The Darkened Halls Of High School: A true story

A little backstory:

I like writing. I love it. I think I am afraid of it also. at 43 years old, I have written so many unfinished stories, I could have a series just dedicated to that!

All the “Bullying” in the news recently made me pull out these old stories of mine about my days in school. I have so many true happenings rattling around in my head that I wrote many of them out years ago. I decided to edit them (Your welcome, they were horrible with mistakes, lol.) and hopefully the grammar and spelling errors aren’t so bad that some people might get something from the stories.

 

High School Diaries 1 

 

ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE GUILTY. THERE WAS NO INNOCENCE THAT I KNOW OF IN MY SCHOOL I have embellished very little whom these individuals were in school. Certain roles and grades of these people I have changed. I only do this because I have respect for individual’s rights. (More than I ever received anyway.)

THIS STORY ALSO CONTAINS PROFANITY. IT WAS MY CHILDHOOD AND IT WAS A ROUGH TIME. I WANT IT TO BE ACCURATE

INTRO:

The high school was a combined school of junior high students and high school students at the time I was there. Seventh through twelfth grade all in one place, this story takes place in the ninth grade.

It’s noon, I had made it through half of my day. My thoughts were full of the afternoon dread that was to come and I couldn’t skip school today. The test in science was important if I were to get at least a “D” on this report card. It was all review now, for the test anyway.

Okay, get home quick, shower, get my ass back to school and to class as fast as I can. My thoughts were in a race now; a race with time, with my heart, and with the well-lit passageways of my high school.

If I could be fast enough I could do it, I had done it many times before. Today was like no other. The hunt of Tim was in “season” now, and the game was being stalked. I knew I was on the warpath of certain individuals. I was always on the “shit list” as they liked to call it.

I peddled my bike as fast as I could toward home. On bike, I could be there in four minutes. That left ten minutes for a shower, throwback on my clothes and head back out the door. My mom and dad were sure to be asleep, especially when dad was home from his third shift job. Hopefully, my mom was sleeping. If she weren’t, maybe today would be one of her “good days”. No time to think about that now. No time!

I threw my key into the lock, turned it and exploded through the back door. I almost slid into the counter as I rounded the small hall from the back door into the kitchen. Through the dining room, hit the foyer, grabbed the banister and flung myself up the stairs fast. My legs slowed to almost a halt at the top of the steps; my parent’s door was there. Quietly I turned down the hallway to the forever-entitled “Pink Bathroom”. It held this title for the pure fact that the entire bathroom, when we first moved in, was so many dark and light shades of pink that the entire room was indeed pink, from floors to the ceiling. I often remember feeling the weird texture of the wallpaper with its fuzzy pink hairs as I sat worshiping the porcelain god with an offering.

The shower was cold today. My parents didn’t budget money for the gas bill and the water heater’s fire sat cold in the basement of the old Dutch Colonial home. It only took the one time to be stained with being the smelly fat kid at school. I was in the fifth grade when the gas and water was once shut off from not paying the bill. I had no clean clothes for days and was cursed with no showers. Something I grew used to over the next several years of my life. It wasn’t like the gas went and off like a light switch, but it happened more than the whole family really wanted. The water basically stayed on after that… basically. I spent a lot of lunchtimes scared of smelling and even though the kids at school made fun of my odor, I knew I was clean, cold shower or not.

“I wonder if they know the gas is off yet,” I said out loud to myself. My thoughts often found vocal speech, even when I was alone.

There, all washed and smelling clean. My thoughts were still in a whirlwind. No time to waste. A splash of baby powder on my armpits a splash more in my socks. The deodorant stick went to work as well. All was looking good for the afternoon.

Go, go, GO… Come on I have to go. I was out of breath on my way back to school. I was almost there and I had ten minutes to spare. I started to sweat, but not from the short bike ride. I could do three times that ride before I started sweating. It was the possibility of the “Shit Kickers” I feared. They always seemed to find me no matter what steps I took; lately, they had been recruiting lower classmates to help them with their dirty work. It was getting harder and harder every day to survive the ninth grade.

The bike lock was thrown onto the old rail bike rack and into my front wheel spokes. I walked the long way to the back of the high school. This was the dangerous part, if they were outside today they would get me for sure; the grounds were almost empty. It was getting close to class time and usually every one headed to class ahead of time so they weren’t late. Accumulating tardy slips was like a hobby of mine.

“Almost there, almost…” I thought aloud again when in reality I was only halfway there. Once inside I needed to go past the doors to the cafeteria, walk through the gym and head into the industrial hallway. It was called that because the hall contained only three doors. The doors opened into three enormous rooms of the school; The wood shop, the metal shop and the drafting room for Mechanical Drawing and architecture class.

Now the gym. My heart thumped harder with fear as my breath escaped my mouth with words. The breath was so hot that you could visibly see it in the well-cooled hall. The girls for the seventh or eighth-grade gym class were lined up on the gym side stage. The back of the gym and the front of the auditorium was separated by a huge stage. The gym portion had a gigantic, thick divider wall to shut off the noise from the gym classes. There was a three or four-foot portion of the stage that stuck out from this wall and everyone always sat up there. I stepped quickly into the gym to staring faces.

“BOOM BADDA BOOM BADDA BOOM” The girls chanted as I walked by.

“That God damned “Stand By Me” movie is going to drive me fucking insane!” I said once again only to myself. The anger from the junior high girls filled my mind as I exited the gym into the industrial hallway.

“I only need to get down the hall, up the stairs to the next floor and directly into science class to make it,” my words echoed.

Halfway to the stairs now! I was breathing hard. My head kept turning and glancing over my shoulders. I had used this way too many times the last week. My luck was going to run out. Five minutes ‘til class time now. It would only take one minute to get there from here. I came upon the lower section of the stairs, still glancing over my shoulder. As I reached the side of the stairs, my hand turned forward and grabbed the steel railing to whip myself around and up. There they were… five of them today!

Oh shit, five of them! I said to myself as my head exploded with adrenaline.

“Well if it isn’t fat ass. What are you doing sneaking around fat boy?” John said as he stood with all of his friends in unison gripping their fists like they were about to get into a fight… they were. It was like a dance group or swimming team in perfect time with one another. On more than one occasion my sense of humor got me into more trouble than one would think could happen. I couldn’t help it… I laughed!

Three of the group came at me fast. Joe, Alex, and Pete were huge guys from the wrestling team. Joe always wore his wrestling uniform under his clothes and often used it as his shirt in place of normal clothing. Alex was a follower. He would do and say what any of the others would tell him to. You could always see his bright red hair from a mile away in any crowd. Pete was the team’s athletic drug and alcohol receiver. I always found that funny because he was on the football team also.

The three grabbed me and pulled me back under the stairway out of passing eyes and faces where no one could see. My body was thrown hard against the cement wall and my head thumped on the brick; for a moment I saw bright rainbow spots in front of my eyes. When my eyes opened, John stood before me with a glaring, perfect, white smile; John would lose that top tooth today before things were through. The shit kicker stood six foot and four inches, the same height as myself. He was on the football team and was well in shape physically. His teeth showed with a pretty boy smile and his blue eyes were always on fire. His hair was buzzed marine style and was his only style haircut through high school. I always thought it would be fun to stick Velcro to it sometime and see if it made the same ripping noise when you pulled it off his head.

“Don’t forget to take this to class with you fat boy!” John’s hand came up from his side and slugged me in my stomach. My breath exploded as I keeled over automatically from the blow. From the sides, his friends took turns slamming their fists into my kidneys on my back. I collapsed to my knees.

“Let’s go,” John said to his friends. “Don’t want to be late for class.” His words were slurred and his teeth were grinding some. What lovely drugs these guys were addicted too.

I looked up with pure rage in my eyes. No rational thought existed anymore; they were my prey now. My hand reaching for the first thing I saw when I looked up; John’s crotch. My fingers wrapped around whatever God gave that boy and squeezed as hard as I could. John’s body doubled as a natural reaction just as mine had done previously when he punched me. Bad move. My head flung up as hard as I could and I felt John’s mouth make contact with the top of my skull. John’s tooth embedded itself into my flesh and pulled free from the shit kickers gums. I later, in the bathroom, pulled the tooth from my hair.

John’s friends were standing in stupid awe when the bell rang. They ran abandoning their friend bleeding and crying on the floor. I looked up and saw no teacher or student in sight. I looked down at John.

“You better have more friends with you next time asshole!” It was a mistake I soon regretted saying that day.

John went to the med center and then home. His story was that he slipped down the stairs and bashed his mouth on the stairwell. Soon after, new grip strips were installed on the ceramic steps. I knew what happened to John that day, his cowardliness, as well as his friends, the bullies of the school, “The shit kickers”. I threw his tooth away in the bathroom. I thought about keeping it as a trophy of my triumph, but the thought made me ill and I vomited on the spot.

The torture continued. Many moments before this event, many after. I have written some of them out, just to get them out. All this because I was different than the “normal people”, different from what society says I should be. Different because I was overweight. Maybe some of you can relate and see that even then, you weren’t alone.

 

High School Diaries part 2

Timothy S.

The High School Diaries

9/10/07

Edited for grammar and posting, finally

10/26/2017

Advertisements

20 comments

    • I hated high school. I was dirt poor too…..I have similar stories. No water, no gas no electricity. Body odor stories…..ugh…..the humiliation though. I was in an AP English class, and I must have been so smelly they told the teacher who then sent me to the counselor. Aaaagghhhh awful times!

      You’re writing is superb. I loved this and I’ll be glad to read more of your work.
      .

  1. This was gut wrenching. The bullying. The fear. The torture you endured. My heart truly feels for you.
    My husband had no electricity. He bathed in a hose behind someone’s house before school. No one knows that about him. Well they do now….
    I am sorry for the hurt you endured

    • You are very kind. Thank you. I wrote them because the memories eat away at me. I wanted to get them out. It has helped some I guess. Your poor hubby. I can’t imagine that was easy at all. I really appreciate you commenting. It’s hard to comment on stuff like this. I read others posts and I am speechless sometimes.

  2. The pacing is great here, and the italicized thoughts work really well in supporting the story while simultaneously providing extra insight and reasoning towards your actions.

    I gotta say, I’m sorry those sadistic assholes targeted you like that, not easy stuff to deal with. I really respect that you can turn your life experiences (negative and positive) into a rather entertaining/cohesive story like this. Good stuff.

    I feel bad saying entertaining, because it actually happened, and it’s terrible what they did to you, but hopefully you know what I mean.

    • I do know what you mean! Thank you. I wrote it to be a “telling” story and yes, to entertain and teach as well. I aspire to be a writer of fiction. So I tend to go into detail even about my own past. It gets boring reading a long drawn out history of life story that isn’t exciting 😉 lol.

      I also didn’t want too stray to far from fact. I tried hard to make sure it followed the path that truly happened. I also wanted anyone who had such an experience, that they were not alone. Anyone who has never experienced it to feel like they were there.

      I really appreciate your comments and reading them. It means a lot.

  3. Both my children have been bullied so I can empathise with every word, thought, feeling but I have to argue one point…you, like my children weren’t bullied because you were ‘different’ no! But because you were ‘special, authentic, gifted and a genuine good person’ and they couldn’t stand the sight of it…they were jealous of you and your potential…simple as! Nothing more, nothing less! They wanted to destroy you to ease the crap in their own miserable dull lives and they hadn’t the balls to do it one a one to one basis…they needed sheep and you were never a sheep. It wasn’t about being ‘fat’ if not that it would have been ‘thin’, ‘spotty’, ‘nerdy’…

    Share your story, identify what bullies look like, talk to other parents. You are good enough as you are and that’s only the beginning…so much more waiting for you to reach out to!

    • Thank you. These stories were so hard to write. I have more I am trying to get out. Emotionally hard writing some of them. You are amazing. I really appreciate your words and opinions. These diaries have been secret for a long time.

  4. I was bullied in the 6th grade. Reading this took me right back to that time. It’s an important topic that I hope has made us stronger, even though we should never have gone through it.

  5. This resonates and makes me cry. I was also bullied (fat, poor, daughter of the town alcoholic womanizer, and cross-eyed)–always an easy target for hateful people. This was so well written and brought back so many memories. I recently did a post for my niece, who has shared the same experiences. I’m so sorry for your experience and applaud your bravery for sharing in such an open, honest, and concise manner. No matter the horrible experiences we’ve had at the hands of others, I think it makes us deeper, wiser, and more empathetic human beings.

  6. […] The Darkened Halls of High School: A true story. Tim uses his blog as one big therapy session, and really I can’t think of a better use for a personal blog, can you? He has a High School Dairies Series were he recounts his true high school stories that often include a heavy does of bullying. As someone who dealt with bullying as a kid, this series can be easy to relate to but hard to read. Sometimes the things that make us uncomfortable are the very things we should expose ourselves to though. Check it out. […]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s