Before going into Grade Twelve I was super amped up. It would be my final year in High School. The class of 2006 would be the oldest group of kids at Leo Hayes, a senior; oh, how prestigious. I thought about the sports, I thought about the social hierarchy dynamic and, naturally, I thought about the woman. All of these impending highlights were right on the surface of my day to day thoughts, but deep down I was reeling. A desperate seventeen-year-old boy with the world by the tail, but with no real idea of how to take it on. If I had the world by the tail, the worlds ass was in my face, how is that advantageous, the worlds butt was just farting on me as my desperate hands clung to this mysterious tail, so, I buried myself in busyness as a way of not facing reality, and I partied my undies off to ease the anxiety.
The first memorable party took place in October. The shindig was set to happen deep within the recesses of the gangster area known as Marysville or "The Ville", which is a subsection of Fredericton right next to old dirty Devon. My friends and I piled into this large cube shaped house that had been built using mostly bricks. It was a cool looking house, and for the first thirty minutes, I sat on a washer that was crammed into the side entryway while watching an older, louder, more obnoxious dude continue to show off the quart of rum he had.
For a brief moment I decided to be BOLD and ventured down into the basement and found myself in the layer of Marilyn Manson. Marijuana smoke billowed through the grainy, fuzzy air and I was one hundred percent sure there was no one I knew down in the gloomy darkened depths of this bodacious basement that was accented by spray paint on the walls amongst a vast array of intimidating looking flags; I probably grunted and then swiftly made my way back upstairs.
The music was shaking the small abode that surrounded us as my friends and I stood in the kitchen area drinking beers and peering over at the females on the dancefloor. To my own surprise I decided to make my way into the living room to do my own little jig. Across the room there was a tanned, brown haired, stunning looking girl named Lois. By a stroke of luck and some bravery on my part, helped of course by some liquid courage, we started to dance. I was grabbing her hips and she was doing her thing with her cute little bum. On "cloud 9" I was. When the party concluded I walked Lois over to a gas station across the road. She said that her ride was about to show up, Lois also mentioned before she turned to leave that she had a good time; when we parted ways I tried to contain my excitement, I was definitely twitter pated, and this beautiful girl who I'd met for the first time was now swelling my skull with fantasies of what the future may bring.
At School on Monday I made my way into my afternoon class; one of Lois's friends sat directly beside me and it was my intention to question her a little bit about this new crush I'd acquired. The teacher was talking in the background about nutrition, and I was conveniently ignoring her and engaging in an enthralling conversation about my love interest. I made sure to express my fondness to Lois's friend, because I knew full well that word would get back to her; then the dynamic might really get interesting. I waited for a few days, then a few weeks and finally a month. When a month had passed a friend of Lois's confronted me in the hall, he asked if I might like to ask Lois to prom that year. Holy mother of a newborn sheep! Of course, I'd like to ask her. He said she was interested in going with me and if I'd just build up the confidence to ask her, she'd say yes. So, me being my suave, smooth self, I walked up to her and said "how much does a polar bear weigh?" she said "I dunno" and I replied by saying "enough to break the ice! Want to go to prom with me?". She paused.. "okay", then we separated in a flurry of strange emotions and awkward body language. I was so overjoyed, it's probably likely that I danced to my next scheduled class. Month's passed and Lois and I didn't really talk, so my mind wandered to other ideas and ponderings.
Other Ideas being University, and what I'd be doing after High School. Careers and Jobs were something I thought about every once in a while. In previous years we'd (my classmates) go online and take personality tests, and these evaluations would pair my classmates and I with Job's that would be suitable based on the evaluation given. Money and income were never the first thing I'd ruminate over, mostly I'd just think about all the hours that would be spent confined to a specific space that I couldn't leave until my eight hours were finished. Then the thought of a forty-hour work week would make me feel imprisoned and lifeless. Eventually, I'd brood over thirty-forty years of work potentially doing something tedious under a boss that micromanaged and took systematic dumps on me as a way of feeding their need for ULTIMATE power. These ponderings forced me to repress this potential inevitability. As a result of this repression I just focused on what everyone else was doing. Everyone else seemed to be entering into College; "hmmm, seems reasonable";the next thing I did was to apply for St. Thomas University. All you needed was a 70% average, and I was sure that I'd at least make that average during my first semester of Grade Twelve.
I applied for St Thomas University (STU) (Some people called it STUpid; oh, how witty) in December. My Grade point average was 67%, but I took a chance anyway. "They want my money, and it's an Arts school, why wouldn't they accept me?".The letter of admittance came in the mail in January. I opened it up recklessly and anxiously, but before I could open it my telephone began to ring. Holy father of a badly bloated blubber whale; It was St. Thomas University on the phone. I said "hello, am I in?"..."No, you stupid fuck" they said and hung up the phone; nah, in actuality they told me that I was not eligible for admittance at this time, but if my grades improved during second semester I could apply again. Sigh. "Ugh, I'm a piece of surgically removed alien brain". Although my mind went to the negative upon receiving the phone call, it lit a fire under my ass. I was treated for third degree burns by the school nurse who oddly decided to use my arse fire to roast hotdogs before addressing the issue; It was a heated affair (Not responsible for the validity of the last couple of sentences).
When the second semester of Grade Twelve started I was ready to go. I was aware that it was hard for me to pay attention during classes, so I focused on jotting down notes as often as I could to keep my attention on a specific task. I also tried to sit away from students that I might be more inclined to be rowdy around. There were also certain things that I had to be willing to do in order to stay plugged in; I could no longer skip out on classes and gorge on McDonalds food and then lethargically pass out on my desk during afternoon classes. You know fast food is good for you when you curl a steamer out of your butt (don't be offended by all this potty talk, you have a butt too whipper snapper!) thirty-minutes after consuming it. My body probably said "what in the blue Harriet is this foreign slippery slop, open the gates!". And then shazaam, no nutrient benefit whatsoever, and you face plant on your desk because of all the greasiness curdling its way through your veins!
Wouldn't you know it, my body felt fresh and alive when I started to eat a bit better. I even went to the library and for extra help when necessary. A friend of mine looked at me after I finished making out with a tuna sandwich at lunch time and said "where you going?", "going to the library to study", he responded by saying "I've never seen you do that before", well, I said "I haven't". It was nice to be acknowledged for the simple changes I was making. He was generous for mentioning it.
—Introspection—
Do you ever wish someone whom you admire or look up to would say some words of encouragement or understanding? There are times when we second guess ourselves and question our circumstances as we ponder; "Am I on the right path? Am I doing the right things? Do my efforts even matter?". Many people are timid to put themselves out there and express what we mean to them, and for whatever reason we can often feel as if complimenting someone, or telling an individual that we admire them, may come across as awkward or as weird because unfortunately, it's not all that common. There have been moments where I'll be walking or sitting with certain acquaintances or friends and they'll give a stranger a compliment on what they're wearing or they'll commend them on how strong their yoga practice is, or how they look up to them in a specific way. I admire this quality immensely because you take a gamble when you compliment a person. There's always the chance that they may interpret the compliment as disingenuous or sarcastic; which is a shame. To put oneself out there and commend another is an act of bravery. To say "hello, how are you?" to someone you might deem as "rude" or "selfish" before even meeting that person is also an act of bravery. We can sometimes stay closed off out of fear of opening up and being vulnerable. By being vulnerable and offering a kind word we show strength. Not only does it show strength, but those words of kindness can have a tremendous impact on the person whom we are complimenting or reassuring. In my experience it can have the ability to change lives.
At my workplace I'm never left wanting because my bosses are quick to tell me that I'm having a positive impact on those I'm working with. They make me feel like a key component of the team and continually reassure me that my work matters. In turn, my sense of personal efficacy in the work environment is heightened and I'm left with the impression that I am truly valued as an employee and as a person.
We all ask those self-doubt type questions, and we are all in a place to silence those feelings of self-doubt in another. By saying just a few gracious words to someone in our vicinity we may be making a work-place environment or a situation that much brighter. We may be instilling perseverance in a stranger when they were on the verge of throwing in the towel. We may give hope to someone who is broken and about to end it all, and so, I'm going to challenge myself by moving past the self-centered life that can be all consuming and put myself in a vulnerable position for another. We have the power to be the person we wish we had encountered during trying times in our lives, the person who offers a simple compliment or a word of encouragement. Our words are highly influential, and their power is limitless.
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School was going well, and I made some basic changes in order to improve my grades. In High School I could still be a royal knob in the classroom, despite that cringe worthy fact I still somehow managed to get descent grades, minus first semester of Grade Twelve of course. Now, having made these basic changes: going to the majority of my classes, actively trying to listen and follow along instead of drawing gross dick pics on my buddy's notebook, my grades began to change. Oh, man he'd have the best, most outrageous reactions when he'd see me drawing those dick pics. Hhaahahahahaha. Hahahahahaha. Okay that's enough laughing for now. Does anyone actually laugh like that; I mean consistently? I just tried and it can be done; just seems weird. Mmmm Basic changes, yes. They were being made, however; I was still being ordered around by King Alcohol; just mildly at this point.
Okay, so... it was January of Grade Twelve and I went to a friend's house a few streets over from where I was living for a house party. My friends name was Gimli, well her name wasn't actually Gimli, just thought it would be funny to refer to someone as Gimli. I walk over to GIMLI's house and slowly walk in through her front door. Oh yeah, my friend Gooch (we met during the JV Hugh School Basketball Season) is with me as well. Gooch lived close by and he agreed to come, so that was cool. Okay, so Gooch and I enter the house. The house has a split entryway and we walk up to the kitchen that is interconnected to the living room. Gimli has plenty of drinks on her counter, but at first, I deny the offer to take one. I somehow had the tenacity to bring my own liquor, Colt 45. Euuuuuu delicious. Then I take the opportunity to scan the room and assess the crowd. Many of the girls are young, and I sort of know most of them. All of the dudes look like ex-cons who you wouldn't want to say "boo" to in the wrong pitch. Gooch and I awkwardly introduced ourselves. I then do a one hundred and eighty degree turn and b-line it for the alcohol. I take a big gulp, followed by another one. I look back over to the corner of the living room and my gaze is brought to an abrupt halt by the look of this big, angry looking Indigenous fellow whose face was covered in acne scars and resentment. My internal alarm went off and I'm told to stay away from him; or at least not to get him mad. Something is going on in the washroom or the bedroom down the hall, so I walk by this scary looking fellow and then notice that his girlfriend is sitting on his lap. His "lady-friend" and I make eye contact and we give one another "the look"; one, two, three steps I take until I feel two hands pushing at my back. The hands lead me into an empty bedroom; its dark. I turn around to face this mystery person. Oh, dear lord it's her! We kiss. The sense that I still have left tells me to leave, and I tell her "we can't do this!" and she says "I'm gonna make you wanna do it!". She pushes me on the bed, I immediately stand up and shuffle my way to the door like a robotic math nerd, while lightly pressing my body into the girl because she won't get out of my way. My mind speaks to me "no matter what happens Ben you know you're screwed right?". "I'm well aware I'm in a dilly of a pickle brain, thanks for relaying the obvious". Then I proceed to reach down her jeans and begin doing my thing. We make eye contact and it occurs to me that I need to leave right now. I open the door and a hippy, hairy looking dude shoves me up against the wall and says "what the hell are you doing man!". I don't say a word and make my way down the steps, grab my coat and open the door calmly. I erupt into a fury of flinging body limbs, doing my best to get as far away from Gimli's house as fast as possible. Suddenly a single voice pierces the silence "we're going to fucking get you!!". I glance over my shoulder and see five guys sprinting towards me, but I'm young, fit, and scared. I turn left onto the first street that dissects Gimli's. There is a hedge that runs along the street I had just turned off of, so as soon as I'm out of sight I circle back and curl my body around one of the limbs inside of it. The five men who were chasing me run up and down the side of the hedge looking for me, they swear and gasp for air. Just before they leave, the hippie looking dude says "good thing that little fucker can run".
They appeared to be gone, so I raced back to my house, entered in through the front door and buried myself underneath my sheets. "Are they coming to get me? Did Gimli give them my address? Where is Gooch?" I'm not sure how much time went by before I heard a knock at my window. I jump, and then fling the sheet off of my body to see who it is. I'm also worried for my Mom. Thank the holy angel Gabriel; it's Gooch. He crawled in through my window and stayed the night.
Later on, at School, Gimli told me that the guys who were chasing me asked for my address, but bless her heart she told them I was headed to Subway, otherwise circumstances could have been drastically worse that night. She also said that the First Nations dude with the acne scars had just recently gotten out of jail for assault and that he would often linger in the downtown area of Freddy. Needless to say, downtown was frightening for a while after that. I kept thinking I'd see him and have to make another terror-stricken run for my life. Fortunately, the only person I saw again from that night (I'm talking about the really old, gangster looking guys) was the hippie looking character. I actually got a good vibe from him; he was just backing up his friend. When we made eye contact, he just laughed and said "what's up bro" and I said "not much". That was the end of that whole debacle. There will be moments when I'll think back to that place in time when I was running for my life. How bad would the beating have been? Would they have had mercy once I told them my side of the story? Would they have believed me? What if I did interpretive dance, would that have solidified the truth of my side of the story? We'll never know, and I'm glad we never will.