The Day The Tables Turned - 2. Chapter 2

The Day the Tables Turned

By BWCTwriter

Part Two

* * * * *

I didn’t give much thought to my surroundings as I woke up and climbed out of bed the following morning. I didn’t notice the rearranged furniture. I hadn’t really registered the strange grunge rock posters I saw plastered all over the wall. I didn’t care to look at the ratty clothes that lay strewn about. I didn’t pick up the smoky scent of marijuana that permeated the room.

In my sleepy haze, the only thing that mattered was that I needed to pee. Once I took care of that, I could start thinking again. I stumbled my way into the cramped bathroom and relieved myself, then walked back to the room from which I came with less urgency.

Upon closing the door behind me, realization dawned. That was not my room. I looked around frantically, trying to make sense of my location. ‘This is not my room,’ I thought. ‘Those are not my posters. These are not my clothes. That was not my bathroom.’

Panic set in as I looked around me for some logical reason for my being in that strange place. ‘Had I been kidnapped? No, I’m fourteen years old, who’d want to kidnap me? Had I been abducted by aliens and taken to some other teenage boy’s house? Yeah, sure, Fenton. That’s it.’

A thought entered the forefront of my mind. ‘You are where you always wished to be.’

In a flash, I tore open the door, ran down the hall, and went back into the bathroom to check my reflection in the mirror. What I saw shocked me. The tall, solid frame, the buzzed blond hair, the grim, menacing expression, and the realization that my wish had come true all showed itself as I stared at my reflection. I got my wish. I was in Kyle’s body.

It took a moment before the impact of that realization hit. If I was in his body, then Kyle was in mine.

Boy, am I going to have fun today!

I showered and dressed as fast as I could that morning. I couldn’t wait to get to school and give “Fenton” a taste of his own medicine. It was definitely going to be a great day.

It didn’t take me long to discover that Kyle’s parents were either too busy to care for him, or too lazy, because they were nowhere to be found. So, I scrounged through the refrigerator, looking for something that seemed edible.

There wasn’t a lot of food to go around in that house, I was sure. I’d checked every corner of the fridge, and every cabinet. The only thing I could find worth eating was some generic oatmeal and an over-ripe banana. I shrugged and made myself some hot oatmeal, cutting up the banana and mixing the pieces around in the slop. It wasn’t a delicacy, but it would hold me over until lunch.

After eating, I snooped around the outside of the house for a means of transportation. It was a school day after all. I found a bicycle that was a bit too small for me, but I figured it would have to do. Though I wasn’t exactly sure where I was, I had a good idea which neighborhood I was in. The rows of poorly maintained one-story ranch houses, almost equal in size and design, told me I was in the northwest part of town, which was Mason City’s lower-class neighborhood.

‘Well, he doesn’t have much.’ I thought, ‘but at least he doesn’t get the shit beat out of him every day. That means I don’t get the shit beat out of me anymore. In fact, I think I’ll be the one to dole out the beatings for a while. We’ll just see how “Fenton” likes it.’

I grinned menacingly, and already began plotting my revenge on my nemesis. As I rode my bike to school that day, I had a renewed sense of strength and determination. Kyle had his turn. It was my turn now.

I met up with “my” pothead friends as I rode up to the side entrance to the school.

“Hey man, how’s it goin’?” one of them asked with a slow, slurred voice. He was baked. Though I considered him to be far inferior to me, I decided to embrace everything about my reversal of fortune. If it was cool to be one of the stoners, then I’d have my fun.

“Hey, what’s up man?” I greeted, hoping to sound as “cool” as Kyle normally sounded to his friends.

“Not much, dude,” he replied. He shook hands with me and whispered in my ear. “Chad and I were gonna go burn one, you in?”

“That’s cool,” I replied and followed him toward the bathroom in the freshman hallway. We walked in to find Chad waiting inside. I recognized him immediately as one of my abusers, and had to remind myself who I was so I didn’t instinctively cower in fear. I was Kyle in body, but I still felt like myself in mind. “Hey man, how’s it goin’?”

“Not bad,” Chad replied. He held out a freshly lit joint and asked, “Want a hit?”

“Hell yeah,” I replied and brought the joint to my lips. I took a long drag and inhaled the pungent smoke. It burned my lungs, but I could tell Kyle was used to it, because it didn’t even make me cough, even though I hadn’t had so much as a “contact high” before. After holding it in, I slowly exhaled.

I passed the joint to Keith, the boy I’d walked in with, and he took a hit. We laughed and made stupid jokes as we each took two or three tokes, and by the time I left the bathroom fifteen minutes later, I had a strong buzz going.

I walked slowly toward my first period class, managing to stroll in a full minute after the bell rang. The teacher gave me a stern lecture about the virtues of promptness, but I just rolled my eyes and replied with Kyle’s patented “whatever,” found a couple of “my” friends in the back, and sat with them.

We basically talked in hushed tones the entire period, occasionally laughing loudly. To my surprise, my science teacher wasn’t the only one who ignored my delinquency. Mrs. Davidson, my “Math for beginners” teacher, could barely find enough organization to teach the subject matter. She hardly had time to lecture us goof-offs.

I held my head high that day, enjoying my newfound feeling of confidence and coolness. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder that day. I didn’t have to fear the worst. All I had to worry about was how cool I looked to my underlings, and how deep a hole I planned to bury “Fenton” in.

As Chad and I walked down the hall between periods, I spotted the sweetest sight in all my years. My nemesis was right there, crouching in front of his locker while exchanging books.

I looked over at my posse and said, “watch this,” and then casually veered to the right side of the hall, walking right between the locker and Mr. “Faggot” himself, Fenton. He knew he was in trouble the moment his eyes met mine.

With one swift kick, I sent his backpack sliding across the floor, books and papers scattering everywhere, just as he’d done to me countless times in the past.

Fenton looked up at me in anger, then in shock, and finally in an expression of utter fear. I smiled broadly at him and winked. He knew he was headed full throttle into the worst beating of his life.

Fenton attempted to get to his feet, and I gave him a boost; hard into the lockers, that is.

“Well, well, well,” I began, “look who we have here. How’s it going, ‘Faggot?’” I asked, giving him an extra shove. I made sure to place emphasis on “Faggot,” as it was a word he seemed to enjoy labeling me with so much.

“Leave me alone or you’ll be sorry,” Fenton warned.

My cronies and I laughed out loud at Fenton’s belief that he could actually defend himself against me, let alone my two friends. It was time for him to be taught a lesson. His reign as king was over.

“Oh really?” I asked incredulously. “I’ll be sorry? We’ll see about that,” I replied, looking him in the eyes, making certain he knew I wasn’t out to play nice. He was long overdue for a royal ass whooping, and I was just the guy to do it. The next few days of his life were going to be a living hell.

I got right into his face and whispered, “How’s it feel to be a weak, pathetic faggot?”

Fenton gritted his teeth in impotent fury and replied, “when I figure out how to undo whatever you did, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Doubtful,” I replied impassively.

Just as he turned to retrieve his books, I stepped on his foot and shoved him hard, sending him to the floor. He barely managed to throw his arms in front of himself to cushion the fall.

My gang and I had a good laugh and walked away as Fenton attempted to collect his books. I had a most enjoyable day after that. Unfortunately for me, I wouldn’t have the opportunity of hazing him at gym that day, as we only had class every other day.

During science class, I made sure to humiliate him just as much as he’d done to me. I threw pencils, pens, and whatever else I had handy at him. He ignored most of it, but when I started to gleek saliva at him, expertly shooting saliva through my teeth and hitting him on the arms and neck, he spun around angrily.

My crew and I laughed it up. He knew damn well he was helpless, and I loved it. He tried to hide his embarrassment, but I saw past the front he put up to disguise it. I was an expert at keeping my shame hidden, and he had the stone-faced “tough on the outside but crumbling on the inside” look down within thirty minutes.

I decided to leave him be for the rest of the day, though that was more to keep from being too obvious than anything else. I had more fun goofing off that day than I’d ever had “being the teacher’s pet,” as I’d done in the past. I just didn’t care anymore. I didn’t need to care. I was a badass and everyone knew it.

I went over to Chad’s house with my lackeys after school, where we promptly got drunk and stoned. We watched Half Baked, which, apparently, was my “favorite movie,” and laughed our asses off. It was the most idiotic movie I’d ever seen.

Just before the movie ended, a thunderous roar sounded from the hallway. It was my father. He’d come home from work, and he was pissed.

“What the fuck are you doing in there?” he bellowed from behind the door, and then opened it forcefully. He looked around at my room dumbly, with a six-pack in hand, and the same evil expression he’d passed on to his son, and commanded, “Clean this shit up and get the fuck out of here!” then stomped down the hall.

My friends looked at me with typically moronic expressions. “Damn,” Darren said. “We’ll see you later, man.”

“Yeah, later,” I replied. I could tell by the looks on my friends’ faces that this was a fairly normal and regular occurrence. That didn’t surprise me in the least.

After my friends left, I shoveled the trash into an empty corner of the room and walked into the kitchen to find something to eat, when my father slapped me hard in the side of the head with the back of his hand. The metal of a ring, which was surely not something he earned at college, stung my skin.

“How many times have I told you not to drink my beer?” he asked heatedly.

“Sorry,” I responded in an uncaring manner as I turned around to face him. I’d stepped over the line and I didn’t even know it.

My father grabbed me by my neck and pulled me toward him. It was easy, as he had at least 50 pounds on me, and looked as though he worked in manual labor, as strong as his arms were. My throat felt constricted and I felt my body instinctively tighten up, preparing to defend itself from the beast that stood before me, an action I was sure would be nothing more than an exercise in futility.

“Don’t fucking do it again!” he barked, “or I’ll pound your ass. And where the hell’s my supper?”

I felt the urge to tell him to go get it himself, but I knew sure that wouldn’t fly, judging by the reaction I’d already provoked in him. I could feel the fear that had been bred into Kyle since he was little. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to deal with his father’s rage. I looked over toward the kitchen, swallowed my fear, and sighed.

“I’ll make something,” I grumbled, then went to work.

The contents of the fridge had not increased between sunup and sundown, so I was forced to just make due. We ended up having a couple TV dinners, my father having a beer and myself a glass of piss-warm tap water that smelled like fish. It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy my bottomless pit of a stomach, but it would have to do.

I stayed out of my father’s way the rest of the night. I didn’t have to worry much, though. He passed out from drunkenness fairly early in the night. I managed to get a few hours sleep in the strange place that was my new room. The pictures of skeletons, guns, and bloody corpses on the walls did not help to comfort me that night.

I awoke hungry and ill-rested the following morning, the house as empty as I’d found it the day before. I did my normal morning routine and dressed in rags for school. I was out the door just in time to make it to school before the first bell rang.

I slacked off the entire morning. If my teachers ordered us all to strip naked and have a giant orgy right in the middle of the classroom, I wouldn’t have known. I had some sleep to make up for, after all.

As I headed toward the cafeteria to get some lunch at noon, I realized I had not a dime to spend on something to eat. I was too hungry to go without, so I decided to pay my weak little victim, Fenton, a visit and collect on past debts.

“Hey, Faggot,” I barked as I grabbed a hold of his shoulder to prevent him from bolting. He was standing in the lunch line ahead of me. “Give me your lunch money.”

He looked back at me, his emotions warring violently between fear and rage. He sighed and reached into his pocket, coming up with a five dollar bill. “You are so dead for this,” he advised.

“Shut up, Fag,” I retorted. My cronies, who’d gathered behind me, cracked up laughing. They seemed to have an uncanny knack for showing up when I was abusing Fenton. “See you again tomorrow,” I said as I physically turned him around and shoved him toward the back of the line, taking his place near the front. He looked around, embarrassed. A few kids laughed at him and pushed him as he walked toward the back of the seemingly endless lunch line. Man, I’m really starting to enjoy this.

Along came gym class, shortly after lunch, and though my instincts told me to be bashful, I forced myself to stand tall and undress in front of everyone else. No one suspected a thing, and Fenton wisely kept his eyes to himself. He was determined to not fall for the same traps he’d set for me in the past.

As we walked back to the locker room after swimming was over, I pulled my cronies off to the side and whispered to them my plan of attack for that period. They laughed and gave me high fives. Fenton was definitely not going to enjoy what I had in store for him. My pack and I dried off slowly as we waited for Fenton to finish dressing, at which point, three of us attacked him, grabbed his arms and legs, and carried him toward the showers. He screamed, kicked, and flailed his arms in an attempt to free himself from our hold on him, but it was no use. We had far more combined strength than he did.

We hauled him into the showers and tossed him into a corner, turned the water on cold, and doused him with water. He yelped at the freezing temperature, but was too embarrassed to do anything to stop our assault. We laughed at him as he sat dejected in a puddle of water. Every inch of his clothing was soaked. It was hilarious.

My friends and I verbally assaulted him as we normally did while he attempted to get to his feet and make an escape from our torture.

When we’d tired of laughing at him, we returned to the dressing room and donned our own clothes. As we left the gym when class let out, a very wet Fenton made a mad dash for the parking lot. I mentally cheered in triumph, as I’d caused my nemesis to cower in fear of me for the first time ever. It was an awesome feeling.