Part I
Chapter 1 – Summer 1998
Pops wasn’t around long enough to prepare me for insecurity grazing my sexual peak. It happened at a sleepover when I was eight. Two boys. Three girls: only one counted. Though unfamiliar with my own breasts – no, we would be introduced years later outside of Mrs. Lester’s classroom– that night I would become familiar with theirs.
Granted, that is likely more detail than the medical form requested when it asked if I’m sexually active. But this form, and even this appointment, are a series of inconveniences conspiring with clocks to keep me away from my date with Kelly this Saturday.
“Here you go, all done.”
“Thank you, I’ll call you back up in a minute.”
See, peaking that early ruined me. Fear and anxiety that night with Michelle created the perfect blueprint for my fumbling Kelly. That’s why she was tonguing someone else at Audubon Park a few months ago. And my willingness to sellout Eddie to impress Michelle is why fate would ensure my best friend was at that park with Kelly.
“You’re here to see Dr. Dotson. Do you have your insurance card?”
“Ummm…”
“Oh wait, you’re Shirley’s son. I gotcha. Have a seat. We’ll call you back in a few.”
There are at least 92 patients in this waiting room, so, hell, we got time.
Technically during that June night of ’88, I was almost eight. I’d never had a co-ed sleepover. My male counterpart, Eddie, was only six. He couldn’t help. My two sisters were there, so it hardly seemed scandalous, but this older girl, Michelle, a mature twelve, set it off.
The five of us were strangers. Second grade, for me, had just ended. My two sisters, who were dad’s daughters but not mom’s, had come down from Indiana shortly thereafter. I hadn’t met them before. Eddie was in my karate class. Michelle wasn’t but would tag along with her older brother. We were all in the dojo below the upstairs apartment that briefly substituted as home. We’d devoured a pizza from Broadway’s, next door. We sat in silence after the grownups had let the youngins be.
Dad had agreed to take the girls, from a previous marriage, for the summer. A grand gesture he wouldn’t repeat nor extend to me once I found myself in their unbearably uncomfortable shoes. But on this day, we were to bond, forgetting the remissness of the past and ignoring the inevitable disappointments of the future. As an only child, if based on real-life work experience, I was at a loss for what to do.
I can’t remember if Michelle was a chaperone or invited guest of the girls, but she spoke with a decisive tone that convinced us she was in charge. She was the only one with a plan to save us from a night of idly staring at each other while twiddling our thumbs. The recommendation was simple and prudent.
“Let’s make teams. Boys and Girls. Come up with an idea to entertain the other side and we’ll see whose’ better,” Michelle ordered while looking down on us.
The division of boys and girls was a social staple of which I’d learned a few months earlier. One morning, mom had an appointment and had to drop me off at Hamilton Elementary, early. To keep students organized before the doors opened for breakfast, the administrators lined up the early birds by grade in the teachers’ parking lot. After finding my section, I tip-toed to the back with my head tilted down, avoiding eye contact with the sea of strangers until I caught the gaze of a familiar face just ahead of my spot in line. I stuttered into a conversation with a girl I barely knew though well enough for her to provide comfort amongst the unfamiliar.
Leveraging all the small talk in my wheelhouse, I latched on to her with little intention of letting go. I followed her into the cafeteria as I hung onto her every expert action. I was so caught up in her leadership I almost paid for the meal instead of using my “free lunch” card. As we left the breakfast line, there was no doubt who my seatmate would be. Following her to the table so closely I nearly tripped on her heel, I couldn’t wait to sit and take a bite as I’d exhausted every conversation topic relevant for two acquaintances.
I sat. I took a bite of a sausage patty. I chewed. Although I expected a break from conversation, I hadn’t been prepared for the deafening silence strangely atypical for a large room full of bright-eyed adolescents. My eyes fixed upon my seatmate only to see her staring at me, astonished. Embarrassed, I turned away only to lock eyes with her friend looking at me with the same expression. Retreating to the next face, the same contortions of feminine facial features chased my eyes from seat to seat. Table to table. Wait. Everyone on my side of the cafeteria was female. I’d committed a humiliating blunder. It was unforgivable. I had sat on the girls’ side.
As I stood up, grabbed my tray, and embarked on a disheartening walk of shame to the boys’ side, several questions jogged across my mind. How could a few hundred kids laugh with a volume to rival a packed football stadium? Were they all taking vocal cord steroids? What type of dealer sells drugs to little kids? “He’s a girl!” Enough already. At least be creative. She could’ve warned me. The embarrassment would never subside.
It did. Eventually. I now respected Michelle even more for making the delineation perfectly clear upfront. Perhaps transparency came with maturity.
Back at the sleepover, once divided, each team deliberated to plan its form of entertainment. The decision was obvious. Obsessed with basketball, I figured if we played a one-on-one match for the girls, surely, they would be as entertained as I watching Michael Jordan, or at the very least, Scottie Pippen. Contrary to the saying, “ladies first,” the girls deferred, and we scored a few buckets, undoubtedly impressing the trio. Winded, we retired to the chairs parents waited in during karate class on the back wall. Michelle and her impromptu Supremes took the stage and lined up side-by-side. A song played perfectly in each of their heads (J.J. Fad’s “Supersonic,” I presumed, ‘the S is for super and the U is for unique’) as they offered up a flawlessly choreographed dance routine with shakes and gyrations that made sports seem immature.
Halfway through the routine, a curveball shot through the dojo. The girls looked at each other with mischievous smiles confirming their next move. They all reached down to the bottom of their t-shirts and raised them to display what only could be described as chests if adhering to the majority rules - rule. But one-third of what I saw, and the only two on which I could focus based on my loose understanding of incest, were much more than a child’s chest. Michelle possessed what I believed transformed girls into women. I was almost relieved when they lowered their blouses as I was overwhelmed by the sudden escalation in our childish games. Grinning from ear-to-ear, the girls accepted their victory. But they weren’t humble winners. They were ready to collect their prize.
“Yeah, I think we should show ‘em.”
“For real, you sure?” I asked Eddie as we took chambers in the boys’ changing room. We were to return the favor and show what made us boys.
“Why not? I ain’t scared!” Eddie proclaimed while puffing out his chest and towering over me despite being three inches shorter. I took issue a mere kindergartner had more moxie than I. This was moving too fast. This felt like sex and I knew nothing of a single bird or a solitary bee.
“I don’t know… because my dad might karate chop both us if he found out you messing with his daughters. Plus, I heard if they got a disease, our ding-a-lings could fall off…” He had to reject them. I couldn’t be the coward.
“Really? I guess so. I’ll tell ‘em we ain’t doing it.”
The girls were disappointed. I rolled my eyes at Eddie to infer he was the holdout but didn’t feign enough frustration to have them question him aloud.
The wisdom of my decision flickered a dozen times until I learned the entire opportunity wasn’t lost. As we headed to our sleeping bags lying in the middle of the dojo’s parquet floor, the girls reopened access to their prized possessions. Michelle beckoned me as Eddie entertained the sisters. Despite shyness with my own body, I felt right at home lying next to Michelle. Mimicking something from Cinemax, I both gently and wildly kissed and caressed Michelle’s ample breasts. She snickered at my enthusiasm. Perhaps I should relax, I thought. I was way ahead of schedule, and if tonight was any indication; I would easily have access to the fairer sex and their attainable feminine wiles for my many youthful years yet to come.
“James?” the nurse concludes my reminiscing.
“Yes.”
“Good morning. How are you?”
“I’m good. How – ”
“Great, I’m gonna have you step on the scale.”
“Okay,” this is standard procedure but I feel attacked by the request.
“Two Hundred Seventy. You can step off and follow me.”
“Yes mam,” though those three digits were spoken barely above a whisper, I could’ve sworn she used a megaphone. I jump off backward with both feet to erase the number, but not before I look both ways to see who heard her bellow. Everyone pretends to be preoccupied with their own goings-ons as if they hadn’t caught the slander.
But why did she read the number aloud with so much certainty and so little apprehension? She recited those digits as fact. She said them like people say yellow and blue make green. I would’ve preferred if she added an implied “really?” But nah, she isn’t surprised. 270 simply confirms what she’d already suspected from the moment she saw me. Ole girl didn’t even check again.
I’m genuinely surprised. The last time I indulged a scale it read 118 pounds. Sure, that was eight years ago. I’d add a few pounds, occasionally, to estimate my current weight. But my latest arch-nemesis is suggesting a boy can more than double in weight while growing but a few inches in height. Preposterous. The scale obviously has ulterior motives.
“Hi Ja… Dr. Dotson!” She’ll gloss over that number and assume the nurse is a hater.
“Hey Freddie, come have a seat in my office. I’ll be right there.” I know Dr. Dotson as Jackie. Refusing to take her ex-husband’s last name of Robinson appeared to be more insightful than anticipated. Originally, it was to avoid comparisons to the famous baseball player, who inspired her first name. I’m being assumptive referring to him as an ex-husband, but about a year ago he vanished. Keith was like a father-figure to me, but I’m used to disappearing dads.
By the grace of God, the three of us have avoided the need for health insurance without any real obstacles, but I’m forced to complete a few mandatory health checks before college. Mom mentioned the unanticipated budget burden to Jackie, and she came to the rescue with pro bono medical services.
“Ok, I’m back.” Jackie’s white coat hid her petite but curvy frame that would have Memphis dudes holler “aye lil’ stout junt” with stout alluding to her casually voluptuous figure and junt being a Memphis noun referring to almost anything, but most commonly an attractive woman or an unidentifiable object.
“Nice office,” I stood and went in for a hug, but Dr. Dotson met my rising arms with a look that you give an ugly one-night-stand if they approach you in public. She converted our greeting into a formal handshake. Oh, you keeping it extra professional, huh? Aight bet. The hater nurse must’ve peeped it because she let out a snort-snicker. It was cool though; it wasn’t the only time Jackie embarrassed me.
The first time she stopped by our less than 800 square foot, two-bedroom single-family home in South Memphis, she brought me dress shirts too tight for her younger brother.
She and mom went out for drinks leaving us alone. I wouldn’t dare investigate the gifts until my brother fell asleep so no one could witness the probable outcome I dreaded immediately after Jackie’s arrival.
The bag approached me forcefully and the shirts jumped out, eager to embarrass me. I removed my t-shirt, leaving the undershirt beneath exposed. Beneath the inner-collar a spoiler was printed with a 16 ½ noted, foretelling the outcome before I confirmed. My neck was actually smaller than that yet my chest and waist measurements didn’t conform to conventional fashion industry ratios. My arms entered each sleeve with minimal protest. Yet once button and button-hole attempted to meet, conflict arose.
“It’s too small; they’re all too small,” I mumbled softly to myself.
I was ashamed.
“Friday’s was slow last night per usual, but we had fun. I had a second margarita since Jackie was driving,” mom interrupted herself to laugh at her thirst, “she was excited to meet y’all. Said you were both so handsome!”
“That’s good.”
“Those shirts looked brand new, that was so nice of her.”
“It was,” I offered unenthusiastically.
“Did you try them on?” Mom’s permanent wide smile only flew at half-mast when she could detect something was wrong with one of her boys.
“Not yet, but I will.” Michael cut his eyes at me, forcing me to ponder if he was only pretending to be asleep, but the hunch dissolved in a puddle of my presumed paranoia.
“I talked to your mom last night. Everything is good?” Dr. Dotson’s small talk disconnects me from shirts of yesteryears past.
“Everything is great! Getting my last Memphis Barbecue before I head out. I finished my internship last week, so I’ve been catching up with friends.”
“Great, everything looks good, but we need a plan to get your weight down…”
She awkwardly provides recommendations while I awkwardly listen without fully digesting what she’s saying, not wanting to associate this topic with her. My weight is an enemy and Jackie’s a friend; they needn’t mingle. Also, Jackie discussing my weight penetrated the bubble in which I often dwelled. The one where if I dressed a certain way or squinted my eyes just right, people were unaware of my above-average size. It obviously worked with Kelly for a while. Dr. Dotson then walks me out of her office door as we chat. She directs me to her medical assistant and begins to prep for her next patient.
My own prep is on the horizon as I head to the barbershop, in advance of my belated birthday date with Kelly. Likely why my one-track mind didn’t give Jackie’s weight advice much thought. About ten months removed from our first date, with a few mishaps in between, I hadn’t meaningfully been in Kelly’s presence since I stood at her doorstep marveling at her beauty in her golden prom dress, a few weeks before her rendezvous at Audubon Park. But this Saturday, she invited me out, clearly desperate for my forgiveness. I’m certain. With both of us headed off to college soon, this is her last chance to make amends for what almost was. It’s amazing to think: purple troll hair, sticking out from the eraser cap of Kelly’s pencil, unexpectedly pointed in my direction six years ago, would ultimately result in an adult love triangle and my betrayal.