Childhood
He never touched me. He wasn’t old, not much older than me. He didn’t force me, either. It was always his idea, but he didn’t force me to do it. I think I kind of liked it. Liked the attention, anyway.
There’s one time in particular that always stands out in my head. We were at my house; we never hung out at his. I don’t even know what we were doing, but eventually he asked me if I wanted to go to my brother’s room and do it. At first I said no. I was embarrassed. I didn’t like it anymore. Then he picked up and toy phone and pretended like he was calling his parents, telling them he was on his way home. I freaked out when he did that. I didn’t want him to leave, so I said we could do it. Of course, I knew the phone wasn’t real. I now know that he probably would have stayed regardless. I don’t think I knew that then, though. There was a lot of things I didn’t know then. Like erections. Anyway, we went into my brother’s room. It was also never my room. You don’t really notice those things. He pulled down his pants, I lifted up my skirt. It was so easy to do it. Like I said, he never touched me. He just looked and showed me his. I didn’t really want to see it, but there’s that naive curiosity of youth that’s just so hard to shake, so I always did.
I asked him why it was straight like that, once. I had a younger brother who had yet to grasp the concept of clothing oneself in entirety, so my eyes weren’t completely star-struck. Still, I had never really seen, so I was fascinated. I always fancied it a kind of scientific curiosity. I knew what I had, but I didn’t know what they had. I don’t know if that’s entirely accurate, but it was so long ago and I choose to remember things my own way sometimes. Anyway, he told me his was like that. I recall him saying it made it hard for him to pee. I thought that meant he couldn’t pee ever. It took me years to understand what he’d meant. I don’t even know if he knew at that point in life.
Another thing I remember, one of those drifting memories that recapture me every now and again, is the first time I saw Titanic. He was over with us, watching. He was over a lot. I don’t think he liked it very much at his house. I can’t really remember if this was before or after his mom got cancer. Anyway, he’d seen it before and when we got to the scene where Jack paints a nude picture of Rose he told me to cover my eyes. He said it was inappropriate for me to see. I remember, even in my blind youth, thinking it was strange that it was not inappropriate for him to see, not being that much older than me and being a boy at that. I wanted to argue with him, but I knew he was usually right about those sorts of things, so I let off it and covered my eyes. I still feel the urge, you know. I also thought, though this came later in my life and during my contemplations (and I have had many), that it was strange that he was the one that wanted to open my eyes to things that really were inappropriate, yet he tried to shield me from movie scenes. He kind of had that personality.
Funny little anecdote pertaining to that idea: He taught me how to jump off swings. You know, how to swing up really high and then jump off so you’re flying for a little while? I knew my mom wouldn’t like that I was doing it, but I could never resist when he asked me to do something, and, besides, I liked the feeling of flying, of falling. Low and behold, one day I jumped off a swing and landed of my arm funny. Broke my wrist. He’s the one that came outside and found me. He’s the one that got my parents so they could take me to the hospital. I don’t think my mom knew it was him that taught me to jump, not that it was his fault, regardless. We just like to fancy ourselves the victims.
It wasn’t just these things, though. He did other things that had little or nothing to do with me. He once threw stuff over our fence at the people behind our’s yard. They were young girls. Giggling girls, a little older than myself if I recall correctly. I think that was his way of flirting with them, trying to hit them with detached swings and anything else he could pick up in our yard. I remember thinking it was kind of funny. My mom was furious. I felt guilty for thinking it was funny after she got through talking with us. That was definitely after his mom got cancer. Everything went downhill really fast after that.
We stopped being able to see him so much anymore. We were getting older, though, and so many people seem to be incapable of retaining relationships as they age. Especially if you were like him. Especially if you were like us. I haven’t really spoken to him in too many years to count. I still see him sometimes. He looks a little strange, since he did so many steroids. I can’t look him in the eye. Everything time I think of him, I get so embarrassed. The things I showed him! I try to justify it to myself all the time: I didn’t really know what I was doing; I was so young, who doesn’t run around without clothes on? Really, though, I’m just trying to deflect blame. I didn’t have to let him. I could have just said no.
It wasn’t just him, though. I mean, in many ways it was just him, but that’s not the only thing from my past I would rather forget. Maybe I just present myself as someone who can easily be pushed around, because there was someone else, a girl, that once stole a kiss from me. More than one, if you care to be so specific. Although, a kiss is a very loose term and I don’t know if “stole” necessarily describes it.
You see, we were on our way to a field trip. Sitting in the bus, I can’t imagine no one saw. She wanted to put her lips to mine, ever so gently. My memory’s hazy, but I don’t remember arguing at first. I let her a few times. Hovering, brushing, never any pressure or anything. It kind of tingled. I thought it felt kind of nice. On our way back, though, I grew embarrassed, as I often do. She asked again, but I told her I didn’t want to. She then confiscated the slap bracelet I’d obtained during the field trip. I think she was jealous of me for it. She threatened to throw it out the window if I wouldn’t hover and brush my lips against hers again. Now, I know it may sound strange, but that slap bracelet seemed immensely important to me at the time, so I consented. I don’t think she ever really thought I wanted to stop. Can you even imagine someone claiming they were forced to do something over a slap bracelet or because she thought her friend might leave, for that matter? Honestly, I’m just a push over.
I had a few other friends, none of which lasted very long, where I recreated scenes where people were forced to do things. We never did anything, obviously, but we talked about it. We talked about people’s heads being forced together so they kissed. Nothing graphic, just innocent things that we thought were so scandalous because of our age. I don’t think I would want to see these friends again. I feel ashamed I lead them into such games. One asked me to play something else. She didn’t like my games. I think I was very mean to request she play them with me.
When I was alone I thought about things, too. I pretended people were forced to lie naked together in bed before I had any notion what sex was. I couldn’t imagine what they would do in bed together naked, so I figured lying there was as inappropriate as it got. I thought of girls forced to be in relationships with guys. I thought of girls who wanted to be in relationships with guys. I don’t know why I thought of such things. They were really silly.
I don’t know what exactly I think there is to whine about. I’m not even sure why I wrote this, but, pathetic as it may sound to you, these things haunt me. They haunt me because I let them happen so easily. I embarrassed myself, did silly, inappropriate things for nearly no reason at all. I’m angry with myself for being so stupid. I feel like I’m angry with myself a lot.
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