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Joey Was A Human Bullhorn
On friendship and the profound disgustingness of middle-school lunch spaghetti
I am twelve years old. I am in seventh grade — the first year of middle school. It is 1986.
How can I explain the last century? I guess it’s not that much different than today. It was easier to be invisible. That’s a big difference. There weren’t as many cameras. Being lonely wasn’t the same, either. There were people desperate to be seen and heard — who screamed and raged — but were never heard or seen. There was one screen, and we worshipped it. The evening news was nothing but terrorism, plague, and nuclear war. People were scared. The rich enjoyed themselves a little too much, and the same with the bible thumpers. Things don’t change as much as we think they do.
The 80s were colorful, though. Neon pinks, bright yellows. Turquoise was popular. My Trapper Keeper — a stylish three-hole binder with a velcro latch — was an intense blue. It was my prized possession.
I am twelve years old, and middle school is chaotic, and loud, a pinball machine with too many pinballs. The 8th graders are otherworldly, and I’m afraid I’ll forget my locker combination, so I write it on a scrap of paper. I still do this for my various passwords—computers, phones, and Wi-Fi. I write them down on scraps of paper. This is not an optimal solution.
The only time this method failed me was when that paper suddenly went missing in seventh grade. I looked everywhere for it. My pockets. My Trapper Keeper. Did I drop it? I remember the panic, my fingers turning the lock’s dial back and forth until I finally dragged the digits from the depths of my memory. It was too late.
The contents of my locker had been sprayed with mustard and ketchup, and relish from cafeteria condiment packets. It was a mess, with glop everywhere; my books and homework, and jacket were sticky and sweet, and on the inside of the locker door, the word “fag” had been scrawled in black magic marker. In all caps.
The vandal had to have seen me drop my locker combination. They must have known me and what locker was mine. I wiped off the word as best I could — smeared it — and cleaned off my…
