Two of my best friends from grade school joined the band when we all moved into junior high school. Well, to be honest, they joined the “drum corp,” which could actually be considered pretty damn cool by some people. And it was considered cool even back then.
Anyway, they joined up as drummers and started hanging out with the 8th grade drummers, even though we were all in 7th grade at that point. It was those 8th graders that made my life a living hell for the next year.
I really wanted to join the drum corp also, but we were too poor and I knew it. I didn’t even bother to ask my dad if I could join, because I knew he had enough stress in his life just paying the bills we already had, without having to worry about more bills that come associated with having a kid in band. Instruments cost money. Uniforms cost money. Trips cost money.
I knew how cool those band guys were though, and I REALLY wanted to join and be able to hang out with 2 of my best friends. In fact, I tried hanging out with them even though I wasn’t in band for a while, but I got off to a bad start with their new “buddies.” This was right at a time in my life when my voice was changing, so I kinda sounded like Froggy from “Our Gang.” My voice would crack and break for no reason whatsoever, so I compensated by talking in a very baritone type of voice. Well, the leader of the drum corp was a guy named Clint, and when I was introduced to him I said “My name is Eddie. Eddie Francis,” in that peculiar baritone/Froggy voice of mine … and that was it. He instantly hated me for reasons I never understood.
It should be noted that I was also the shortest guy in junior high, and I stayed the shortest guy until the last month of 8th grade when Augie Shemotti moved into our school and took my place in the year book as “Shortest Dude.” He got to get his picture taken with the girl I’d had a crush on since 4th grade, Marlene Launer. The only girl who was always shorter than I was, and the one that I had wanted more than anything to have my picture taken with. She was my “little red-haired girl,” to my “Charlie Brown.”
So, maybe it was because of my frog voice, or maybe it was because I was so short and easily pick-on-able, but for the next year my best friends turned against me and followed the lead of their new leader Clint, who had decided I was the guy they were going to pick on and harass all year.
Looking back on it from the perspective of an older person, I can see now that Clint probably didn’t have a very good home life. He lived in a trailer park and had long, greasy hair. I didn’t really see any of that back then. What I saw was a kid a year older and 50 pounds heavier than me, who had stolen my two best friends and turned them against me. And it hurt.
Didn’t help that I was not only short with a cracking voice, but I was also pretty socially awkward. I spent most of my time with my nose in books and didn’t really relate well to other kids my age. I also spent an inordinate amount of time bragging about my older brothers, three of which were Green Berets in the Army, well actually only two of them were at that time, the third was a Green Beret in Vietnam, and had long been out of the Army by the time I was in junior high. —see, still doing it today and I’m closer to 50 than not.
Clint and his cronies (including my former two best friends) would chase me all over the school yard with Clint fast on my heels yelling “EDDIE. EDDIE FRANCIS!” In his best imitation of my frog voice. The worst part is that he must have known I had a crush on Marlene Launer, because he always made a point of doing it in front of her, which quadrupled the amount of embarrassment and shame I felt, especially since all I could think to do back then was run away.
Clint and his cronie Bob would also call and order pizza to be delivered to my home. Usually with all the toppings, including sardines, and my dad would get mad at the pizza delivery guy, even though it wasn’t his fault. I knew who was doing it, because at school the next day I would get comments from one of them about pizza on my shirt or the corner of my mouth.
One thing Clint and friends didn’t realize is that I was a teacher’s aide for English, and my teacher taught both grades, which meant that I got to grade all of their papers … and grade them I did. Honestly, I never even had to work that hard at failing them, they did all the work themselves by turning in such shitty work. Passive-aggressive much junior high aged Eddie? Yeah, probably, but it was really the only means I had toward fighting back. The guys that were my friends though, man they EXCELLED at English that year. Even some of the people that had the toughest time usually passing were getting As. You know what they say about friends in low places!
Growing up, I never did forgive Clint for that year. I never really got to be close friends with my former friends again, but at least they stopped picking on me by the time we got to high school. One of them actually went on to tour the world as a drummer in a band, and now today we are all “friends” again on social media. Not that I ever really plan on hanging out with them again, but it’s good to see how their lives turned out, and that a lot of their dreams came true.
I heard the other day that Clint died a couple of months ago from a sudden heart attack. I am sure that most people would be slightly sad about that happening, even to their worst enemy. Not me. I hope Clint died in fucking pain and that his after life is full of someone chasing him around and making his life a living hell, embarrassing him in front of someone he likes.
Hey fucktard Clint! I outlived you dickwad! Suck on that you piece of shit! And now I get to write about your sorry ass and there is nothing you can fucking do about it. Can you guess the name of the bad guy in my novel? Hmmm …. wonder what kind of neurosis people are going to remember you for? Not sure yet, but trust me, it won’t be something you want your name to be associated with!
