58. Seth
Seth
It was gradual. First, it was the looks, the sneers, and the whispers when I walked past in the hallways. About my clothes, my black nail polish, my hair. I kept my light brown curls at shoulder-length back then. Lou said I looked like the American version of Jon Snow.
One time, someone followed me after class, bending their wrist like some stupid stereotype, and strutted down the hallway, swinging their hips. And when I turned around, they rushed back to their friends, laughing.
Then came the slurs. People starting calling me faggot, and queer even before I was out. I heard Trey Jackson calling me an ass bandit behind my back. I didn’t even know what that meant.
I was a late bloomer, and my voice didn’t drop until Sophomore year. That was apparently hilarious. And when it finally did drop, I didn’t get the low, manly voice like all the rest of my peers. No, I was left with a permanently hoarse voice that breaks whenever I raise it.
And that was even worse.
I came out some time shortly after that. I wasn’t planning on it, it just slipped out of my mouth, and everything got so much worse. Someone wrote GAY POWER on my locker with a permanent marker.
I got my first F on a test during that time, and River Ramon snatched it from me, and scribbled something before he crumbled it and threw it at me. I never showed my parents that. I refused to come home with a wrinkled paper that said FAGGOT in big, red letters.
Sometimes when Lou did her makeup, I borrowed her highlighter and some lip gloss. I wore it one night when Lou and I were going to the movies, matching it with a silver chain choker, a black satin jacket, and black, tight jeans. I felt so good about myself.
Until Trey and his minions showed up.
“Well, if it isn’t Nancy and her girlfriend,” Trey laughed. “Sup, Lou?” He’d nodded at her and then came up to me, pulling on my choker. His breath smelled of cigarettes when he’d said, “Wow, you girls look pretty tonight.”
And then he’d turned around, laughing. Lou told them to fuck off, like she often did. She always stood up for me, even when I tried to laugh it off. Like what they said didn’t matter to me, or that it was just a joke I was in on.
In Junior year I had my first kiss. Sebastian had just transferred to our school, and he sometimes hung out with me and Lou. One Friday night when we were playing games at Lou’s, she went to the bathroom, and he leaned over the table and kissed me.
The next Monday, I got my head shoved into a locker, and when I got my bearings and turned around, Trey, Simon and River stood there, glaring at me.
“You disgusting fucking faggot! If you ever touch my cousin again, I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit!” Trey snapped before he spat at my feet, slammed his palm at the locker beside my head and walked off.
Sebastian never talked to me again after that. But that didn’t stop Trey and Simon from shoving me, scribbling more slurs on my locker, and taunting me.
“Do guys hold on to your hair when they fuck you? Do they know you’re not really a girl?”
“Of course you’re a fag, your lips were made for sucking dick.”
“The fuck are you staring at, loser? I’ll break your fucking chicken legs."
“You think he takes it up the ass?”
“Of course, he does. Just look at him!”
They made fun of my drawings, and when my art teacher showed one of my paintings in class, complementing it, they said I’d only gotten the praise because I’d sucked his dick.
The summer before Senior year, Lou and I talked about prom. I told her I didn’t know if I wanted to go, but she said we had to.
“We’re going, end of story! We’re going to show up and show those fuckers that you are not to be messed with.”
She picked out a dark blue tux for me, and said it matched my eyes. We practiced dancing together, and the more we talked about it, the more I looked forward to it.
I wanted to go and show them that I didn’t care what they said about me, that they couldn’t hurt me, and that I wasn’t the loser they thought I was.
Even after everything, I still just wanted people to like me.
And prom started to feel like an end of an era.
Like, if I could survive until then, everything would work out. It’d be the end of high school.
And then Lou left.
Her dad came home from work one night when we were in their kitchen, helping her mom with dinner. And he told them he got a job offer in Austin.
“What about school? And prom? What about graduation, Dad? You can’t be serious?” Lou yelled at him.
“We’re leaving in a month. I already talked to a real estate agent. It’s settled.” And then he left the room.
So, a month later, Lou left, and I had my first panic attack. I didn’t leave my room for a week. I couldn’t eat. I barely slept. I talked to Lou on the phone all the time, begging her to come back.
I cut classes, missed exams and paper deadlines. I tanked my SATs. The guidance counselor tried to talk to me, help me out, but I had already given up. I just wanted out of school. Without Lou, I felt so fucking alone.
On graduation day, I showed up, accepted my diploma, and left.
That summer I did everything I could to change every single thing about myself. I threw almost all of my clothes away, and ordered new ones. Oversized tee’s and baggy jeans. Hoodies, sneakers, and snapbacks.
I cut my hair and bleached it. I spent the whole summer trying to transform my walking, talking, my mannerism. Anything I could think of.
And then I told my parents I wanted to move out of Santa Ana, get a fresh start somewhere else. I didn’t have to tell them twice. Mom found Andrew’s ad, and I moved in two months later.
A week after that, I walked into Bold Tattoo Studio for the first time, as an entirely new person.