Monday, September 8, 2014

Poor kids (short story)

When I think back on the old days, I recall a boy, a classmate, named Harold. What a fucking name for a kid. I don't remember his last name to look him up on Facebook, but I remember his face, his clothes, his smell, his demeanor. He didn't graduate high school with me, so he either got his GED or graduated a year behind.
Basically this boy I knew throughout Elementary school, looked like he just got off his shift from a factory. His pants and shirts were torn, muddy, and he smelled like he had been working in tobacco fields all weekend. He was probably smoking cigarettes when he was ten years old.
I never said a mean thing to Harold, but most of our classmates were little bitches and dicks so they ostracized him for his smell and appearance. One instance, the teacher removed Harold from the room in order to have a long talk to the class about politeness.
Of course Harold wasn't a smart kid but who was to determine that if he was never given a chance? Maybe if kids treated Harold like a fucking Human being, he would be building computers or some shit.
He's probably working construction, which ain't bad--but ain't that good either. That's how his parents were raised by his Grandparents. And his Grandparents were raised like this because of Harold's Great Grandparents, and so on.
Maybe his parents were working all the time. Or maybe his parents didn't work at all. Maybe they were shooting up heroine in front of Harold and he felt like his life was pre-destined or planned. As a ten, eleven, and twelve-year-old, he subconsciously pushed his peers away by repressing his hopelessness, and he created a hard exterior or a "smell" which repelled other people.

Dustin, he was another classmate that was blatantly poor because his clothes were torn and dirty, obviously not new clothes, probably hand-me-downs. The difference between Dustin and Harold--Dustin was a cute kid and wanted attention and social interaction. When given a chance, Dustin really shined. His classmates including myself, realized that he had potential. I suppose I was attracted to this Dustin boy because I was a poor kid that was a little different.
Dustin's Mother left him and his brother and sister with their Father, who was also an unfit parent. It makes me wonder how young kids deal or process this information about their parents, and how it unconsciously affects them in adulthood and throughout schooling. This kid didn't end up graduating high school with me either.

When I was twelve, my best friend and I would observe Dustin on the playground and take notes in our journal. We would joke that Dustin had "the Stupid" but we were being ironic and really it was just a cover up for how I felt about Dustin.
Years later, actually the first couple of days of our Freshmen year, Dustin and I made it clear we liked one another. He was a poor smart kid, and I was another lower class smart kid. I think our feelings lasted about a week until I found a new prospect.
But I have one last memory of Dustin, where I bought $5 worth of weed from him. I'm not sure it was marijuana because at the time I never had seen it before and I used regular notebook paper to roll the "weed" into. And when I attempted to smoke, the paper and "weed" burned up immediately.

I remember Dustin's last name, so I looked him up on Facebook. I suppose he doesn't have an account or a computer. Usually anyone with a computer has a Facebook account.

Maybe because I take the time to think about the past and write about it, I have all these memories of people that I don't care about anymore. But I wonder if anyone else sits around thinking about memories of school, and remembers these people like I do. What are they doing right now on a cold Sunday afternoon.

No comments:

Post a Comment