The Year I Stopped Being Invisible - 3. Chapter 3

Word travels pretty fast in high school, even in a school as big as Polk.

As I sat on the school bus that Monday morning, people were still talking about what had happened in the locker room on Wednesday. That talk only increased as the bus pulled up to Taine's stop, but died to hushed whispers as he got on, the cap masking his downturned eyes. He seemed to know that he was being talked about and hurried past me to plop into an empty seat, taking the space nearest the window and turning toward it.

I noticed that Taine's army jacket had a small tear near the collar, and wondered if it had happened during his struggle with Coach Keith. Feeling sadness for this poor, fragile boy, my eyes nevertheless traveled to his pale, graceful neck, noticing the thin tendon standing out from the turning of his head. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to go to him, wrap him in my arms and gently kiss that beautiful neck, telling him that everything would be okay.

As it was, I merely seethed inside as I made out words like "shower" and "coach" from the incessant whispers. Why couldn't they shut up? Didn't they know he could hear them? Did they even care? It made me angry, and angrier still when I saw Taine brush his sleeve against his cheek under the brim of his cap. I knew he was wiping away a tear, and I had to fight the urge to go to him, shield him from these monsters and scream at them to just leave him alone!

Taine, I thought. Sweet, fragile Taine. You're too good, too sensitive and pure for these awful people.

Soon, the bus pulled into the roundabout in front of the school. I waited as the kids in the back of the bus got up and filed past me, just looking at Taine. He caught my stare, one among many, and looked offended at first. Then he must have seen something in my eyes. The way my heart was bleeding for him. He got up and moved past my seat, making a small, almost imperceptible gesture with his head. I got up and followed him off the bus.

We walked in silence for a bit as we approached the school. As we neared the doors, he stopped briefly, turned toward me, and I saw his beautiful lips mouth "thanks" but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and repeated himself.

"Thanks. For...you know."

My face must have been speaking volumes, my heart aching, because he leaned his head back so that he could see me better from under his cap. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under them, but to me he still looked like a beautiful broken angel as he regarded me seriously for a moment and said:

"It's okay, man. I'm okay. Come on, we're gonna be late."

With that, he turned and began walking toward the doors. I wanted to say something, needed to say something, but I knew that if I opened my mouth I would burst into tears, so I just followed sad, beautiful Taine into the building.

* * * * *

Taine sat with me at lunch again, and actually ate something that day, tucking into his chicken strips and barbecue sauce along with everyone else. There were some whispers and stares in the cafeteria, but the bus that morning appeared to have been the worst of it, and the gossip had subsided now that Taine was back in school and among the living. I could see that it pained him, but couldn't find the words to express my sympathy.

We ate mostly in silence, I sneaking shy glances in Taine's direction every now and then over bites of food. Finally, he set down a half-eaten chicken strip, chewed thoughtfully -- my attention drawn by his strong but fine-boned jaw line as he did so -- then swallowed and regarded me from under his cap.

"You know how you can try to be invisible, and then you're on center-stage?"

I didn't, but nodded sympathetically anyway. I had always been invisible, except when my mother beat me, and had determined that this new school, new name, new life...this was going to be the year I stopped being invisible.

That's why I was taking Mr. McRory's drama class for 4th period. I hoped to go to tournaments, try out for the school play, and actually get involved so I could make friends.

Taine, on the other hand, was clearly someone who shunned not only the spotlight, but most forms of human interaction, at least from what I could see in the two days...spread already over eight calendar days...in which I'd known him. I felt honored and special that he had chosen me, of all people, to befriend. A question popped into my head, and I blurted it out, instantly regretting my clumsy wording.

"Do you have any other friends?" I asked.

"Not here," he said quickly, staring down at his food. "I have a friend named Doug. I've known him since I was five, but he's back in New York. He plays rugby. He always looked out for me."

I considered this, already jealous of what I imagined to be a handsome, rugged jock, with whose masculinity and strength I could never compete, holding and protecting the young Taine from the vagaries of fate in his muscular arms. I already figured out that Taine needed someone strong in his life. I wondered if I might become that person for him here in Texas. He was so delicate, almost ethereal, and I felt like if a strong wind came up, he might turn into stardust and simply blow away. I shook the image from my head and continued.

"What about here? Have you made any friends here?"

Taine looked at me for a long moment before responding. He seemed to struggle with the question, turning it over in his mind before answering.

He obviously didn't talk a lot, and I felt as if each word which I was blessed to hear coming from his sweet lips had been carefully chosen, considered and vetted. The exact opposite of me, who just said anything the second it crossed my mind. Finally, he shrugged and gave a wry smirk.

"People...people are dumb, man. They're like stupid hyenas."

I blinked, honestly never having considered that view before. I had always gone through life trying to please people, imagining them all to be smarter, better-adjusted, more organized and just...well, "together," as we said in those days, than I could ever hope to be. Taine struck me that way, too, only more so. He was my age, but seemed somehow ageless, timeless, as if he possessed hidden depths, secret rivers flowing with knowledge and wisdom. I focused on him intently, waiting for him to explain.

"What do you mean," I inquired, truly fascinated.

"They need validation and acceptance," he finally offered. "So they put down all the good things, the special things and just go along with whatever gets them what they want. They're cruel and stupid when they get together, like a pack of hyenas, looking for something to tear up to make themselves feel strong and part of something, even if it's someone else's destruction. But hyenas only do it to survive. People don't have to. They want to."

He looked back down at his food then, disappearing behind the brim of the cap, slouching as if he had explained this a thousand times, and was exhausted by it.

"So why are you sitting with me?" I ventured, nervous.

He mulled the question over carefully, taking a last delicate bite of chicken strip before pushing the rest of his tray -- with corn, some strawberry mess of a dessert, and an uneaten piece of garlic bread -- toward me. As he stood, he grinned, his perfect smile melting me instantly.

"I knew last Monday that you were different," he said. "You do some of those things too, you can't help it, so you're kind of like that, but you're kind of not. I gotta go."

He moved away then, leaving me sitting alone with our two trays and lost in thought. Part of me was a little hurt and wondered what I did that fit into his disdainful view of humanity, while another part of me was thrilled that he seemed to see some hope for me, something which differentiated me from everyone else in his mind.

I was chewing on his discarded garlic bread when it came to me.

Last Monday?

He had noticed me last Monday?

That was what he said, and my fifteen-year old mind swirled with this revelation. He had noticed me on the first day of school, and not only noticed me, but thought about me. Analyzed what I was like two full days before we officially met. I marveled at this knowledge, feeling both honored and special. I know that anyone walking by me would see me sitting there with a goofy grin on my face and a hot red flush across my cheeks.

An image came to my mind, a dim memory even though it was only eight days before. I had figured out by this point in my life that I wasn't very observant in those days, or at least I didn't feel like I was. Maybe I had been hit in the head too much growing up, maybe I was just a little slow on the uptake, but I always felt like I was alone in some sort of fog, moving in slow motion while everyone else was clear and moving at normal speed. It was a constant struggle to keep up, and I would only notice really obvious things a few days after they happened, when they had finally penetrated my fog and I could process them.

In this case, the image was from the first day of school.

It was of Taine, standing in front of his locker, but his back was turned to it and he was looking up the hallway as teachers and students bustled by him, this way and that. The brim of his cap was pointed up, and I vaguely remember thinking that he was scanning the unfamiliar building for his next class. Now I knew that what he was doing was observing. He was watching and analyzing everything that got under the brim of that cap, through the shaggy bangs, past those beautiful eyes and into that deep, wise-beyond-its-years mind.

What was going on behind those eyes, in that mind? I imagined data being processed, old-timey IBM punch-cards flying off a stack under big steel rollers, each landing in neatly-aligned compartments on a long conveyor belt, either for filing, analysis or further processing. I pictured most of the compartments emptying their cards into a large, threshing shredder with spiky blades rusty with blood. But then I saw my card, reading SPIVEY, RICHARD and a comically large rubber stamp came down, leaving the boxed red word APPROVED.

There must have been a mile-long grin on my face until a large hand came down on my shoulder, snapping me from my reverie. I looked up to see Mr. Wells, one of the four vice-principals who monitored the school for disciplinary infractions. He was a tall, powerfully-built African-American man in a sharp blue three-piece suit and stylish striped tie. His voice was deep, booming and resonant.

"Are you planning to go to class?" he asked me.

I looked around the cafeteria then, not seeing a single student. Yeah, I did have the tendency of zoning out, whether from my past concussive beatings or just because my brain was defective in some way, and I had been so deep in my fantasy factory that I zoned straight through the bell for 4th period.
"Yes! Yes, sir!" I yelped, hurrying to my feet and throwing my book-bag strap over my shoulder. I began to rush to class.

"SPIVEY!" came Mr. Wells' booming voice behind me.

I turned to see him pointing at the two cafeteria trays, mine and Taine's, still on the table. I made an "Oh, stupid me" face -- which I found myself making a lot in those days -- and went back to bus the trays. Mr. Wells just shook his head, bemused, and walked away without staying to oversee my walk of shame to the tray cart.

* * * * *

As I walked down the hall toward Mr. McRory's drama class, I paused outside the door to the school's main office. I could see past the receptionist's desk to the open door of the principal's office.

Our principal, Mr. Towers, was sitting behind his desk looking extremely concerned.

There, standing in front of him, was a stocky, powerfully-built man whom I thought I recognized, even from the back.

It was the famous racecar driver Sylvester Maxwell, a Formula 1 legend who had cruised to a record-breaking finish at Le Mans even as his beloved wife had died so suddenly. He did not look pleased. I stood to one side, just inside the doorway by the reception desk, so that I could watch the drama unfold.

"Mr. Maxwell, I understand your concern..." the principal was saying.

"I don't think you do understand my concern, Towers," Mr. Maxwell replied. His voice was husky and deep with displeasure. "What happened to my son is not going to happen again!"

"It won't, sir," said Mr. Towers. "Coach Keith has been transferred to an administrative position at Central Office pending a full investigation. Coach Briggs has taken over the class, but we do have rules."

"I don't give a fuck about your rules," Mr. Maxwell bellowed. "We're talking about my son!"

Mr. Towers looked exasperated, rather than shocked at the fury of Mr. Maxwell's outburst, as I was. He pulled a small yellow form from a pad in his desk drawer and began filling it out.

"I tell you what I will do, Mr. Maxwell," he said as he wrote. "I can give Taine this form excusing him from gym class for one week. I know that he has suffered some emotional distress, but he will simply have to start showering in class starting next Monday. My hands are tied, it's district policy and I..."

SLAM!

Mr. Maxwell's meaty hand came down on the principal's desktop like a gunshot. I jumped, and so did Mr. Towers.

"Let me TELL you what you're going to do," Mr. Maxwell growled, his thick, raspy voice giving added power to his words. "You are going to BREAK district policy or I'm going to sue the district, this school and YOU personally until the only form you fill out will be at the unemployment office!"

"Mr. Maxwell, there is no need to..."

"It's. My. SON!"

Mr. Maxwell took a deep breath and stepped back from the desk, pointing a thick forefinger at the paper in front of Mr. Towers.

"Study hall," he said. "For the rest of the year. And he gets full credit for the gym class."

Mr. Towers seemed to consider his options. Finding that he had none, he gave a deep sigh and began writing on the form again, nodding.

"I think we can do that," the principal said in a small, weak voice.

"Good," Mr. Maxwell barked. Then, seemingly satisfied, he turned and marched out of the office, heading in my direction.

Oh, shit!

My eyes darted back and forth, looking for an escape route. Seeing none, I did what I always do: I blurted out something without thinking.

"I think that's really great what you did for Taine, sir!"

Still angry, Mr. Maxwell marched right past me, and I figured that he hadn't heard. Just as he left the office, however, he stopped suddenly.

He came back in with a curious expression on his face and looked at me with his wide, dark bulldog eyes.

"You're Ricky," he said.