End of the Innocence

Published by

Harmony Ink Press

5032 Capital Circle SW
Ste 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

USA

http://www.harmonyinkpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

End of the Innocence
Copyright © 2012 by John Goode

Cover Art by Paul Richmond   http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Harmony Ink Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.
http://www.harmonyinkpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-61372-494-1

Library Edition ISBN: 978-1-62380-914-0

Digital Edition ISBN: 978-1-61372-495-8

 Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

November 2012

This is dedicated to Sammy, Robbie and Gayle.

Without them this book would have never been finished.

K
YLE

T
HERE
is an old French quote that goes: “
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose
.” It’s usually translated as
The more things change, the more they stay the same
. Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr wrote it in the 1800s, and it has become a common phrase people use when they are complaining about life. Adults who want to instill the feeling that no matter how weird things get, they have seen it all before.

Ironically, the actual translation is: “The more it changes, the more it’s the same thing.” To me, that is a completely different meaning altogether.

When things change, they change, and that’s all there is to it. For example, when I came out as gay to the entire school, my life changed. There was no time out I could call, no take back that people would acknowledge. It is like that picture of the old lady and the young lady. You know the one I’m talking about? It’s an optical illusion that has both images, and what you see depends on what you concentrate on. Everyone sees the pretty young girl; she’s wearing a coat and looking over her shoulder. She’s the obvious image everyone wants to see. However, finding the old lady takes a bit more concentration. She’s a hag-looking figure with a prominent chin and wrinkles. And once someone sees her, it’s really hard to find the young girl again.

Being gay was the old lady, because once you saw her in the picture, it was all you could see. I was no longer the weird, quiet kid who haunted the halls of Foster High with my head down and shoulders slumped as I counted down my mandatory, four-year incarceration. No one could see that guy anymore; all they could see was the gay kid.

Go team Gay!

Once I had been a painfully quiet kid who avoided all forms of interaction, no matter how much I wanted people to talk to. Now I had become a different creature altogether. People knew who I was, they talked about me, and I could do nothing about that. Life had changed, and it was anything but what it had been before.

However, although my life had changed in some ways, it seemed bound and determined to give me more of the same no matter what.

Even though I was known to people, most kept right on ignoring me. The only difference was that everyone thought they knew who I was now because of that one little word. “Gay” had become my life in ways I had not been prepared for when I came out. For example, there was a lot of anger toward me, even though I hadn’t said more than ten words out loud. I was the guy who turned “the hottest boy in Foster” gay, and people were a little pissed about that. I wish I could tell you that didn’t bring a smile to my face when I first heard it, but I can’t lie.

At home, my mom was still in her “I can be sober” phase, because she thought of herself as my own little civil rights activist since the school board meeting, and activist parents don’t drink. She was doing exactly what she had done every other time—like after she had found Jesus or Buddha and, once, Tony Robbins after watching too many late night infomercials. Trying to love my mom was like trying to have a lasting relationship with Charlie from
Flowers for Algernon
. No matter how much you might like the person in front of you, common sense told you they weren’t going to be hanging around for much longer, so what was the point? Sooner rather than later, she would start drinking again, and the mom I had come to depend on would be gone. Again.

I was dating Brad, but I hadn’t magically inherited a working knowledge of social skills that prevented me from acting like a complete spaz whenever he smiled at me. Now I’m not saying I was all Spider-Man before I met him, with the proportionate agility of a spider and all, but I wasn’t as bad as I had become when he walked into a room. Basic functions like walking and staying upright had become challenging and—

Wait, that’s wrong. Spider-Man had the proportionate
strength
of a spider, not the agility. Who’s agile? Batman? No, he’s all grrr. Daredevil? Now all I’m seeing is Ben Affleck’s forehead. Okay, forget it. I had always been a klutz before I met Brad, but now when I got within eyesight of him I was afraid I was going to trip over my own feet and do something stupid like break my neck on the front steps.

The more it changes, the more it’s the same thing.

But, overall, things have changed. I say changed and not “changed for the better” because I am no fool. Fate is a total drama queen. The second you say things are better than they were, she’ll come stumbling toward you on her six-inch heels, nasty-ass wig crooked and on sideways. You’ll wonder exactly how she got all that makeup slathered onto her face. One nicotine-caked fake fingernail will point at you, and she will make sure that things are anything but better from there on out. So, no thank you. Things are different but not better and, in fact, could get much, much worse, so fuck off, Fate!

Is she gone? Whew.

Things had changed at school and not in a bad way (crosses fingers and hopes that doesn’t count as pissing Fate off). People had heard what Brad had done at the school board meeting, and I honestly think they didn’t know how to react to it. He had been given a green light to play baseball. And if he had been anyone else, that would’ve been the end of the whole incident.

But Brad is like no one I’ve ever met.

A lot of people wander through life believing they are this nice and funny person. In most people’s minds, there is a rhyme and reason for why they act like they do, therefore their actions and reactions are totally justified, and the less than stellar ones are blamed on outside circumstances. Most of us don’t want to think that we’re just being dicks.

Brad is not one of those people. He’s acutely aware of the things he had done in the bullying department and how bad they had been. Unlike his friends, my boy decided to change his behavior and try to make up for everything he had done. When he threatened to leave the school if the administration didn’t stop its “I see nothing” policy as far as bullying and discrimination were concerned, he did it because it was the right thing to do. And he did it because he knew at that moment, he was the only one who could demand it.

That left a lot of people confused.

See, there were a ton of people ready to hate Brad simply because of who he used to be. It is a known fact that people like to see people fall down. I mean most of YouTube wouldn’t exist if people didn’t fall down, get hit in the balls, or just eat pavement from time to time. No one has ever been able to explain to me why it’s true, but we think it’s entertaining to see other people get hurt. The enjoyment only triples when the person is perceived to be a celebrity. Now Brad wasn’t a Kardashian, even though he had that ass, but he was well known in Foster. Through junior high and up until last month, he was easily one of the most popular guys in this town, so when he fell there were platoons of people ready to point and laugh.

Now, in this case Brad didn’t actually, like, trip and fall down a flight of stairs and catch the gay; it was more a metaphoric fall. He had broken ranks with the high school elite and admitted publicly that he had feelings for me. It was the equivalent of social suicide and hands-down the bravest thing I had ever seen someone do.

Until I saw him stand up to the school board.

In this world of anonymous Internet comments and Facebook postings, it is easy to forget what real courage looks like, but when people see it, they react. Everyone with a computer or an ear heard about Brad’s words to the school board, and, somehow, what he had done that night threw people out of their usual responses. If Brad had been just a normal guy, he’d have taken what the school board offered him and walked away. I mean, Brad had what he wanted; why the hell push for more?

But Brad stood up for everyone, and his courage made being mean to him very hard.

No one was holding a parade for him, nor were fair maidens sprinkling rose petals down on him, but most guys had stopped outright insulting him, and most people kept the staring and pointing as we walked down the halls to a minimum. It wasn’t much, but trust me, Brad and I noticed it.

There were other differences as well.

For example, a couple of days after Brad’s announcement, I walked into Trig and saw a girl waving at me. She had jet-black hair with electric-blue tips that glowed more like neon than just hair color. I tried to remember her…. Samantha, her name was Samantha, and she had been with Jeremy the day of the school board meeting. I sighed and began to dig through my backpack as I walked over to her. Pulling out my notebook, I told her, “I don’t have the best handwriting, but if you can translate my chicken scratch, you’re welcome to them.”

She looked at my notebook like it was a radioactive. “Um. What are you doing?”

I looked around nervously. “I’m giving you my notes. Hurry up and copy them before Mrs. Graizer comes in.”

She covered her mouth as she laughed and shook her head. “Kyle, I’m not asking for your notes. I was asking if you wanted to sit with me.”

I just stared at her for a few seconds, my mouth open like a dead fish.

“I’m serious,” she assured me, gesturing to the empty seat next to her. “If you want to.”

I examined the seat before sitting down, not sure how to react to such an offer.

“Don’t worry, no one spit on it or anything.”

Nevertheless, I sat down gingerly, waiting for someone to dump pig blood on me or something. “Thanks,” I said to her once I realized the seat wasn’t going to explode or collapse.

“I’m Sammy,” she said, playing with one of her bangs. “And you’re the ‘gay guy’.” Her smile as she emphasized those two words made it obvious that she knew what I had been going through the past month or so.

“That must drive Jeremy crazy,” I said with a smile.

She shrugged. “Whatever. He’s angry about a lot of things. I try not to pay a lot of attention to it.”

“I thought you were friends?” I asked as I pulled my Trig book and pencil out of my backpack.

“Yeah, you’d think so, but trust me, Jeremy has no friends except his own ego.” She sounded bitter, but her tone was resigned, like she was used to the feeling. “I was there that night Brad and his friends threw beer bottles at us. Did you hear me mentioned in his little story?”

I felt my stomach drop like I was on a roller coaster just about to fall over the edge.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, not making eye contact.