Invisible

Invisible

Jeff Erno

Published:
2011

Categorie(s):

Tag(s):
"young adult" gay "short story"

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Invisible

In all honesty I really do like my name. Chase Alexander Devereaux. I think if there’s one thing that my mom did right, it was picking out a unique, cool-sounding name for her kid. Sometimes I really wish I was as cool looking as my name though, or that I didn’t always act like such a fag.

Really it’s not deliberate. Sometimes I try really hard to be anything but gay. I watch the other guys—and I know what you’re thinking. You think I mean I check them out, and yeah, I can’t help but do that too. But what I’m sayin is that I watch the really normal guys, the ones who are into sports, who act all totally straight, and I try to copy them. I try to lower the timber of my voice, not sound so nasally when I talk. I try to gesture with my hands in a manly sorta way instead of all limp-wristed and girly. I try to remember not to sit with my legs crossed, and I try really hard to avoid throwing a ball like a girl.

Sports just really isn’t my thing, though. It’s weird ‘cuz you’d think I’d be all about sports. That’s where all the hot guys are. All the muscle.

All the butt-swatting and high fiving, hugging on each other during the games. But I just know I’m not good at it. I suck at almost all sports, and like when I try to participate in sports at school, I just make a fool of myself. Then the guys see what a dork I am, and instead of them liking me and thinking of me as their team member, they ridicule me. They tell me to quit being such a sissy and man up.

I’ve been trying to man-up all my life, really. I can’t honestly say that I’d ever wanna be anything like my older brother Daryn, but there are times I envy him. At least he was good at Little League baseball. No one ever called him a fag, and if they did, he’d kill them. Daryn says I’m the cause of a lot of my own problems. He tells me to just quit acting the way I do and people will stop treating me like such an outcast. Sometimes I just hate him. He doesn’t really know anything about me, and he’s my own brother.

Today’s gonna be different. I hope. I’m so nervous that I think I might throw up. Maybe I shouldn’t wear this tie. See, I wanted to look nice because I have a big day at school. I’m giving a speech in my Oral Communications class, and like the whole class is going to be watching me.

Nobody wears dress shirts and ties to school, though, so maybe I’ll just wear this polo shirt. No, I can’t wear short sleeves. Then it’s even more obvious how puny my arms are, and how much a sissy I am when I gesture with my hands. I’m gonna wear this long-sleeve pullover. It’s casual looking but not in a slobbish sorta way. I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen
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any of the cool kids wearing a shirt like this. I don’t know. Definitely jeans, though. I gotta take off these khakis and find a pair of jeans.

It sucks because Oral Communications is right after lunch, and lunch is right after gym. I hate having gym third hour, right in the middle of the day. Our teacher is such a jerk. It’s like I know he hears the stuff that the other guys say to me, and he just like totally ignores it. One time I even heard him laugh when one of em made a joke about how I was running. His name is Coach Schraeder, but most of the kids call him Schraeder the Masturbator behind his back. They’re probably right. I think he has like two brain cells.

Brad is the worst. He’s in my gym class, and he’s like the leader or something. He’s the one who always starts stuff. He says the first insult, and then the others laugh, and usually they join in. Even the other kids who are otherwise nice can’t help but snicker at some of the mean things he says. I’ve tried to defend myself, to talk back to him a little bit. That makes it worse, ‘cuz then he just mocks me. He like repeats back everything I say in a really overly-effeminate girly voice, and then everyone really does laugh. Ya know, I feel like I’m about two inches tall when he does that. I just want to die.

I really do hate Brad, but then on the other hand I can’t deny how hot he is. He’s totally a jock, and he has perfect hair. I wish sometimes I looked more like Brad. Instead I have this kind of hair that never looks good no matter how I comb it. When people look at him, immediately they want to be his friend. He has this smile that totally disarms you.

He’s so perfect-looking that you want to believe everything he says. You wanna feel like you’re his best friend.

I’ll never be Brad’s friend though. Even if he changed and stopped picking on me, I’d still always hate him for what he’s already done. Once he flushed my head in a toilet. He shoved me into my locker and closed it. He’s knocked me down more times than I can count, and he’s called me every name you could even think of.

Nobody is ever gonna tell on Brad though. They’d be stupid if they did. It’d be like suicide. He’s so popular that even the teachers like him.

Really I think even if the teachers knew all the mean stuff Brad did, they wouldn’t do anything about it.

My speech is about global warming. We had to pick a controversial topic and make an argument for it. I know it’s not really that controversial of an issue any more. Everyone knows global warming is happening.

It’s so obvious, but still there are a few morons left in the world who are in denial. I’m so nervous about it—I’m gonna throw up!

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Yeah, I like the shirt, and thank god, it’s gonna be a good hair day.

Ugghh! Is that a zit? I have this big frickin zit right in the center of my forehead. Why does this always happen? Why today? I gotta get goin though. I can’t keep obsessing about this stuff. It doesn’t matter if I have a zit or not, nobody cares. It’s not like I have anyone interested in me.

And nobody’s even gonna care about my speech either.

Mom’s already left for work, and Daryn gets a ride with his friends. I walk. It’s only like fourteen blocks, maybe a couple miles at the most. Sometimes my friend Shelly walks with me. She lives on the next block, but if her mom isn’t working, she gets a ride to school. Her mom’s pretty cool, and sometimes she swings over and picks me up. Not always though. Her mom’s like pretty much a scatterbrain, and she’s always running late.

Shelly didn’t text me, so I guess I’m on my own today. It’s strange how my one and only friend is a girl, and really I don’t even like girls—not that way anyhow. I told her last year—when I was fourteen—that I’m gay. She was cool about it, and she kinda acted like it was no big deal.

Even though she knows a little bit about the stuff with Brad and his friends, I don’t tell her everything. In fact, I never even told her about the swirly incident. It was too embarrassing.

Plus Shelly is kind of popular herself. She’s not popular like Brad, but she is definitely not one of the school losers…like me. She’d probably say something to one of the teachers if she knew all the times Brad tormented me. That’d just make things worse. Or like she might even say something directly to Brad, and that would be a catastrophe. But really I think she sort of likes Brad, well at least as much as all the other girls in school do. Brad’s really friendly to the girls, and it’s almost impossible for them not to like him.

As always, the school hallways are so crowded. Seems weird to be so invisible amongst all these people, but invisible is good. An invisible day is a better-than-average day. Invisibility means no name calling, no fag jokes, no gut punches or pranks. On an invisible day, I make it out unscathed. Sometimes I’m even able to feel good about myself—about the A I got in geometry, about the positive comment Mr. Phillips wrote on my composition paper, or about the fact that Trent Richards smiled at me.

Trent’s my fantasy lover. LOL! Seriously, he is just the nicest guy. He doesn’t have the model looks or the muscle that a guy like Brad has, but he’s every bit as dreamy. Trent is more quiet, but he’s not nerdy like me.

I’m like 100% positive he’s not gay, though. One time back in my
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freshman year I helped him with his Algebra assignment, and sometimes I wish he’d need my held again.

“Shelly, wassup?” Her locker is only a couple doors down from mine.

“Nice shirt,” she says, smiling at me. “What’s the occasion?” I shrug. “Nothin… but thanks. Ya know, I gotta give that speech today.”

“Really? Cool… you ready?”

I sigh. “Oh my God, I’ve like rehearsed it a zillion times. I hate this… I hate public speaking!”

She steps closer to me, placing her hand on my arm, just above my el-bow. “You’ll do fine. Chase, you’re so smart. I can’t wait to hear your speech.”

I laugh nervously, embarrassed. “It’s dumb really. Boring… global warming.”

Now she shrugs. “Better than mine. I’m doing Veganism.”

“Is your speech today, too?” I ask, closing my locker and holding a stack of books against my chest.

She nods. “Oh don’t worry, I’m sure I won’t outshine you. I could’ve done more research, ya know.”

“Wow, well I’m glad…” I stammer a bit. “Um… I mean I guess misery loves company, ya know. Glad we’re doin it the same day.” Someone behind us tugs at her arm. It’s her friend Kelli. “Come on,” she says, ignoring me.

“Hey, I’ll try ta catch up with ya at lunch, okay? Don’t be nervous!” Quickly she turns to give her attention to her airhead friend.

“Okay, thanks,” I mumble. She doesn’t hear me. Well it’s cool. First and second hour are snoozers. Geometry and Biology. My favorite class is fifth hour Composition. Sixth hour is Spanish.

As long as I can get into my first hour classroom unnoticed, everything will be fine. Nothing ever really happens ‘til gym. That’s when I have to deal with Brad…and his friends. Maybe I should skip gym today. I hardly think the Masturbator would even notice my absence. I can say I’m sick, and I won’t be lying. I do feel like I might puke. No, that’ll ruin my attendance record, and I might get sent home. Then I’d have to do my speech another day and go through it all again. I’ll just stay invisible.

Hopefully gym will be free period like it is half the time. Lot of times the coach doesn’t feel like conducting any sort of organized activity and just lets us do whatever. Shoot hoops, use the weightlifting equipment. I can do what I always do—bounce a dodge ball against the wall for an hour.

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Geometry’s boring. Who cares about axioms and theorems? All I can think about is the speech. I have it memorized, every last word. I’ve said it aloud maybe a thousand times. I can do it. It’s just like five minutes.

Then it’ll be overwith. It’s no big deal really, not in the scheme of life. It seems big now, but it’s just another assignment. God, why can’t I be like Shelly? She has to give a speech too, and she doesn’t even seem worried about it.

The worst thing is that Brad’s in my speech class too, and so is Trent.

When I mess up, which I know I will, Brad’s gonna laugh his ass off. It’ll just give him one more reason to abuse me—more ammunition. And I can’t humiliate myself, not in front of Trent. I’d die. I’d totally just die!

God I’m so glad first hour’s over. Two more hours, then lunch…

then…oh man. I gotta get to Biology, but I’m gonna be sick. I head for the bathroom. I hate this. Oh God, I’m on my knees, puking into the toilet. Please don’t let anyone come in. Please let me stay invisible!

Thankfully I only get a stern look from Mrs. Dennison when I walk in-to Biology two minutes past the bell. I take my seat, opening my text-book to the page number she has written on the chalk board. She calls on me, asking me a question about photosynthesis. I guess it is my punish-ment for my tardiness. Thankfully I know the answer. She moves on. Invisible again.

My heart begins to race when the bell rings. Gym! Why does this one hour seem like ten? Sixty minutes… no really only fifty. Third hour is from 10:05 to 10:55a.m. I can do it. I can blend in for fifty short minutes, and then it’ll be over. Then my speech. I’m gonna throw up again! No, calm down Chase. You’re such a fag. Brad’s right. Quit acting like a wuss. Man-up, like Daryn said. It’s a frickin speech, for God’s sake. No big deal.

“We’ve got physical fitness tests coming up, and today we’re gonna start getting ready.” Coach Shraeder is addressing the class. We sit on the bleachers, hanging on his every word—Not! I hear what he’s saying but am only half listening. All I can think about is my speech class. He says something about four categories. Pull-ups, sit-ups, running, and push-ups… I don’t know. Whatever.