JACKSON

 

 

My heart sinks every time the bell rings to end our math class and we're released back into the dreaded hallways. I know this feeling is exclusive to me, as everyone else jumps up with relief and can't wait to get out of the classroom.

For me, math class may not be fun either, but it is the only time of the day when I feel safe and somewhat happy at school. It's the time when I can bathe in Aileen's presence and admire her from afar, watching her play with her hair or carefully lay out her pens and paper to take notes for class. She's so organized, so controlled and calm. Everything she says is smart and polite. I've never heard her give a wrong answer or take part in nasty gossip in or out of class.

Unlike me, she's not an outcast either. She's not one of the cool girls, the really popular ones, but she's not shunned either. I see her casually talking to other students, sometimes laughing with them, but never laughing about the misfortune of someone else. Her laughter is deeper and more restrained than those of the other girls. It seems as if she never lets go, never loses control of herself in any way. I wonder what that would look like. What Aileen would look like if she completely lost it, if she broke down in an overwhelming laughing fit, her eyes tearing up, her cheeks turning red and her hair flying wildly around, losing its silky-straight structure.

I wish I could make her look like that. I wish I could see her in a state that no one else ever has. The thought of her losing control because of something I'm doing to her feels like the most intimate thing I can imagine.

I'm in no hurry to pack up my things after class, and I linger, glancing at her while she collects her things with her usual stoic motions.

When she throws her bag over her shoulder and walks out of class, I'm right behind her, getting so close for a moment that I catch a waft of her scent, her hair.

I distance myself as soon as we walk into the hall, and watch her from afar again as she strides over to her locker that is way too far away from mine. Talking to her would be so much easier if our lockers were right next to each other, but fate has never treated me well.

None of my mean classmates are around, so I enjoy the luxury of walking down the hall without having nasty words thrown at me.

But I'm walking in the wrong direction. Instead of heading to my own locker at the other side of the hall, I find myself walking toward her.

She probably doesn't even know I exist, and I want to change that. I don’t know what came over me, but my body decides it's time to approach her before my brain can arrive at a strategy.

Before I know it, I'm standing next to her, trying to casually lean against the neighboring lockers as I smile at her. With how inexperienced and nervous I am, I know there's nothing casual about my movements or my facial expression, but I hope that she doesn't sense these things right away - or at least doesn't point them out or pick on me.

Aileen shoves her math books inside the locker and casts me a curious look from the side.

"Hi?"

I know it's my time to speak, but I'm lost for words. I've never been so close to her, and I've never seen her eyes directly focused on me. Their color is the deepest blue I've ever seen, so dark that I almost mistook them for dark brown or black.

She raises one of her eyebrows and tilts her head to the side, looking at me with her eyes wide with expectation.

I have to say something.

"Hi, I'm... I'm Jackson."

I secretly cringe inside. Where am I going with this? I should have thought about a topic. Anything. Anything we could talk about. Or a purpose for me coming to her.

"Yes, I know," she says, her voice soft and friendly. "You're in my math class."

She knows my name! She knows who I am!

"Yes, right," I say, helplessly lowering my eyes. I stare at the tips of her shoes. She's wearing ballerina flats, but still surpasses my height by about an inch or so. I have to look up when I talk to her, which I find appropriate.

"Can I help you with something?" she asks. There's nothing mean or impatient in her voice. In fact, I can't remember the last time anyone has ever spoken to me in such a nice tone.

While I'm still struggling to find my words, I notice Kendrick and his awful little gang walking down the hall from the corner of my eye. I pray to God they don't notice me, but of course, they do.

"Hey, Jackson Fatson!" Kendrick bellows in my direction. "Got a new girlfriend?"

Humiliation clenches around my heart like a stone-cold fist, but what is even worse is the look on Aileen's face.

She blushes and turns around to the boys, her mouth partly opened.

She looks horrified.

"Dumb and fat. You got yourself quite a winner there!" Kendrick yells directly at her.

He doesn't even know her. Aileen has never caught his attention - until I pushed her into the limelight of my daily humiliation.

Her eyes go back and forth between me and Kendrick, her face expressing nothing but horror and fear.

"Yeah, I'd be ashamed, too!" Kendrick adds, and his entourage roars with laughter.

That's it.

I let my bag drop to the floor and lunge at him, fiery rage burning through my insides as I strike out for him. He takes a step back and easily evades my attack, causing me to tumble to the floor.

I almost land flat on my face, barely managing to cushion my fall with my hands. The impact still hurts like a motherfucker, and I let out a pathetically girlish shriek on impact.

The laughter that erupts around me hurts even more than the fall.

"Jackson Fatson!" the chorus chimes, fingers pointing at me, kids dying with laughter.

I stare at the ground in front of me, incapable of moving. For years, I have endured their ridicule, hurtful words and chants, seclusion and loneliness. But this tops everything. I've never found myself on the floor.

In front of her eyes.

I slowly turn around, holding back hot tears, as I search for her beautiful face.

Aileen is standing exactly where she was standing when I turned away. She is holding a bunch of books in her arms, pulled tightly against her chest as if she was trying to protect herself from the gruesome sight in front of her.

Kendrick turns to her.

"Don't you wanna help your loser boyfriend?" he asks, pointing down at me.

Aileen huffs and shakes her head.

"He's not my boyfriend!" she protests.

She lays her eyes on me. I return her gaze, silently pleading for forgiveness.

And then I see it. Aileen's face has lost all of its beauty, her eyes now narrowed to slits, her eyebrows curled and her mouth distorted with disgust. Her expression reflects the same condemnation I've seen on so many faces before.

"I don't even know him!" she spits out, her words firing at me like hot daggers. I've never been so hurt before in my life. "He just wanted to copy my homework because he can't do it himself."

Her hurtful lie is more than I can bear. Tears of anger and deprivation are threatening to roll down my face.

I can't let that happen. I can't cry in front of them. The humiliation would be too devastating.

I hurry to get up from the ground and run away, the students who have gathered to witness my degradation parting to the side, letting me pass without another comment as I flee to the boy's restroom.

There, fate is on my side for the first time that day. The restroom is completely deserted. I hasten over to the sink and turn on the water, leaning over to wash my face. I'm weeping uncontrollably, trying to hide the onslaught of tears with splashes of warm water, in case anyone should walk in and see me.

I've lost her.

I've lost Aileen - or rather the idea that I held of her. I never really knew who she was until she imagined that her reputation was being threatened and acted just as mean as all the other kids who've made my life hell until now. She was afraid to be linked to me in any way, to be degraded from her position of irrelevancy to an outcast by association, one who gets actively mobbed by the cool kids.

No one wants to be on my level, but the way Aileen distanced herself from me, that ugly expression of disgust on her face. There are no words to describe how disappointed and disillusioned I felt.

The most fucked- up thing is that I still want to be close to her. I still want a glimpse behind that stiff, controlled exterior and see what lies behind it. I want to see her lose control, let go of her tense demeanor, and lose herself because of something I'm doing to her.

But I don't want this loss of control to become a joke.

I want to expose her, humiliate her, drive her mad, make her dependent on me for pleasure.

This is the first day I imagine a woman crawling on all fours in front of me. A woman like Aileen Watson.

This is also the day I understand that I cannot stay the person I am if I ever want something like that to happen. Women like Aileen don't get broken by a fat kid who lets himself be dragged down by bad grades and a hostile environment.

I have to change.

And I will, because I finally have a goal, a destiny.