H. A. Carter (3 page)

As I stood soaked in my own urine, crying
like an infant in front of a hundred of my peers, I saw Joanna
standing with her friends. JJ quickly pulled her to the front of
the crowd for front row seats to my demise. Joanna stood confused
at first yanking her arm out of JJ's grasp, but soon she was
laughing along with all the rest of the kids at the pitiful mess
before her eyes. He had lied to me. She hadn't really liked me
after all. She probably didn't even know I existed until now. I was
set up. It was all a joke, and I was the punch line.

What's green, red, and wet all over?

Harvey Carter after he pees himself!

Ha. Ha.

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Depends.

Depends who?

Better get Harvey Carter some Depends before
he pees his pants!

Ha. Ha. So funny I forgot to laugh...

*

That was the beginning of my true torment,
and the end of my self-esteem. Every day there seemed to be a fun
new joke made out of my expense. How thoughtful of me to be such an
inspiration to the numerous comedic entrepreneurs of my school. How
very thoughtful...

That's all behind me now. None of it matters
Here.

Oh God, I wish that were true.

Some days I just want to hurt them again.

Some days I want to relive that day.

Some days I just want to close my eyes and
see nothing. No faces, no sadness, no crying.

But I don't get that chance. Here I relive
that day...every day.

And just like yesterday, and the day before,
and the day before that, I will feel that pain as plain as though
it had just happened. And here I had thought I was the one who was
supposed to be punishing them.

The quiet monotone gong of the dining room
clock echoed through the still walls of the house. It will be time
soon. My mother would be coming home, just as I am leaving for
school again. I desperately wanted to be out of the house today
before she came home. I couldn't let her see the hushed agony that
radiated off my face. It's just another day to her, Harvey. Let her
have just one more normal day. She's been working the night shift
at Lou Ann's, waiting tables, then heading straight to Marv's for
the morning shift as a check out clerk. She'd be so tired that I
hardly doubt she'll even notice that I'm not home. We've always
struggled financially a bit, but things seemed to be getting worse
these days. I know she worried a lot about how she was going to be
sending me to college, which despite her best lies, was the real
reason for attaining the second job. Hopefully, after today she
won't worry so much. Being a single mom never seemed to drag her
down. She always kept a smile on her face for me when she knew I
was watching, but I knew deep down she was sad and lonely. I never
questioned her about it, at least I tried not to. My mom had dated
guys over the years, but nothing was ever serious. Actually there
were a lot of guys that I never even had the chance to meet, or
they never had a desire to meet me as the case may be. Maybe things
will change for her after today.

My mother once had major potential in life.
She was a great student in high school, getting top grades in all
her classes. She was pretty and athletic, but then I came along and
took it all away. My mother got pregnant her senior year of high
school, which according to my grandmother was a complete shock to
everyone. Apparently to my real father as well because he never
showed his face once news of my existence surfaced.

“He's no one.”

That was all the response anyone ever got out
of her when asked about my real father. She always seemed bitter
and resentful about it, but reluctant to give any further details.
I pried further once and rued the day, giving in to the thought of
never knowing the other side of my genetic make up.

Lost in thought, I failed to hear the door
open and close. My mother strolled in through the kitchen door
while I sat at the table. She tossed her keys on the counter absent
mindlessly and stood in front of the refrigerator. I lowered my
head and quickly cleared the table before she turned back around. I
needed to be heading back or it would be too late. This could
possibly be my only shot at accomplishing my goal. Lunch hour was
already half over. Why did I stop to eat? I cursed my damned
routine.

I had begun eating my lunch at home my senior
year. It was my only escape during the day to be free of torment
aside from my English class, which I never missed. I thought, at
least this way, no one can bother me. I could sit quietly, eat my
food, and plot my escape from this hell. At least at home I
wouldn't be made fun of. I wouldn't be tortured. No more mashed
potatoes thrown in my hair, or green beans shoved down the back of
my shirt. That was always a favorite with JJ and his friends. The
vegetable sometimes varied with the day's menu, but it was always
the same stupid prank.

“Hey, Carter, over here!”

“Yeah?” I said quietly afraid to turn my
head, but did so anyway.

Just then either JJ or one of his cronies
would come running up behind me, grab my shirt, yanking so hard I
would nearly choke every time, and toss left over greens down my
back. Sometimes they would stick to the inside of my shirt, and I
would have to spend my free time in the bathroom scraping squashed
peas out of my clothes before class. Other times, the slimy food
would make a cool trail down my spine and slip out of the bottom of
my shirt to the floor.

I would stand, frozen with fear and
embarrassment as he would trot off smirking and high-fiving the
rest of the group. I can't fucking believe they did it to me again,
I'd tell myself. I'd stand there wanting to just lie down and
cry.

I hate vegetables.

*

During those times I would still pick myself
up and go on about my day. Trying desperately not

to make it a big deal. I tried to be strong
then. I didn't want them to see more weakness from me than they
already did. But, sometimes, even the strongest people can only
take so much shit.

I walked out the door quickly to avoid any
confrontation from my prying mother. I wore my navy blue backpack
with, “Harvey Carter”, embroidered in fancy white cursive across
the back. It was a gift from my grandmother sent via UPS two years
ago. She lived only across town, but she and my mother stopped
speaking a couple of years back and things just weren't quite the
same between us. What once were monthly family outings and
thoughtful birthday hugs, turned into generic hallmark cards and
yearly phone calls to make sure no had died.

My backpack hung loosely over my shoulder as
I walked. Normally it was weighted down with Chemistry books and
Shakespeare, but today was different. Today it was empty, but heavy
with fear. At times I even thought of letting it slip off
completely and fall to the ground. You won't be needing it anymore
anyway, I told myself. Yet, I kept hold of it as if it helped
steady my nerves. The tips of my fingers turning a murky white as I
clung tightly to the nylon straps. My brown unlaced boots scraped
steadily across the dry sidewalk as I continued to trudge.

Scratch. Scrape.

Scratch. Scrape.

I wore a long thick coat that day. It was a
cool fall day, perfect jacket weather. A breeze lifted the fallen
leaves that caked the ground. They danced in the wind like crumpled
ballerinas still unaware that the show was over. Even as cold as it
was getting, I was sweating profusely. It wasn't just the thickness
of my coat that was making me sweat. I was nervous and scared. This
kind of a decision couldn't be taken lightly, and if I was going to
do this, I had to be strong.

I walked those few blocks from my house to
the school in a matter of moments. Every other day I walked these
blocks to school, and every day the trip was too short, the view of
the school coming too soon for comfort. It was a dreaded journey
that I was pleased would be my last.

My feet got heavier with each step as I grew
closer. Trudging back to that lifeless, blood-

sucking place that holds me prisoner each
day. Every step I took, I prepared myself for the hell I was going
to endure.

One step, dirty looks

Two steps, name-calling.

Three steps, punching.

I hated to even think about it when I came to
four.

All their hate directed at me.

Me. Why me?

But no more.

It ends today.

I never understood what it was about me that
they all seemed to hate. At the very least I wanted to know why JJ
hated me so much. What was so wrong with me? What was wrong with
them? I liked to chalk the rest up to simply following his childish
lead and that they truly didn't dislike me. It was something I
liked to call “the bully effect”. You know, when you befriend the
bully, no matter how much of an asshole they are, simply to not be
the one he picks on. Was that really the reason or something more
primal? Was it because I didn't have a dad? Was it because I was
poor? Quiet? Shy? Weak? What??

You know, even though he hated me so much, I
could almost forget all he had done. I could forgive his name
calling because he had such a limited vocabulary. I could forgive
his beating me because I knew his father beat him when he
disobeyed. I could have forgiven everything until senior year. He
took so much from me in such a short amount of time. It was time I
took something back.

Vengeance.

That's what I wanted from him. And I took
it.

*

I took a deep breath in as I grew closer and
closer to the school. Guilt, shame, happiness, fear, and every
other human emotion you can think of invaded my body in one
swirling vortex of nerves and courage. I had never felt so alive
and dead inside at the same time. I didn't know what to feel more
as the school door came nearer and nearer to me.

I remembered back at those times they made me
out a joke in front of everyone. Every time they tripped me in the
cafeteria and laughed as my food came crashing to the floor, too
poor to buy another lunch. Every time they called me names down the
hall just to see if I'd look, and sure enough I looked every time.
I never forgot every, “loser,” “moron,” “retard,” or, “stupid”.

I gripped the smooth, heavy gun in my left
pocket a little tighter after that thought.

Hmm, stupid? Who's stupid now, Asshole?

Oh, God, please don't make me relive it
again! I don't think I can take it one more time! Please! PLEASE!
Just this once, please, don't make me do it! Please...

My pleading is useless. I know this, yet I
scream anyway still clinging to that hope that someone may care.
That someone is listening to my madness. But, I'm begging to thin
air. It's not that They can't hear me, They just don't care.
Because it's not God that I answer to Here. There is no mercy Here.
I could go completely insane, rip out my own intestines, stomp them
into this murky putrid swamp I now call home, and They would simply
smile.

This is my punishment. My torture. I am
Prometheus and They are the vultures who eat away at my soul. I
must be tormented for eternity for what I have done. I know
this.

No, I won't do it this time! I'll change it.
I'll save them! There must be a way to redo it all!

But, I can't.

They are already dead, and there's no
changing that. No going back. No time machines Here.

Why can't I get a second chance?

Why?

Because there are no second chances,
Here.

My hatred and rage begin to bubble deep in my
soul. It rises like the flames of an unstoppable fire, waiting to
erupt at just the right moment.

*

Gun shots and screams fill the heavy air
around me, encasing my senses. The thick smell of gun smoke invades
my nostrils, nearly choking me. My heart is pounding hard, almost
jumping straight from my chest. Boom-boom! Boom-boom! Tingles of
release cover my body at that first shot, like a

newborn taking it's first breath of life. I
hear the gunfire again and again, and me screaming and cackling
like the mad hatter at a blood filled tea party.

One shot. Bang!

Two. Bang! Bang!

And another. Bang!

Bang!

Ring around the rosy, pockets full of
posies.

Ashes. Ashes.

They all fall down, and there is just one
bullet left to fire.

BANG!

“SHUT UP!” I shout at them, “Shut up you
bastards! Get out of my head!”

Just shut up, I begin to sob. I cry more and
more each time I relive that day. More now, not just because I want
all of this to end, but because I'm tired of remembering.

I have so many memories I wish I was able to
forget. Erase them as if they never existed. Where's the “delete”
button for that?

High school memories would most likely be at
the top of the list. They were pretty much all bad in the
beginning. Even the ones I first considered to be good, turned out
to be some of the worst. Especially those memories that involved
John. My playground savior from third grade and once lifelong
friend. Once we reached high school, he turned on me. As a rule,
friends often change and rearrange through life. This fact in
retrospect I was okay with. What I had a hard time coping with was
who he became friends with. Of course, who should he turn to? None
other than the golden boy himself, JJ. That asshole methodically
stole everything that I ever had good in my life. Everything. He
stole my self-esteem, my confidence, my best friend! My soul...