The Kill Sean Club - Part III

I probably should have told my teachers or my principal but I really didn’t think it would accomplish anything. John got beat on for four years and all the amount of recess-less room (the only real punishment we had in our school was having your recess taken away and spending it in the classroom with the teacher which as much of a punishment for the teacher who had her quiet time taken away) wasn’t going to stop it. Besides, most of these guys were still my friends outside of school.

Do you remember that Looney Toons cartoon where the coyote, Ralph, would go after sheep and be constantly thwarted by the sheep dog Sam. This would go on for the entire cartoon and then at the whistle would blow and they would punch out like steel workers and say “Good night, Sam” and “Good night, Ralph”? That’s what The Kill Sean Club was like. From the time school started until I got off the bus, it was them vs. me (actually “versus” makes it seem like I fought back). But once we got home, we were all friends again. Some of us were on the same Little League baseball team. I slept over some of these kid’s houses. We hung out on the weekends. But once I got on the bus, it was back to work.

The girls at first stayed uninvolved. The black girls in class had long since shunned me for my lack of interest in hip-hop and R&B. I listened to whatever my older brother listened to when I was 10 and, unfortunately for me, he listened to Level 42 and Depeche Mode. My love for 80’s heavy metal bands in 8th grade only continued to bury me. I sounded and acted “too white” for them. You would think there would be some sort of solidarity between the black kids in a Catholic school. Most of us were Caribbean. Most of us lived in similar houses. But something about me stood out more than the others. The white girls just stayed out of it. They had crushes on some of the guys so it was in their best interests not to say anything.

That all changed on a rainy day in fall. Anytime it rained recess was held in the classroom where we would play board games or, if you were me, would try to do your homework in the closet (it makes more sense why I was chosen). Recess was usually in the presence of a teacher but sometimes, the teacher on duty would wander off to see some of the other teachers or go outside and smoke or cry about the futility of the future of our country after teaching some of these dumb kids. I went to the bathroom and when I returned, the teacher was gone. Suddenly, I am being pelted by game board pieces. I am in the front of the class and I am dodging Monopoly thimbles and Life cars. Someone pushes me against the blackboard and I fall down and Matthew Donahue, one of those kids who was too young to know that his deep hatred for black people was called “racism”, after taking a running start, kicked me in the eye. He didn’t get a good shot because I moved my head with the kick, protecting my glasses more than my face. But it was hard enough that the girls took notice. Two of them carried me to the nurse and the rest told off the boys. When I got back, they made me tell on Matthew (I wouldn’t have otherwise) and he got recess-less room for a week and a call to his parents (he would later mouth to me as I walked by him in the hallway, “You’re dead.” This story is a testament to his failure).

The recess debacle had two long-term effects for the rest of 5th grade. First, no one was allowed to play with the board games except for the girls and me (this was NOT a favor). Second and more importantly, the girls had decided to protect me for the rest of the year. We were still at the age where girls were “icky” but the some of the girls has crossed over to the “will-you-be-my-boyfriend” stage. I would like to believe the only motive for guarding me was altruistic but there was clearly an ulterior motive: getting the boys to notice them.

We would go outside and I would hang out with the girls (or the girls would force me to hang out with them). If The Kill Sean Club came looking for me, they would form a circle around me. The boys had finally grown past the stage of hitting girls so this was effective…until the boys got me alone in the bathroom. Sometimes the girls and guys would get into shoving matches with me as the prize. It was like a game. Only the boys didn’t know the girls were sizing them up. After the boys would surrender (but taking the parting shot of teasing me for being protected by girls), the girls would want to know, “Do you think Kevin likes me?” or “Does Keith have a girlfriend outside of school?”

Being that, I was the only one to associate with both groups, it was my job to find out these innocuous details. I was now the passer of notes, the arranger of after school meetings, the mediator of love. The boys would ask me to find out who Keisha or Gina liked. The girls would ask me is Rob was going to the library. Since no one wanted to find out who I liked (Jen B.) or if I was going to the library after school (I was going if Rob was going), it was pretty sad. But it did effectively end The Kill Sean Club. I only got punched once more at Saint Brigid’s (8th grade and I had it coming to me but the girls still tired to protect me) and I began my new life as matchmaker.

(Two years later, I found out it was Frail Philip who suggested me as the whipping boy. He was Frail Philip because he was so skinny and weak that he broke his arm twice simply from falling down. It was probably in his best interest to turn their bullying needs away from him. I got my revenge later when I organized the theft of several of his Nintendo and GameBoy games.)

The End.

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The Kill Sean Club - Part II

I don’t know when it began but one day, I got beat up during recess. Well, “beat up” seems a bit strong. They never hit me very hard (all those spankings by my father had finally toughened my hide) and never in the face (unspoken code). I had been beaten up before so that was no biggie. What struck me about the incident was the organization of it. It was like we were playing Tag and no one told me. On top of that, they yelled out “Varsity” like some twisted battle cry.

I had a nasty habit that I carried through to high school of not doing homework at home. I did assignments for my morning classes on the bus and assignments for my afternoon classes during lunch and recess. These lunch session usually involved me sneaking off to a corner somewhere so whatever teacher was on recess duty didn’t see me doing my homework. I am presuming that during one of these homework sessions at lunch, the boys got together and decided to form an organization for the sole purpose of attacking me.

Having not attended in the meeting personally, I don’t know the details. I don’t know if other hapless souls were nominated, if there was some sort of vote involved or pieces of paper drawn out of a hat. There were only two details made available to me after said meeting concluded: 1) They were going to kick my ass on a semi-regular basis and 2) they decided to call it “The Kill Sean Club” (they nicknamed this little group, “Varsity” which I’m sure was because one of them had an older brother who was on a Varsity sports team and thought it sounded cool).

So this was my life for recess. We would go through class without incident. We’d all sit together in lunch like everything was cool but once it was time for recess, I was going to be chased around for thirty minutes. If anyone caught up to me, it was pummeling time. Recess would end and things would go back to normal. They avoided picking on me during class. They learned that much from the John incident.

The Kill Sean Club only had two guys who were not members: Leonard, the flat-footed, bespectacled new kid, and Juan Luis (his younger brother was named Juan Carlos and was also in our grade). In retrospect, had I been invited to the meeting that started this, I would have nominated Leonard for the daily beating, but I wasn’t so these two guys were my recess friends. They alerted me to where the danger was coming from when they could and tried to alert teachers if things got out of hand but for the most part, when the KSC finally caught up with me, they stayed out of it. As much as they felt bad for me, they knew that one wrong move and it would be the Kill Leonard Club or Kill Juan Club (which would have been confusing because there was a Juan in the Club).\

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The Kill Sean Club - Part I

I had intended to make this a fictional story changing all the names but fuck it, I only know one person who I went to grade school with and I only fudged a couple of the details.

I didn’t miss a day of school until I was in 7th grade. My parents never called me out sick. There was never a vacation that I took with my family that required me to take a day off. The reason this is important because somehow I missed the meeting in which it was decided that my classmates were going to pick on me for the remainder of 5th grade.

From 1st grade until 5th grade, the class victim was a kid named John (our names rhymed…maybe that was it?). He was a pale blonde kid who lived in walking distance from Saint Brigid’s, which was convenient because he had the option of running home whenever things got really bad. I was never one of the kids who were responsible for his daily torment, but I was quite amused and never came to his defense. He was kind of a dick to me. For some reason, he used to get tough with me. He would try to push me around and bully me which was laughable to say the least. Somehow, he thought I was lower on the totem pole than him. I don’t care if I did have bifocals that covered half of my too-big-for-my-body head. I was pretty sure I could kick his ass.

John never got hurt really bad. A couple of bruises and scratches but nothing broken except for spirit and pride. They would not let this kid live. If he liked a girl, they made sure he got clowned in front of her. They would step on his lunch or if we were wrestling during lunch, he also got ganged up on. Once someone did Jake the Snake’s DDT on John in the bathroom and his head hit the tiles.

His breaking point was during 4th grade Music class. It was the first class after recess where John took a majority of his beatings. He got there late (probably cleaning himself off in the bathroom) so he had to sit in the front row. It was music class so we didn’t have desks, only fold up chairs. So as he went to sit down, Nelson pulled away his chair as he had done many times. John’s ass hit the floor and the back of his head hit the chair a little. We all laughed despite the fact that John had begun to cry…loudly. He got up, screamed something at Nelson (we were laughing too hard really hear him) and ran out of the classroom with the Music teacher in pursuit.

Next period, we were all sent to our homeroom class. We all at silently as Sister Carol Ann, our principal, stared us down with disgust. She was a very stoic woman who never raised her voice. Any time someone got in trouble, she would punish you but would give you a little side smirk like “boys will be boys.” Not today.

“That boy is in my office crying because one of your animals pulled his chairs away,” she said while pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard.

Nelson made the mistake of chuckling to himself. Sister Carol Ann grabbed the edges of his desk and got in his face.

“Do you think that’s funny, Nelson?!”, she yelled in his face probably spitting a little bit. “Would you be laughing if I kicked you out of this school right now?!? I had to send that boy home because he doesn’t want to come back!? Maybe I should kick you out right now.”

At that point, Nelson started crying and all the boys looked away from him. Nelson was the closest we had to a bully and if the sight of him crying looked as bad as it sounded, nothing would have stopped us from laughing and incurring the wrath of Carol Ann.

That was the last time anyone really picked on John. He went through the rest of 4th grade uneventfully and didn’t come back the following school year. Neither did Nelson although his departure was due to the fact that beating up on John distracted him from schoolwork and left him with F’s in all his classes, except Gym and Music.

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Ex-change

Alternate title: "The Last Time Layla Went To Wendy's"

To: abramsl@biocorp.com
From: mike.stevenson@yahoo.com
Date: September 15, 5:45 AM
Subject: Hey!

Dear Layla:

It was great seeing you yesterday. I can’t believe we worked in the same neighborhood for two years and this is the first time I’ve run into. Unless, of course, you’ve seen me in the neighborhood all the time and have been avoiding me this whole time and this is the first time I actually saw you. Just kidding.

Thank God for the long line in Wendy’s during lunch. Usually it’s unbearable but for once it was time well spent as I got to catch up with the one who got away (Ha!).

You’re probably wondering why you are getting an e-mail from me at 3:01 AM (at least that’s what time it is now), especially considering you never actually gave me your e-mail address (That was actually pretty easy. Once you told me where you worked, I just Googled your company, looked for some examples of e-mail addresses so I can see they were formatted and bingo! You can delete the e-mail with the subject “Test.” I had to make sure. If this happens to be the wrong “labrams,” please do the kind thing and forward this to Layla. Thanks!).

Anyway, I was lying in bed next to my wife and I couldn’t sleep. Something was bothering me so I figured I better get it out of my system. I lied to you. A matter of fact, I lie to everyone. Any time someone asks me “How are you?” I can’t help but respond “Fine”. It’s an automatic response. But I’m not “fine”. I don’t think I’ve been “fine” for a long time. I don’t think I’ve been “fine” since we broke up.

I know what you’re thinking. We dated in college and that was only for a year and 8 months and until yesterday, we hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in eight years (I’m surprised I recognized you. You look great, really fit). I know it sounds crazy but seeing your reminded me what I thought my life would be like while we were dating. I think having a long-term future was my only motivating factor in college. Remember how we used to talk about how we’ll get married after grad school? I’d have my MBA and you’d have your PhD (Congratulations by the way). Once we broke up (Technically, we didn’t really “break up,” we took some “time apart” that just never became “time together” again), I just lost that drive. I always attributed my plummeting GPA and complete lack of interest in Finance on my post-Layla depression but I’m starting to think I had invested so much into our planned future that once that wasn’t going to happen, I didn’t really have a backup plan or not even the “I’ll show her” kind of motivation. I just wanted to be done.

Years later, I’m working at some sporting goods company (Everyone wonders what a guy with a degree from Stanford is doing at a job where a GED would have gotten his foot through the door even though I’m store manager) suffering silently with my wife, Melina. She’s great person and I love her but she’s not my “great” love. She’s my “good enough” love or my “seemed like my great love at the time” love. I know that sounds mean but I’m pretty sure she feels the same about me, if not worst!

It’s not a knock on her but I think I kind of settled on her like if I didn’t marry her it wasn’t going to happen. A perfect metaphor for it would be like looking for parking at the mall. You drive around and around looking for that perfect spot: the one right after the handicap spots. You see a couple of good spots but you drive around because you see people coming out of the mall and maybe their spot is better so you keep driving. But maybe you don’t have the kind of time to drive around like that or maybe you are running out of gas (Remember that time my car ran out of gas when we were going to Philly!) and you just park in the closest spot you can find. And then you start walking towards the mall and then at least two better spots open up. That’s how I feel about my marriage. I got tired of looking for a perfect spot and settled for the best one I could find and now I can’t help but wonder “What if I just did one more lap?”

Wow, that sounds really awful. What kind of person must think I am? I just compared my wife to a parking spot. I do love her…and our daughter, Alexis (I didn’t get to use the name I always told you I wanted to name my daughter because her grandmother dies while she was pregnant and she took it really hard so we named the baby after her. I wasn’t going to win that war). I would do anything for Alexis…or would I? I thought I would because I’m not happy and what am I proving to her by staying with Melina just because of her. What does that teach her, if you’re not happy just stick it out until you’re old enough to handle it? It’s not like Melina and I fight all the time. I would actually prefer it if we fought more because that would mean there is something to fight for. No, we just quietly sit in our corners: hers in the bedroom, mine in the den in front of the TV. Like we’re just waiting for someone to make a move or I guess THE move. But I don’t think either of us are gonna do it. We’ve slipped into a life routine and really who wants to start over. Who wants to develop new patterns, new habits, see their kid on alternating days. It took me 34 years to find/settle on one wife. God knows, if I have it in me to do it again. Fuck!

I don’t know why seeing you yesterday made all this come up but it did. I really had a great picture of the future when we were together. I never told anyone this but my ATM pin number is the date I thought I’d be married to you by. I missed the date by about 7 years. You gave me something to look forward to and now you’ve given me something to regret, not that it was any fault of your own.

Well, my alarm clock is going to go off in 30 minutes so I should try to be in bed when it happens (like she’ll notice). Again, it was great to see you and maybe we can go out for a drink or coffee sometime. I’m going to Wendy’s tomorrow around the same time if you want to get a baked potato again.

See ya!
Mike

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An Introduction Of Sorts

Hi, I'm Melanism a.k.a. Sean a.k.a. Senathan and this is just something to do.

When I thought that one day, I would have the great idea that would lead to the great book that would lead to the great screenplay that would lead to the shitty movie (books are always better), I would scribble down little idea that I would either plan to flesh out or include whatever my great book was going to be.

Well, I've lost a lot of those ideas (FYI - saving great thoughts in your T-Mobile Sidekick=not so smart) and I'm no long in the mindset that I am going to write that great book (mostly because I can't ever think of an ending...to anything).

But while I was walking to the comic shop yesterday, I thought about just bullshitting with the few ideas that I did have saved in my head and in my e-mail (I used to e-mail myself random ideas).

I'm not doing this for critic or advice or tips (but feel free to tell me how stupid something is). I'm just doing it to do it.

I don't know what this will end up being. This may end up being the only post on this blog.

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