Yes', it just wasn't the truth. Curtis noticed my disappointment and his teasing smile vanished. He stopped playing with his fountain pen.
"We're friends and that's all that we are," I slowly, bitterly explained to him. "At least for now." I grumbled.
"He told you that?" Curtis asked. I nodded. "Huh . . . Well, at least. But he told you he liked - likes - you, too, didn't he? That night? That's good news!" he pointed out.
"Yeah, he did," the memory made me smile. "And it is. At least . . . that's one of the things that he's not denying."
"One of the things?" he asked curiously, eyes narrowing, leaning closer from across his desk.
"Yeah. He's saying he's fine, Curtis," I swiveled in my chair, "You know, with the whole Keith-saw-us-suck-faces-again-and-despises-us deal. But. . ." my sarcasm vanished.
"But, you know it's just a lie," he cut in. Once more, I nodded. "Oh. So, I take it they're still not talking, then?"
"Nope. Daniel has been trying to have a conversation with him. The problem is Keith. The jerk's being such a Drama Queen." I snapped angrily. "How hard could it be? I mean, if you found out that your best friend was gay - your BEST FRIEND - would you really cut him off your life and hold it against him? Against something he's got no control over?"
He chuckled with the idea yet gave it a thought, "Honestly, Bruce, coming from a straight guy with a wife, two kids, a sick and dying terrier, and sickening mortgages, I don't know how to answer that. And if and when I'll undergo the same circumstances, I would honestly have no idea what I would do. Maybe I would snap and do what he did. Maybe I wouldn't. No one can really know. And don't take this the wrong way but, I'm sure Keith has his reasons why he's acting that way. Remember that he's just one piece of the puzzle that's still a big mystery to solve."
He has a point. I know. I just nodded unconsciously. It's just that . . . I want to know his answers to my 'whys' so badly it's clouding my emotions and thinning my temper.
With that, Curtis and I continued discussing my illuminating life story up until my phone started ringing. I took it out of my pocket and greeted my very first customer for the night.
"Good evening. Howell Driving Services. How may I help you?" I quipped cheerily, too cheerily, in fact. I hope I didn't creep the poor man out. The guy answered and gave me their address, and after a few more instructions, I was driving my way towards a place called Club Metro, hoping the guys weren't total psychos like the last ones who intentionally puked all over the dashboard a week or so ago.
As I was nearing the location, I sent the guy a text message telling him that I will be the one in the silver-blue cab with the initials H.D.S. written above the company logo.
'Sure. Thx.' he replied thru text.
Well . . . Fingers crossed, here goes nothing.
by: The Younger Prince
17 July 2010
Hands up. White flag. I surrender. I have had enough. The club has had enough. Huey, Louie, and Duey were just too much to handle for a sixteen-year old. They were kissing and fondling and grabbing and hitting on every girl they laid their eyes on. We were getting too many complaints. Too much attention. I had to call it a night.
At first, I didn't know what to do with the bodies (Huey, Louie and Duey's). So, with great difficulty, I fished my brother's phone out of his insanely tight jeans pocket. I scrolled through his phonebook and briefly found one which read 'Driving Emergency'.
Hmmm . . . I dialed the number. No harm in trying, right?
Luckily, it was a driving services agency.
I had a brief conversation with the guy on the other end. With his tone, I vouched he was a newbie; he wouldn't sound too chirpy and enthusiastic if he wasn't one. After explaining to him my situation, I gave him the club's address and waited.
I was pacing outside the club when I spotted the cab as it made its way around the curb.
"H.D.S.," I muttered as I saw their intricately designed company logo. "Finally."
I approached the driver as he rolled down his window and got quite a shock as I saw who it was.
"You," I audibly gasped.
He frowned, "You."
It was probably a good ten seconds before I came to my senses and realized we were staring . . . or more like glaring at each other.
"Um . . . I have a few other bastards waiting inside, if you don't mind assisting . . .?" I trailed.
"Say no more. That's why you called, right?" and he got out and followed me in to where Jake, Luke, and Blake were wolf-whistling on a passing chick.
I tell you, leading three highly-intoxicated 230-pound plus football players through a maze of moving, swearing, and shouting homo sapien sapiens was not an easy task. We had to practically drag their asses out of the club just to fit them into the backseat of the cab. I even had to stop walking as Blake puked his guts and intestines out. Fifteen or so minutes later, we had the three soon-to-be-college-studes snoozing cozily in the back. I got on the passenger seat and the engine started.
by: Yecurb Smada
17 July 2010
An uncomfortable silence hovered inside the cab as I made my way to my customer's address. He didn't even have to tell me where to. "Take us home," were his only words. Of course. He need not say more. I knew where the bastard lives, anyway.
Ten minutes later into the drive, I tried making small talk. You know, just to try to break the tension between us. Driver-Customer talk. With luck, I may juice him with an explanation as to why he acted the way he did. It was no good.
"Let's clear something here, okay, Adams? You're getting paid to drive your customers home 'cause they were either drinking or are incapable of driving, not to chat and act friendly towards them," he hissed. "So drive."
What the hell! As if I wanted to be BFFs with him!
So, I dropped the matter, and another ten minutes later, I dropped them off at the mansion. Yeah, I still helped him with the trio. I didn't care if he didn't want me around. Luke and the twins were my friends and once were my team mates, too, and I wanted to help. We took them to the couch and he called Giuseppe and the other help to accompany the three to their respective rooms - the twins probably in the guest rooms near Lucas'.
"Hey," he called as I was leaving.
I turned back. "Yeah?"
"You forgot these," he said dryly, referring to the money for my services.
I crossed their vast living room in thirteen easy steps and took the money from him. Then, without a backward glance, I went for the door.
"How is he?" I heard him call gruffly as I neared the exit.
As the sound waves reached my ears, I stopped walking and I turned around – slowly - to face him, my temper rising at an accelerating rate. Again, I didn't have to ask who he was talking about. I already knew.
"You know, Keith, I don't get you, man." I growled, "I've had it with you!" He just stood there taken aback and looking guilty as hell. I continued, "First, you cut Daniel out of your life for something that he didn't have control over - you never even bothered to listen to my or even his explanation - and now, you're asking ME how HE is?" I just laughed at him like he was the biggest joke on the planet, "You're his BEST FRIEND! FUCK YOU! You go talk to him if you really want to know if he's even fine!"
I slammed the last word with so much angst and hatred that he flinched as if I was about to punch him. And with that, I stomped my way out of the mansion and into the cab.
"Reminiscing and Rethinking"
by: Lonely Boy
7 September 2010
Everything in my life right now isn't how it was before the 'incident.' A lot has changed since then.
I think, with divine intervention and approximately five to seven waste baskets full of wet tissues, I survived Week Eleven Post-Keith and my second day as a sophomore at Irvine High. Admittedly, school has been a very good distraction, so far. Thankfully, my time basically flew by in a tornado of new faces, new prospects, and all things 'Boy Drama' free. Though, to tell you honestly, I'm still pretty shaken up by what happened that night. What happened tore the world that I knew apart. Leaving me shattered and broken - together with the debris that, once upon a time, was our friendship. For two months.
I don't blame him. I couldn't even though I knew that I should. So, now, I'm doing my best in trying to understand his position. And then I realized one thing. If he wants out of my life because he couldn't accept me for who I am, then who am I to stop him? If that's what he really wanted?
But, then again, something still confuses me. Everything is still a big fucking IF to me. I don't know what he wants me to do. I don't know what he wants me to say. I visited him once at the mansion last July, but as soon as he saw me, he literally shut me out of the conversation without even trying to listen to what I have to say. Then, a few weeks ago, the twins innocently let it slip that 'Princeton Jr.' was 'wondering' how I was doing.
Bullcrap! Just . . . bullcrap!
Why can't he just fucking say that to my fucking face? He's so fucking mercurial; I don't know how to keep up.
So, now I have to go to school and try to just blend in . . . again. I'm sure I'll be fine. Though barely, I survived my freshman year after all.
'But this time's different. You've got no more Keith Princeton to keep the predators at bay now, Danny.' My subconscious warned me.
Well, lucky me! I guess this year, I'll have to be really, really, really careful, then.
Speaking of which . . . I should tell you of my first day. It wasn't eventful really; just a little whole-body dumping in the garbage before first period, a little - and I quote - accident at lunch, and a little shove to the lockers by dismissal. And yeah, I almost forgot the Papered-To-Death games they played when the teacher was not looking. I now know how Mary Magdalene must have felt when those guys stoned her to death. It seems that the news of our friendship - or unfriendship, whatever - made me every bully's number one target. Just wonderful!
"Hey, Daniel. Wait up." Someone called. I kept walking, though in a slower pace to let whoever called catch up. My mind was still analyzing on who could have the time to orchestrate my 'accidents'. Right now, anybody could be a suspect. But seeing that it was Murphy and two of his Football Goons - Garrett and Jones, I think - who 'accidentally' spilled their lunch all over me, I'm pretty sure on who the mastermind was.
Fucking dickhead! After all the things that we said to each other last Fall. . . After all the things that HE said to me!
Then a thought crossed my mind. Was it because of what I said? The Let's-Just-Be-Friends-For-Now thing? Was it because of-
"Daniel. Hey," he finally caught up. "There's something I have to tell you."
I purposefully spun on the exact moment that my satchel-sort-of-a-thingy bag would be able to hit his knee. I knew my hardbound books would give quite a beating if it made direct contact. And, expectedly, it did!
"Ouch!" he cried in protest, "What the hell was that for?"
I feigned my regrets and pouted. "Oh, sorry, Brucey! Didn't see you there." And I turned on my heels and kept on walking, but not without rolling my eyes at him.
"BRUCEY?" he called scandalously as I got out of the building and into the afternoon light. "Hey, Daniel, what's up?"
Quite the persistent dick that he was, he caught my flank once again.
"It's nothing. Just leave me alone. I need to go home." I muttered automatically.
He grasped my shoulders and effortlessly spun me around to face him. "Hey," he said in a lighter tone. The whole time I was looking at anything but his face. He looked down at me. "You don't call me Brucey for nothing. You're pissed - I get it. But Daniel," he stressed. "What the hell did I do this time?"
I gave myself time to think about how to tell him, but my annoyance got the best of me and I squared my shoulders, crossed my arms, and gave in to my hot and rising temper.
"Oh, let's see. Where should I start?" I retorted as I scowled at him. "Oh . . . how would you like to be thrown as human garbage? Cause it sure was hell of a fun, Bruce! Thank you SO MUCH for the experience!"
"WHAT!" he gasped quite audibly, attracting a ten-meter wide audience.
I ignored all their staring faces and yelled at Bruce, "And, yeah, thank you for lunch, too! Those sundaes? Sure did a hell of a lot for my appetite!" I put all the sarcasm that I could gather into every word that I said.
"Daniel, what the fuck are you talkin' about?" he demanded once again. "That wasn't . . . what're you . . . do you think. . .?"
I looked at him one more time . . . deciding . . . and ruling out I didn't want to talk right now, I stormed out of the school premises. This time, leaving HIM open-mouthed and confused.
What the fuck! I thought he's changed. Who was I kidding?
*End of Chapter 11*