Mind Over Matter - 3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I listened for a while, but I didn’t hear anything except the television going on in the den. After the day I’d had I was exhausted, so I lay down on my bed and was soon fast asleep. When I woke up several hours later the house was quiet. I looked at my clock – 4:10 a.m. – and wondered if I’d slept through them calling me for supper. It was Friday and we usually had roast beef, my favorite.

I crept out of bed and opened the door. The house was dark and my parents’ bedroom door was closed. I quietly used the bathroom and then tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to make any excess noise. I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge, but there was no leftover roast beef. There were, however, several empty cartons in the garbage from a Chinese takeout place we loved. There wasn’t any left for me. I briefly considered making something then decided I wasn’t really hungry. I got a glass of water and crept back up to my room.

Next time I woke up the only difference was the sunlight pouring into my room. The house was still quiet. Usually by this time my parents would be hollering at me about sleeping away my summer, but not today. I dressed quickly and went downstairs to see what was going on.

My parents were sitting at the table, as usual, but neither one of them looked up when I walked into the room. I ventured a small ‘hello’ when I walked in, but they didn’t answer. I might as well not have been there, for all the response I got. I went into the kitchen to get some cereal, but found I didn’t have the appetite for it. I wandered out into the backyard and sat dejectedly on one of the lawn chairs to think.

Nothing was going the way I’d thought it would. Instead of the love and support I’d convinced myself would appear when I came out to my parents, it now seemed as though they were pretending I didn’t exist. By the time I headed back inside, however, I’d talked myself into the idea that they’d just had a terrible shock and needed time to get over it, then they’d be on my side again.

It didn’t happen.

They stopped associating with me altogether. School was only a week away, but I didn’t even notice. What I did notice was the abrupt disconnection of the internet to my computer. I didn’t even ask what happened to it – I figured it out right away. They didn’t want me accessing those sites anymore.

The end of summer holidays used to be a pretty big deal for me. My mother always shopped for my school supplies at the close of the school year so it was ‘out of the way’, as she liked to put it. She always said that summertime should be fun from start to finish, and shopping for school stuff took the fun out of everything. My dad agreed and so every year since I started going to school there would be a big ‘end of summer’ pool party at my house. All of the kids I knew were invited – and even some I didn’t.

I thought there’d be a lot of phone calls from the parents of those kids, asking my parents what time they should be there, but the phone only rang a couple of times. I stuck my head out the door once, just in time to hear my father tell whoever was on the other end, “Not anymore. Let everyone know, will you?” I closed the door, went back to bed and cried myself to sleep.

When school started, my mother didn’t break her vow of silence to offer me a ride the first day like she used to. Instead, when my alarm went off, I climbed out of bed, got dressed and went down to an empty kitchen. I knew my father would be gone already – he was usually out of the house by six – but not seeing my mother was depressing, to say the least. I got myself a bowl of cold cereal, choked it down, and then gathered up my stuff and headed out. I chanced a quick look in the garage as I left: her car was gone. She didn’t work, so I had no idea where she’d be off to so early in the morning. Swallowing down tears, I went back up the steps and locked the front door. I hoped I’d still be able to unlock it by the time I came home.

School was hell, to put it simply. I was never one of the popular kids, so being ignored was nothing new to me. I didn’t have very many friends except for Devin, but he was nowhere to be seen. Apparently the grapevine had been working overtime. Kids I didn’t know were pointing and snickering at me, and the ones I did know wouldn’t even so much as look at me. I thought back to the stories – no, strike that – lies I’d read about how someone would take pity on the poor faggot and come talk to him at lunchtime, or how there would be one teacher that would extend their friendship and comfort to the newly-outed homosexual boy but it never happened. Being the first day, there were bound to be a few mix-ups, but this year must have set a record. The school secretary ‘forgot’ to make up my timetable and I had to remind her four times before she finally printed one out for me. That made me late for my first class, English. My English teacher this year was Mrs. Anderson. I’d been looking forward to being in her class ever since finals of last year. Everyone said she was a wonderful teacher and English was my best subject. When I walked into her classroom, though, I knew it wasn’t going to be that way for me. Mrs. Anderson barely looked at me, instead holding out her hand for my late pass. I gave it to her and she slapped it down on the desk, hardly missing a beat as she told the rest of the students what we were going to be doing this semester. I went to the only empty desk left – at the back of the room – and slipped wearily into my seat. Half an hour into the first day and I was already exhausted.

The rest of my classes weren’t any better. If I wasn’t being totally ignored by the teachers, I was being hissed at by the students around me. By the time lunch break rolled around, I’d almost managed to tune out the whispers of ‘fag’, ‘cocksucker’ and ‘homo’. My arms were loaded down with textbooks and notebooks so of course I was easy prey. The third time someone tripped me and I went sprawling, books scattering everywhere, the assistant principal, Mr. Burling, walked up and said “Put those books in your locker, Mr. Sinclair. If they become damaged through your carelessness, you’ll be made to replace them.” I blinked back tears as I gathered my stuff together again. I didn’t bother telling him the secretary also ‘forgot’ to assign me a locker.

I went to the office, but by the time I got there she was just locking the door. “You’ll have to come back after lunch,” she informed me snidely. “I’m not going back in there now.” I just nodded my head silently and went to the library.

The librarian, Mrs. Schafer, was used to seeing me there at odd times during the day. I was an avid reader and I loved to research things, so seeing me walk in when everyone else was in the cafeteria wasn’t out of the ordinary. She frowned when she saw me struggling with the load of books I held and asked, “Joseph, why aren’t those in your locker?”

“I don’t have one yet,” I whispered back. “I have to wait until after lunch to get one.”

She didn’t reply, merely pursing her lips thoughtfully as I made my way over to one of the large tables and dropped my books on it. I sat heavily in one of the chairs and then set to work straightening pages and putting my notes back in my binder.

After about five minutes, she came over to me and said, “Joseph, I have to tell you something.”

I looked up slowly. I could tell that whatever it was, she didn’t want to say it, but that that wasn’t about to stop her. “What is it?” I asked.

“I’ve been given instructions that you are no longer allowed access to the library’s computers,” she said in a rush. “Furthermore,” she went on. “I was also given to understand that rule includes all of the school’s computers.”

My insides went cold. “What…” I began. I cleared my throat and tried again. “What about my fourth period computer science class?” I asked. “What am I supposed to do then?”

“I’m sorry, Joseph,” she said. To her credit, she sounded like she meant it. “I don’t know what you’re going to be doing. I’m just telling you what I was told.” She turned and walked away.

I sat there, staring numbly at the stack of books in front of me. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. Our town wasn’t that big – in fact, it was technically an enclave of major city – but everyone knew everyone else there, and they all knew my father. He was a popular guy. He must have told the school board to restrict my computer access. And no one says ‘no’ to John Sinclair.

When the bell rang signifying the end of the lunch break, I gathered up my belongings and headed back to the office. The secretary was back, but she’d apparently had shock therapy for lunch because she couldn’t remember who I was or what I wanted. Since I was a senior at that school and had lived in the same house since I was born, I found it highly unlikely that she didn’t know who I was. I didn’t argue with her, however. I knew there wasn’t any point. I just waited quietly as she went about her business, my heart sinking lower in my chest with every passing minute. I’d need another late slip by the time she got around to me.

Eventually she handed me two pieces of paper. One was the number of my locker and the combination – the other was the late slip. I mumbled a ‘thank you’ and hurried out of the office to find my locker. By the time I got it opened and everything stowed away, I’d missed half of my computer science class.

I tried to walk into the classroom unobtrusively, but the teacher, Mr. Addison, noticed me right away and called out loudly, “Mr. Sinclair! Up to the front!” I walked past the other students seated at their computer stations, my eyes on the floor as they snickered and hissed at me. A couple of them tried to trip me but since I was looking down already I managed to avoid it… barely. When I got to the front of the room I held out my late slip to Mr. Addison but he didn’t take it right away. “Mr. Sinclair,” he said, still in that loud tone. I winced. He was only three feet away from me. “I expect all of my students on time to my classes, regardless of the excuse. In future any tardiness from you will earn you detention, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “I was at the…”

“I said it doesn’t matter what your excuse is, boy,” he interrupted me, taking the slip from my hand. “Now go sit down.”

I turned to look where he was pointing and felt my face flush with embarrassment. My desk was to be the one table at the back of the room usually designated for troublemakers. It had a clear line of sight to Mr. Addison’s desk – and no computer. As my eyes flicked over the room, I could see Devin whispering to one of our – no, his friends, Tom Lange. He looked at me briefly, sneered, and then resumed his whispering. Fastening my gaze to the floor once again, I made my way to the back of the room and sat down. I didn’t look up for the rest of the period.

When the last bell of the day rang, I hurriedly grabbed my books and went to my locker. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, before someone could do or say something else to get me into more trouble. On my way there, I got shoved into lockers twice and into a water fountain once, bruising my hip. I didn’t bother trying to figure out who had done it – by the time I’d regained my footing and looked around the first time, everyone had their backs to me and were moving away as if nothing had happened. I was on my own.

I got back to my locker, finally, only to discover that the combination I’d been given less than two hours ago wasn’t working. I was on my sixth try by the time I figured out the combination must have been changed. I tucked my books under my arm and headed for the office. All combinations get changed over the summer, I knew, so there wasn’t any reason to change mine again.

When I got there, the secretary just looked at me blankly. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“My combination doesn’t work,” I ground out between clenched teeth. I shoved the piece of paper she’d given me across the counter at her. “It worked when you gave this to me, and now it doesn’t.”

“Well, maybe you weren’t doing it right,” she said. “You know it’s at least three turns to the left for the first number, and then…”

“I know how it works,” I snapped. “I’ve been going to this school for two years now. It worked two hours ago. Now it doesn’t.”

Her expression became cold. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to Mr. Burling about that,” she said in a clipped tone. I knew I’d lost. “But he’s gone for the day.”

“Fine,” I muttered dejectedly. “I’ll see him tomorrow.”

As I walked slowly out of the school, I looked around for a familiar face. Any one would do, so long as they appeared friendly. What I found, however, were more jeers and catcalls. I was about to lift my hand to wave at Jeremy Aarons when he called me, but changed my mind quickly when he followed up “Hey Sinclair!” with “Suck any good cock lately?” My face was burning as I headed down the steps and started walking home. I didn’t live far enough away for a bus but it was still a good twenty-minute walk from the school to my house. I figured the time alone would make me feel better.

By the time I got there, I’d just about convinced myself that the locks would be changed. I was pleasantly surprised, then, when the door opened for my key. I called out “Anybody home?” but got no response. I didn’t really expect one.

I went into the kitchen. Usually, after school, my mother has some kind of snack waiting for me and my buddies for when I get home. There wasn’t anything this time so I grabbed a handful of crackers and headed up to my room. When I got there, I stopped in the doorway, rooted to the floor in shock.

My computer was gone. My television and game systems were gone. My phone was gone. Even my stereo was gone. The only things left in my room were my bed, dresser, bookshelf and an old table and chair sitting where my computer desk and office chair used to be. I dropped my books on the floor and walked into the room slowly. A quick inspection told me all my clothes were still where I’d left them, but every single thing I’d had that wasn’t an absolute necessity was gone. On my eleventh birthday, my parents had given me a captain’s bed with a bookcase headboard. I’d wanted it for ages. Today, the old mattress frame I’d had up until then was back.

I sat slowly on my old/new bed, listening to the frame’s familiar squeak, and just let my mind go. In about a minute it churned out an answer: my parents were required, by law, to provide me with the necessities of life until I was eighteen. I had food… or access to it, clothing, a roof over my head and a bed to sleep on. I had somewhere to do my schoolwork and a bathroom to clean up in but that was it. Everything else was gone.

On the heels of that revelation came another, much more frightening one: I would be eighteen in less than a week. What would they do then? Kick me out? How could they do this to me? I was their son, goddammit! How could they treat me this way? Hurling myself off the bed, I kicked my schoolbooks aside and stormed out of the house. One way or another, I was going to find answers.

My anger carried me all the way downtown to the library. As I pushed my way into the cool, dim interior, I felt some of it leave me. I loved books. Ever since I could remember I’d always had something near at hand for me to read. I’d rather read than watch television, something that had gotten me jokingly branded ‘nerd’ at school by my friends. Friends I didn’t have, now.

As I walked up to the counter, the head librarian, Miss Gillespie, hurried over. I’d just picked up a pen to sign myself up for one of the computers when her hand came down to gently cover mine. “I’m sorry, Joseph,” she began in a whisper.

Without a word, I laid the pen down, turned around, and walked out of the library.