Personal Encounter

Antonio
BY TED WALKER
September 3, 2009

Who has not experienced the nettles of middle school, the blossoming of that sting into the thorny rose of high school? I think I will not be judged wrong in asserting that these are the most awkward periods of a person's life. In fact, if someone did happen to have an easy time in middle or high school, I usually do not trust them. This is the time when unhappy and uncomfortable youths are stewed slowly in a cauldron of seething emotions. Adding over-spiced hormones, the dish is cooked and served to a society hungry for young blood.
And worst of all is the infighting among the inmates, as it were. The eyes of the wardens (they whose determined mantra is “no lawsuits”) are not able to detect every crime or act of cruelty within the walls, and the victims are keenly aware of what happens to those who draw attention to themselves. If you were a target and wanted to be left alone, you sometimes needed to fight back. As for me, I was pudgy and physically weak, so the shiv of sarcasm was my only defense in those black years when not even one's pubescent body could be trusted.
Even among the other “fat” kids, there was no love. In fact, there was an understanding that if you were being picked on, there was always someone else who could take the heat for you. I remember how it was between me and Antonio Dorsey; the approach of raucous footsteps down the cream-colored linoleum hall by the Theater, followed by the suddenly suspicious exchange of glances between the two fat kids, one black, one white.
You don't want them to see you run, so you walk slowly and act “normal,” though you know they can smell fear. Or they can see you waddle. Whatever you try, it never quite works. I swear I cannot remember even a single face of one of these … I don't even know what to call them. Bullies? Tough guys? Thugs? Assholes is the most satisfying word I can find, since it really conveys the sense of how it felt to be cornered by them, to have their shadows darkening the fluorescent lighting overhead. Again, no particular voice or name they called me comes to mind, just the din of their combined name-calling and laughing responses to their fellows.
Antonio and I were both corralled against the wall by their large, long bodies. You mustn't imagine that our faces showed any fear other than that we failed to mask – we tried to look tough, down with whatever the whatever-you-call-thems were, but our eyes betrayed us. They would hoot and laugh and point; I think I remember the words “butterball turkey” being used, to the refrain of general enjoyment.
And this is where we were so desperate to be liked, to avoid being picked on, that we would ingratiate ourselves, pitifully dancing and smiling like puppets to gain their favor. This behavior was encouraged, and in their encouragement would go so far as to turn on each other. Perhaps something would be said along the lines of, “Look at him, he's like a little red ball. He's so round you can just roll him right down the hall.” Laughter from the crowd. In this grotesque comedy act, the reply might be something like, “Man, you think I'm fat? Look at his little breasts, like a girl's. He got himself a sex change, or what'?”
Sated for now on nastiness, they would depart, leaving us looking at each other with hate born of hurt. It was as if we had become sell-outs to the “fat cause,” willing to jettison our brother rather than be scorned by our oppressors. This is why Antonio and I were never friends. We would end up boasting near the popular kids, playing a game of one-upmanship to anyone in ear shot, just to inflate a false reputation to become more noticeable than our inflated bodies.
In time, my family moved, and I was transferred to another high school. I began a fresh start, and started losing weight due to a medication that was available at the time. Within a year and a half, I looked like a different person, and felt, for the first time since I could remember, normal and comfortable in my own skin. Life became easy, and I was able to be myself among my new friends, finding out skills I never knew I had. In other words, things changed dramatically for the better.
I remember, it was the summer, right before the beginning of my Senior year, and I was taking a public bus over to my friend Dan's house. It was a hot July, and the bus was running late. The stop was right by a steak house restaurant, and I kept running into the cool air conditioning, and then, afraid of missing the bus, running out again to check.
Finally, I heard the sound of an engine, and flew out the door of the steak house. The driver saw me and stopped. It was one of those days in DC when it was so hot the public buses are free, so I was pleased to not have to pay. As I shuffled my way down the aisle to find an empty seat, I saw someone looking at me out of the corner of my eye. I sat down behind this person and found myself face to face with Antonio Dorsey, who I had not seen in more than two years.
The thing about Antonio was that everything he said was followed by a curious chuckle-laugh. I'm pretty sure it was involuntary; it was not necessarily a merry sound, but more of an addendum, like a period. It let you know he had finished saying something. So, after looking me up and down to size me up, the first thing he said to me was, “So, ah, Ted. You lookin' a little, ah, slimmer. Eheh.”
The ride to Silver Spring was full of an emotion that was hard to describe. Perhaps divergence, if that could be called an emotion. Basically, the difference in our developments was laid bare. Antonio had stayed put in Paint Branch (our old school) and it had become somewhat romanticized to him. Maybe his situation, as he claimed, had indeed changed; he looked the same to me. As for myself, I told him that I felt I had been lucky enough to move somewhere else, and that it was a big change for me; I ended up telling him about how my life had improved dramatically.
Underneath it all, however, was a sort of nastiness. Were we playing out the same pantomime as before, this time without an audience? As the bus made its way through downtown Silver Spring, he suddenly turned to me and declared, “Yeah, I remember how you were at Paint Branch. Not too popular. Eheh. Now me? Any one of those kids would have taken a bullet for me. Any one of them. Eh heh.” He smiled smugly.
My BS detector went into high alert at this; although I might have wished the past was otherwise, I knew the real truth, and was both shocked and annoyed at Antonio's fantasy of being popular enough at Paint Branch to have someone literally sacrifice themselves for him. I didn't reply, just sat there mildly disgusted, with Antonio gloating and chuckling, until I saw someone a few rows behind us. In perhaps one of life's most delicious coincidences, there sat Anushka, a girl who I remembered from my time at Paint Branch as well. She had even been listening to our conversation.
“Excuse me?” I said, addressing her, “You know who he is, right?” I pointed to Antonio.
She nodded silently.
“Would you have taken a bullet for him?”
She shook her head. No. Definitely not.
I turned back to Antonio just in time to see him shrink into his own chest like a deflated balloon. The air leaked out of his mouth; his characteristic “eh heh,” sound, only this time, weak, and with sadness and resignation.
I can't say I didn't feel a sense of victory, as Antonio passed the rest of the trip silently with his head down. I knew that I was being deceptive as well; my life was better than it had been, sure, but it was by no means perfect. But I did not tell him this; It was as if I was cosmically meant to be playing the role of his foil at that time, on that bus; a reminder to him not to cover up his pain with lies. I even gave him the sort of advice a victor gives to the defeated on my way off the bus, with a sort of haughty grace. I'm sure to him I seemed like a complete... (The realization dawned with a chill as my feet hit the hot Silver Spring pavement.) An asshole.