1975, Miami
Every morning, Steven would come to the garages to smoke two or three cigarettes. You can find such places near any school. It's where people take their first drags, try alcohol, fall in love, and get into fights. At Everglades School, it was common to come here before classes to smoke, arrange who would answer questions in class, or copy unfinished homework. Steven would show up among the first ones, about forty minutes before the bell. He would squat down, leaning against the cold iron wall of the garage, and smoke one cigarette after another, staring at one spot.
"Can I copy the math from you?" once asked him Ariana, one of those girls considered elite in the upper classes of the school.
"Take it from my bag," Steven replied indifferently, still staring at a speck of dust hanging in the air.
"We had a great time yesterday evening. Why don't you join us?" Ariana asked, flipping through her notebook.
"Can I?" He was taken aback by the question, turning his whole body towards her.
"What do you mean? We're in the same class."
"No one invited me."
"You're just usually forgotten to be invited," shrugged Ariana. "We're going to the park after school today, will you join us?"
"Yes, sure..."
"You should wash your hair and ask someone out on a date, otherwise, you'll have no one to go to the graduation with," Ariana concluded friendly.
At the same time, Steven was literally overwhelmed by a feeling of shame mixed with burning hatred. For the first time, they noticed him and immediately pointed out his peculiarities. Other students came up behind the garages. A girl handed Steven a notebook and switched to chatting with others. She no longer paid attention to Steven.
Sadistic thoughts began to emerge in me at school. I saw classmates, and fantasies arose in my head where they were prisoners, and I tortured them. I imagined how I killed and tortured them. These thoughts brought me relief.
From Steven's testimony
After classes, Steven again headed behind the garages hoping to meet the guys. The whole day, the teenager went crazy with fear of this outing to the park, which he was seemingly invited to. Or not? It would be ridiculous if he asked to join them. When Steven imagined how everyone would first look puzzled at him, then burst into laughter, he was literally thrown into heat from horror, and sweat ran down his back.
Everyone had really gathered behind the garages. Someone from the classmates brought a guitar, others hid bottles of beer and cheap wine under their formal jackets. Steven remained unnoticed again, as if he merged with the crowd. No one laughed at him, but no one spoke either.
Traditionally, the group headed to Everglades Park and to a nearby American place. If the students wanted to drink, jump from a swing, or do something else that could "get them into trouble," they went to another semi-abandoned park near Everglades Park, which was a couple of blocks away from school. When the decision was made to "go into town," they usually headed to a river station in Miami. The massive walls of the station, trays with ice cream, and continuously departing river trams created an illusion of a decent and respectable walk. After wandering along the waterfront, the guys delved into the park to hang out for a long time.
There was a characteristic, slightly melancholic feeling in the air, which intensified after every mention that next year was graduation, and they might never see each other again. Nostalgia heightened when one of the guys took a guitar. The cheap, worn-out instrument, bought at a music store in Miami, miraculously turned The Doors or Beatles into American folk songs.
Closer to nine in the evening, two girls on horseback appeared nearby.
"Do you want to ride?" one of them shouted, seeing the group hiding in the bushes.
It turned out the girls were from a horse club at the racetrack. That day, they were allowed to take the horses for a ride around the city, and naturally, they immediately set off to find willing riders for 10 cents. Now, closer to evening, both felt like millionaires and successful business gurus.
None of the schoolchildren had any money, but the riders were not looking to earn money from them. They tied the horses to a tree and joined the group. Of course, that evening, everyone who wanted to rode on horseback.
I immediately liked the horses. They were obedient, stately, and noble animals. I always treated cats and dogs well too, but they didn't evoke the same response in me. I didn't mistreat animals, don't think that...
From Steven's testimony
Steven spent the whole evening sitting aside and observing what was happening. Sometimes he felt like talking to someone, but then he restrained himself. If someone approached him, he tried to limit his response to a single word, so he wouldn't later regret saying too much. The tied horses immediately caught his attention. They seemed noble and submissive. Getting up, Steven approached one of them and gently ran his hand over its back and hindquarters. One of the riders got alarmed: Steven didn't know that you shouldn't approach a horse from behind, and at that moment, he had every chance of being crippled for life. Unexpectedly, the horse gratefully neighed and lowered its head, allowing itself to be petted.
"You're making a good impression on her. Ever thought about getting into horses?" the girl said with relief.
"How? We're in Miami. Maybe start raising pigs?" someone from the classmates smirked.
"We actually live in Hallandale Beach," the second rider got offended.
"Ever wondered why it's called Hallandale Beach?" the same guy chuckled.
"Come to Gulfstream Park Racing and Casino on Thursday, you'll meet the horses, take a look around," the girl said to Steven and then immediately forgot about him, lost in another American ballad inspired by The Beatles.
Horses accepted Steven as their own, eventually becoming an integral part of his world. They willingly listened to him, were easy to control, and seamlessly fit into the realm of his fantasies. These creatures would never mock him or make fun of his appearance or scent. They simply couldn't do that—neighing aside, as it signaled something entirely different.
In the eyes of others, Steven was seen as a repulsive freak, someone to be ridiculed with disdain. From childhood, he was constantly reminded of his illnesses and weaknesses. He was constantly reminded of his enuresis and sunken chest, which required him to ensure that no one saw him without clothes. Even Steven himself struggled to face his reflection in the mirror. In psychiatry, any form of self-loathing, including anorexia or an obsession with plastic surgery, is called dysmorphophobia. Teenagers are occupied with building relationships with the world and exploring how their bodies change. For understandable reasons, dissatisfaction with one's appearance can intensify at this age, but over time, pimples fade away, and people learn to love themselves with all their strengths and weaknesses. Sometimes, however, negative feelings towards one's "self" grow into full-fledged hatred. Steven was familiar with this feeling. He witnessed the poorly suppressed animosity between his parents, observed how anger reached its peak in movies about World War II, which he watched with his father. Steven was lonely in this world, and his only companion became hatred, gradually turning against himself, evolving into aggression, into a desire to destroy himself, and into complete indifference to how he looked. Steven hated the person looking at him in the mirror: not the pimples or sunken chest—they could be masked—he hated himself entirely. Imagine becoming the owner of a creepy voodoo doll that not only doesn't please you—it frightens you. What would you do? Toss it far away into a drawer with unwanted things. It's unlikely you would start dusting it off, searching for ways to adorn it, and showcasing it left and right. You'd probably try to pretend it doesn't exist, or you'd hide it with disgusted revulsion. Steven felt similar emotions towards his appearance, which made the teenager keep quiet and unnoticed, so that no one would look his way one more time.