Part Two of the Now not so short Story

The thing about anyone's Sophomore year in high school is that it is always an experiment. No matter who you are, or where you come from, you try different looks, girls, ideas and activities. A lot of my inspiration came from those more popular with the ladies than I was. There was this guy, Dave, in my gym class. Dave was a year ahead of me, and he ran Cross Country. And he always had a very new, very hot girlfriend. Since I had absolutely no interest in running long distances, and practically no hope of being with girls as hot as Dave's current girlfriend, I decided to give sprinting a try. I figured it required less commitment, and at this point, I would literally take any girl.

My mother, of course, was more than happy to equip me with the latest and greatest running gear. Even special underwear that kept my junk from flopping around. My school was fairly small, so there were never any try outs. If you showed up to practice, you were on the team. My first day on the track team was also my first day ever running. It was not too terribly hot, and at first, I completed the drills with ease. Running and jumping over hurdles? No problem. Baton passing? I had it down. When it came time to do the longer distances, though, I threw up. All over my new Reeboks. It became very clear to me in that moment that running was not my passion. Not only that, but I realized that throwing up all over myself was not going to get me any girls- not even the not so pretty type. I really needed to rethink this whole thing.

I tossed my now ruined running shoes, changed my (very uncomfortable) underwear, and called my mom to pick me up. While sitting on the curb behind the football field waiting on her, I realized that I could do nothing physically demanding. So, I decided to focus on being really into punk rock. I figured there were plenty of girls that might like that. I asked my mom to take me to buy safety pins, acid wash jeans, and a black t-shirt. That night, I cut up my jeans, gave myself a mohawk, and took my dog for a walk in my Doc Martens. The next day at school, I decided, I would skip my very first class ever (gym), and venture below the bleachers to smoke with all of the other kids dressed like they had just stepped out of an episode of The Munsters. After my parents went to bed, I woke my brother up to help me smoke a pack of Mom's Virginia Slims. I had to build up my tolerance if I wanted to make this believable.

On my way to school that morning, I stopped at the corner store and convinced a senior to buy me a pack of Marlboro Reds. Those seemed pretty legit. After third period, I hid in the bathroom until everyone else was where they needed to be. I headed down to the bleachers, my heart pounding with every step. This was beyond new territory. I had invited myself into another world entirely. With the first step that I took, I knew that I had made a really good decision. Everyone was standing around with their cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, pretending to ignore each other. This was perfect. I took a seat on a pile of rocks in the corner, taking out a copy of "Catcher in The Rye" to broaden my appeal to the literary minded girls that I knew were around. I continued this routine every day for the rest of the semester, and no one ever talked to me. No one ever talked to each other, come to think of it. The only benefits that I really saw come out of skipping gym every day was that I gained 10 pounds, my voice got raspier because of the smoking, and I began to really enjoy what little I could understand of J.D. Salinger's work.

Normally, my parents would have taken notice of the changes in me, but they were very distracted with their own problems. I am not quite sure what exactly was going on, but I did hear them fighting one night about my brother's basketball coach. Something about him and my mom spending too much time together. Looking back, there must have been some sort of affair going on, but I could not be bothered with that. As much as it was tearing my family apart, this distraction came at the perfect time for me. I had started driving a few months before, and I could stay out as late as I wanted to, listening to tapes that I made of bands that some other people wore t-shirts of, like The Ramones, and The Smiths. They were not my favorite, but I liked their shirts, and on the offhand chance that one of us talked to another, I would have something to talk about. I remember driving around for hours trying to like that music, smoking pack after pack of Marlboros. There were nights that I stayed out all night, without my parents ever asking me a question about it.

The last four days of my life were filled with celebration. My younger brother was graduating from the eighth grade, and my parents took the opportunity to reclaim their position as the best party throwers in the neighborhood. Thursday, after school, Dad had us cleaning out the pool together. Like many things my father made us do, cleaning out the pool was unnecessary. But, we let it occupy us for the two hours before dinner, happy to have an excuse to get out of the war zone that our home had become. We ordered pizza that night, because the oven was occupied with the third batch of cookies for the day. I remember how weird it was to eat pepperoni pizza while smelling burnt chocolate chip cookies, and how I could almost close my eyes and imagine that I was eating a big, charred cookie cake.
Friday, Mom let us skip school to go watch Jeremy's graduation. I had never graduated high school before, but I had a feeling that it did not include as much pomp and circumstance as this one did. Every student got a plaque with their name and the date of their graduation. Parents took pictures, and one mom a few rows up even cried. I have to admit, it was all too much for me to digest, and I had to take a smoke break about 10 minutes in. The whole ceremony took a little over two hours, or enough time to count the ceiling tiles a grand total of 243 times. After the thing was over, my parents took turns doting over my brother, and subtly bragging to other parents about the party, which of course they were all invited to. I offered to start the car, thankful for the escape that it offered. Why did I not think of this earlier?
Saturday was the day of the big party. From the moment I woke up, my mom was telling everyone what to do. My responsibilities included taking the dog out for a walk, running to grocery store for some condensed milk and coconut flakes, and picking up new swim trunks for myself. No Problem. Anything to get me out of that madhouse. At the grocery store, I decided to buy condoms. I had never gotten any before, and so it was a little awkward. I stood on isle 7, the one with tampons, creams for vaginal itch, and condoms. God, I wanted to be able to use one. I knew exactly who I wanted to use one with, too. Veronika Greene was so good looking that I could barely contain myself just THINKING about being in the pool with her. That reminded me to pick up some waterproof eyeliner (which I had begun wearing a few weeks before. I saw this poster in the record store of Kiss, and I know they get a lot of chicks). I figured there was nothing less sexy than a guy wearing runny black eyeliner trying to make a move on you in the pool at his brother's eighth grade graduation. So, condoms and waterproof eyeliner in tow, I made my way to the Penny's to get new swim trunks. After trying on a few pair and realizing that I just did not look good, I decided that maybe feet in the pool was the best route for me to go. I had never tried waterproof eyeliner, either, so I didn't want to chance that going south.