Nothing in This World Can Be Endured Forever

The first day of school was never enjoyable. Teachers got Bill’s name wrong, always insisting on calling him Wilhelm even when the roster clearly spelled B-I-L-L, the bullies at his bus stop and in class always gave him an extra hard time as it was the first day and they could easily get away with it and Bill’s reputation was further cemented as the school freak. In short, Bill never liked first days, and the rest of the days were just falling short of being added to Bill’s ‘Day’s That Suck’ list.

Jörg had given Bill a turtle neck shirt to wear, to hide the bruises on his neck and wrists. The shirt was a size or two too large and he had to keep rolling up the sleeves to be able to free his hands to cook breakfast, but Bill was glad. Although he knew it was just to cover Jörg’s ass in the end, Bill wanted to think that Jörg cared about him enough to save his ass, too.

After Jörg’s lecture to be good and if he got into any trouble at all he promised to send Bill there, Bill rushed from the house in a tattered pair of shoes that had holes where Bill’s toes could poke through and the balls of his feet hit the pavement with each step. The bus stop was just down the road from the house. The morning air was crisp, on the brink of full on autumn, but still promising the warmth of the day.

Bill came to the bus shelter just as the bus came to a rolling halt. The kids filed out, pushing one another jokingly as they boarded. Bill slowly clambered aboard after, scanning the first rows in hope that there was an empty one. Glares were sent his way as he moved down the bus, looking for a spot where he’d possibly be safe from the boys in the back.

All last year, Bill was forced to sit in the back, where the rowdy loud kids sat. The teased him endlessly about anything and everything. Usually he was forced to share a seat with one of them. That was worse than when he had his own seat. For the full fifteen minute ride, he was punched, spit on, called names he sometimes didn’t know the meaning of, and got his hair pulled.

Bill kept his head down, trying to not make any eye contact with anybody. Halfway down the bus, Bill was tripped. He stumbled, crashing into a seat only to be pushed out onto the isle again. Looking up through his hair, Bill’s heart clenched. The girl whose seat he’d landed in was looking at him in utter disgust. Bill quickly looked away and pushed himself up.

The only open seats were in the back. Bill plopped down into the first open seat, pressing himself against the window. His knees were drawn up to his chest, both because of the wheel well and his wish to be invisible. His arms wrapped around himself, rocking with the movement of the bus. He closed his eyes and prayed that the boys behind him would just leave him alone.

“Hey!” a kid behind him exclaimed. “The Jew has new clothes!”

Bill tried to ignore them as they teased him for the baggy turtle neck. He pulled his sleeves down over his hands to be sure his wrists were covered and tried to make himself into a tighter ball.

They kicked the back of the seat and spit on him. A boy roughly sat next to him and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head back. Anxiety flooded Bill. If they see the bruises…

The boy chanted names and declared how much hate they all had for him thisclose to his face, as if his bad breath would drive Bill away. Bill took the ridicule, remembering what Jörg had told him that morning. The names and threats hurt, they always did. They hurt just as bad as Jörg throwing him down the stairs, just as bad as his ankle had when he’d gotten the injury.

When the bus arrived at the school, Bill stayed in his seat. He wasn’t allowed to get up until everybody else had left the bus, the boys had told him. Bill wasn’t about to disobey; he knew what they would do if he did.

“Jew’s are last,” one of the boys spat, hitting him over the head as if he was a disobedient dog before laughing and walking away.

Bill hung his head, his head throbbing dully. He got up and stood shakily when he was sure there was enough distance between him and those boys. His first day hadn’t even officially begun and the wish that school could be his escape from home was crushed. Bill didn’t really expect it to be anything like his daydreams, but he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointment.

Bill had memorized his room number, fearing that someone would take the paper the school sent him and he would then get into trouble for being late and Jörg would be called. Bill walked through the halls, his shoulders hunched up, feeling very claustrophobic and ostracized as friends chatted and walked together. He tried to stay out of everybody’s way as he looked for room 39.

He couldn’t find it and was starting to panic when the halls became less crowded. The first bell rang and Bill found himself in an empty hall near room 58. He didn’t know where he was, or where he should go to get to room 39.

“Where’re you supposed to be?” a gruff voice came from behind Bill.

Whirling around, Bill’s eyes widened and his mind raced. His heart thumped in his chest and his breathing ceased. Oh no, he’s going to write me up and call him.

“Calm down, son.” The man wasn’t as tall as Jörg, but he was close. He had an aged face and eyes so dark Bill thought they were black. He looked as if he hadn’t shaven in a few days and had salt and pepper whiskers that matched his hair. His suit didn’t match; the pants where a khaki and his jacket a dark blue. The blazer was open to show a pale green dress shirt that was loosely tucked in. The top buttons were undone to show a gold chain.

“What’s you’re room number?” he asked, his voice loosing its initial serious tone.

Bill stared up at the man as he approached. His mind wasn’t anywhere near his room number as his swallowed stiffly. All he could think about was how much trouble he was going to be in.

The man waited for Bill to answer. When he didn’t, he sighed. “It’s alright, son, you don’t have to be afraid. I know it’s the first day and you think you’re going to be in trouble, but your not. I just need to know your room number to help you find the way.”

Bill wasn’t sure how he was able to stumble out the number, but he did and he was glad that the man wasn’t going to get him into trouble.

“Okay, you’re way off. You need to be a few hallways over. Come on, I’ll lead you,” he began walking down the hall and Bill followed him. “I’m Mr. Müller, one of the schools councilors.”

Mr. Müller’s tone had changed entirely. Bill found him friendly, but wasn’t sure he trusted him. Jörg had, on occasion, acted so nice to him, but then was twice as angry with him later. Mr. Müller looked over at him and smiled. Bill tried to return it.

“What’s your name?”

“Bill,” he whispered.

“Any last name…?” Mr. Müller laughed.

“Kaulitz.”

“Ah, Bill Kaulitz, I knew I’d get it out of you.” Bill looked up at him, seeing a warm smile on his face.

Silence lapsed over them. They walked down two more hallways, made a left and classroom number 39 was staring right at him.

“Here we are,” he announced, as if Bill couldn’t tell himself. “Tomorrow, you’ll want to come in and take a right then left, okay?”

Bill nodded. Mr. Müller opened the classroom door and cleared his throat. “Sorry, I kidnapped Bill for a moment. He shouldn’t be marked late.”

Mr. Müller stood aside so that Bill could enter. He did with his head down and stood awkwardly in the doorway. Bill wanted to turn and thank Mr. Müller for not telling that he was lost.

“That’s alright, Niklas,” the teacher shrugged, his voice deep. “Bill, you can sit back by Joey.” He gestured to an empty seat in the back of the room, right next to the kid who had pulled his hair on the bus.

The teacher introduced himself as Mr. Jung, something the other kids made fun of him for. Mr. Jung was probably one of the oldest teachers in the school, and with a name like Jung, it was hilarious to students. Laughter broke out when he turned to write his name on the board, as if they didn’t know how to spell such a simple word. Bill didn’t laugh with the other kids. He remembered last year when he actually understood the joke and he laughed too loudly. Mr. Jung had asked what was so funny and Bill had hung his head in shame as the other kids glared at him.

Mr. Jung explained the new class system and the changes over the summer. “We’ve gained more students,” he explained. “There was a fire in the Zielitz school, so a lot of the kids were sent here. Most of them were in your grade and so we had to add a fourth class.”

Bill looked around the room and noticed a few unfamiliar faces. Some of them fidgeted in their seat.

As Mr. Jung told the class about what they would be learning throughout the year, Bill’s mind wandered. He starred at his desk, trying not to notice Joey’s whispered insults.

“Jew… Hey, where’re your friends, huh?” Joey teased.

Bill picked at his nails.

“What, you don’t have any?” Joey taunted, turning to the kid next to him with a smirk.

It went on like that for the rest of the class hour. Bill felt his insides turning unpleasantly, but he kept on picking at his nails. He wasn’t supposed to show them that what they said affected him, which only made them angry. The year before, they had been teasing him so he told them to stop and they had shoved him into a locker and left him there for the rest of the day until the janitor came by and heard him banging against the door. When he’d gotten home, Jörg was beyond angry with him.

At the end of the hour, Mr. Jung told them they could get to know one another and catch up. Bill glared at his back when he turned to the board to erase his name.

Joey instantly turned to him. “Did you have a good summer, Jew?” A nudge from the boy’s elbow was delivered to his ribs. Bill winced as it made contact with the bruise Jörg had given him just a few days prior. The pre-teen closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. His body stiffened and he expected more to come.

Joey took notice with a furrowing of his eyebrows, but continued anyway. “Did you go to the Alps? Is that why you’re in a turtle neck?” the boy sarcastically spat.

Bill shook his head.

“How could he have, Joe?” the kid next to Joey piped up. “Jew’s can’t go on vacation, right?”

“Yeah,” Joey agreed. “So why the shirt, Jew? Are you trying to hide underneath it or something?”

They kept on while Bill sank deeper within himself to ignore them. He went to the place in his mind that was safe, where no bully’s existed and he could be happy for a little while.

It worked until he was hit upside the head and his book was snatched away. “Hey!” Bill exclaimed. “Give it back.” He reached for the book that was held high over Joey’s head, who was much taller than Bill.

The other boys surrounded him and taunted him, each grabbing the book and holding it just out of Bill’s reach. Bill tried to grab it from each of them. He needed that book more than they could possibly know. He needed it to be able to pass the class and to distract himself on nights when it was unbearable.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, just give me the book.”

“Why should we?” Joey asked, now holding the book behind his back.

“I need it,” Bill supplied.

Joey thought about it for a minute. He then held the book out. Just as Bill grabbed it, Joey began raising it over his head. Bill’s baggy sleeve fell down to his elbow, exposing his heavily bruised and scared skin right in front of Joey’s face.

The blonde froze, fear flashing over his face. He looked at Joey, who was staring in shock at the blonde’s arm. Bill was sure Joey was able to see the fresh bruises in the shape of Jörg’s fingers and the scabs from his nails. Their eyes met and Bill stopped breathing. His throat constricted, his lower lip trembled, and his eyes watered in fear.

Just then the bell rang. Joey let go of the book and watched as Bill immediately pushed down his sleeve, hiding his arm and hand. Bill clenched the book to his chest and anticipated what was surely to come.

But there was nothing. Joey turned and beckoned his friends with him.

Bill sat back in his seat and waited for the next teacher, fretting over if one of them who had seen would talk or if Jörg would know when he got home.