Give a Boy a Gun (6 page)

The chicken!&*# teachers know what's going on.
Today friggin' Flach shoved me in the hall and called me a faggot right in front of Mr. Ellin. You know that jerk Ellin? He's a new biology teacher. I think this is his first year. He's one of those preppies in Gap chinos and a blue button-down shirt. Halfway between student and teacher
.

So he tells me I shouldn't take it personally. Can you friggin' believe it? I get slammed and dissed, and I'm not supposed to take it personally? I mean, why didn't he drag Flach's butt down to [Principal] Curry's office?

These stupid teachers, you know? Especially the new, young ones. They think they're like you. Like you've got something in common. Like I'd ever want to be a friggin' teacher
.

So, you'll love this. Ellin tells me it's all genetics. The athletes are the dominant males,
and they're driven by their friggin' genes to keep the rest of the pack in line. Like the next time one of them smashes my face into the friggin' lockers, I'm supposed to forgive him because he's not really doin' it, it's his friggin' genes
making
him do it
.

I mean, who gives a rat's ass
why
they do it? What the hell difference does it make? You think some loser getting his butt whipped really gives a flying
#$*%
whether the guy who's doing it personally hates his guts or is just being driven by some friggin' chromosome? Gimme a break. When I take 'em out, I'm gonna make sure I nail this guy Ellin just because he tried to give it a reason. Like an excuse or something. Like he thinks maybe on some level that makes it understandable. If
that's
understandable, so's popping a cap in his ass with a friggin' TEC-9
.

—an E-mail from Brendan to Gary

The boys call each other a few names, and in no time, unless one of them backs down,
they're fighting. It's different with girls. It's all backbiting and nastiness. The popular girls wouldn't dream of fighting. They might chip a nail. They fight with words and looks and searing little offhand comments designed to cut your heart out. Everyone wants to be young again, but each time I see these girls reduce someone to tears, it makes me think twice.

—Beth Bender

More than 50 percent of male youths say it would be easy to obtain a gun.

Maybe we stereotype them, but they stereotype us, too. To them we're all big dumb jocks. They seem to forget that Dustin Williams's GPA is way up there, and so are a couple of other guys'. And who says they don't want to be stereotyped? If you walk around this school putting it down and dissing on sports and spirit, aren't you kind of just asking to be stereotyped?

— Paul Burns, football player

You're walking down the hall, minding your own business. You see this guy, and he just sneers at you and says, “Hey, faggot.” Thing
is, to him it's nothing. Two seconds later he's probably forgotten he even said it. But it's burned in your brain. It's a permanent scar. A week later you're still asking yourself, why'd he have to do that? Why'd he have to pick you? Does everyone think you're a faggot? Maybe you are a faggot and you don't even know it.

It's like torture. You know “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me”? It's a load of crap. A stick stops hurting after a few minutes. Names last a long time.

—Ryan Clancy

I was talking with Brendan in the hall, and Sam Flach came by and gave him just the slightest nudge. The sort of harmless thing that must happen a thousand times a day in a crowded school like ours. At first I thought
Brendan overreacted. Making a fist, muttering under his breath. I stupidly said, “Oh, come on, Brendan, it wasn't that bad, just a little push.” Brendan looked back at me with such hurt in his eyes. He said, “No, Ms. Bender, its not ‘just' a little push, not when it happens every day.” Even then I didn't take it that seriously. But now I think I understand. What if it really was constant, unrelenting torment? A little bit of salt doesn't bother your skin. But that same small amount in an open wound can really, really sting.

— Beth Bender

“I went to three [high schools], and in none of [them] did I for a moment feel safe. High school was terrifying, and it was the casual cruelty of the popular kids that made it hell.”

—a posting on the Internet

It wasn't just in the halls. It was everywhere. Once, in gym, we were out in the field a couple of days after a big rain. The grass had pretty much dried, but there were still a few puddles. Next thing I know, [Sam] Flach and [Paul] Burns push me down. Each one grabs a leg, and they drag me through a couple of muddy puddles. I'm drenched with grimy water and smeared with mud, and Bosco comes over, and I swear he's having a
really hard time not grinning. He tells Flach and Burns to let go and tells me to go clean up. And that was it. I mean, it was almost like he was giving those guys a license to do it again anytime they liked.

—Ryan Clancy

Everyone thinks about suicide when they're a teenager. At least, almost everyone I know. It's just, like, something really crappy happens and you're in this horrible pain, and what's the point? Gary loved that old Queen song, the one they sang in the car in
Wayne's World
. You know, where the singer says he shot someone in the head and his life is ruined, but nothing really matters anyway. I mean, don't take this the wrong way and think you've made some big discovery. He didn't do what he did because of some stupid song.

—Allison Findley

Lots of kids'll say they want to kill themselves at one point or another, but Gary would really
go into detail about it. I remember he once got into this whole thing about hanging himself from the flagpole in front of the school. So you'd get to school the next morning, and instead of the flag, there'd be Gary. The thing of it was he couldn't figure out how to do it. Like, how would he get up there? He thought maybe a really long extension ladder would do the trick. I figured it was just typical Gary stuff, but a couple of days later we were leaving school, and he actually took off his backpack and tried to shimmy up the flagpole. Of course he couldn't. But it really hit me: Two days later and he's still thinking about it.

—Ryan Clancy

The presence of a gun in the home increases the risk of suicide fivefold.

I can't begin to count how many times on a Saturday around noon I'd knock on Gary's door and find him still in bed, wide awake, simply lying there with that thick quilt wrapped around him like a cocoon. I'd suggest that he go outside, find someone to do something with. He'd always say he would “in a moment.” But sometimes he wouldn't get out
of bed until three or four. I always felt as if there was something inside keeping him from being happy and active like other boys. A lead curtain of sadness that was too heavy for him to lift. I'm sure it had to do with the divorce. I can't tell you how many times I'd see him like that, then go into my own room and just cry.

—Cynthia Searle

This one night I came home pretty late. It was definitely after midnight. Brendan was sitting in the dark on the curb in front of his house. Elbows on his knees, his head hung. Looking pretty bummed. So I went over and asked if everything was okay. He said no as if it was obvious things weren't okay. I guess it was a dumb question, so I apologized. He patted the curb next to him. You know, have a seat.