Troubles
School Hall
“Frank!” someone yells as I walk down the hall. I turn my head and see Gerard behind a table. I smile as he waves me over, but when I see the poster behind him my stomach drops and my smile slowly fades.
“Hi, Frankie,” he says when I’m in front of him. My stomach feels like a rock.
“Wanna help me out? I’m collecting money for the poor in New Jersey. Did you know that there are more than 2000 homeless people in NJ, but there are only 6 homeless shelters and about 8 soup kitchens? It’s nowhere near enough to house and feed them all, so I’m collecting money to help them.”
I force a weak smile onto my lips while I rack my brain for a way to get out of this.
I can’t tell him. I refuse to tell him. He doesn’t need to know what I don’t need to tell. I get by. I may have slept on a bench outside school last night, but I don’t need everyone to know about it. I can get by on my own.
“I forgot my wallet at home,” I force out. I hate turning him down. I hate saying no to all the good things he always does. He’s such a good person.
“I don’t even have money for lunch.” For the first time this week, I don’t lie. I tell him the truth. For the first time this week, I feel a bit of the weight on my shoulders being lifted.
But only briefly.
“Oh, well then you can just owe me,” he says quickly, pulling out his own wallet.
Find an excuse!
“How much do you wanna give?” he asks, sticking two fingers in his wallet.
“Nothing,” I say under my breath, my fear quickly turning into anger. How dare he just take my money without even waiting for an answer? How dare he be so goddamn cocky?
“What?” he asks outraged. Oh fuck no; I’m the one to be outraged!
“No,” I say firmly, not one tremor or uncertainty in my voice.
“I won’t give any more money to any of your causes.” Every week, he changes cause! Heck, every other day! He never sticks to one thing, so how the fuck am I supposed to know if my 2 or 5 or 3 bucks a week makes any difference?!
“So you’re just gonna turn your back on people in need?”
“Yes!” I yell quickly.
“You change cause every day! How the fuck am I supposed to keep up with all your hoarding!”
His face falls. In a split second, he goes from frowning and being angry at me, to looking at me as if I’ve let him down. In a split second, my anger is replaced by guilt, weighing me down even more than my lies.
His face is quick to show anger and resentment.
“So you’re saying that what I do is for nothing?”
No! That’s not what I meant!
“That everybody’s donations do nothing?”
No! I didn’t mean it like that!
“Or are you saying that I’m stealing? That I take the money and use them myself?”
“No! I-“
“At least I’m doing something!” He sounds sad. He can’t sound sad! He’s always so happy.
“Instead of sitting on my ass,” he says accusingly.
“I don’t sit on my ass! I try to sur-“ This time, I stop myself. I give him one last look that hopefully says nothing.
I don’t want him to know.
His eyes flare with hatred. I tear my eyes away from his and turn around, walking away quickly. Once I’m around the nearest corner, I almost break into a run.
I scramble into the first bathroom I find and rush into a stall. I drop my backpack on the floor, sit in a dirty, disgusting corner and gasp for breath as I try to calm myself down.
He can’t know. He shouldn’t have to carry that burden. I shouldn’t have hurt him like that. Why did I hurt him? Why did I do that!
“Hi, Frankie,” he says when I’m in front of him. My stomach feels like a rock.
“Wanna help me out? I’m collecting money for the poor in New Jersey. Did you know that there are more than 2000 homeless people in NJ, but there are only 6 homeless shelters and about 8 soup kitchens? It’s nowhere near enough to house and feed them all, so I’m collecting money to help them.”
I force a weak smile onto my lips while I rack my brain for a way to get out of this.
I can’t tell him. I refuse to tell him. He doesn’t need to know what I don’t need to tell. I get by. I may have slept on a bench outside school last night, but I don’t need everyone to know about it. I can get by on my own.
“I forgot my wallet at home,” I force out. I hate turning him down. I hate saying no to all the good things he always does. He’s such a good person.
“I don’t even have money for lunch.” For the first time this week, I don’t lie. I tell him the truth. For the first time this week, I feel a bit of the weight on my shoulders being lifted.
But only briefly.
“Oh, well then you can just owe me,” he says quickly, pulling out his own wallet.
Find an excuse!
“How much do you wanna give?” he asks, sticking two fingers in his wallet.
“Nothing,” I say under my breath, my fear quickly turning into anger. How dare he just take my money without even waiting for an answer? How dare he be so goddamn cocky?
“What?” he asks outraged. Oh fuck no; I’m the one to be outraged!
“No,” I say firmly, not one tremor or uncertainty in my voice.
“I won’t give any more money to any of your causes.” Every week, he changes cause! Heck, every other day! He never sticks to one thing, so how the fuck am I supposed to know if my 2 or 5 or 3 bucks a week makes any difference?!
“So you’re just gonna turn your back on people in need?”
“Yes!” I yell quickly.
“You change cause every day! How the fuck am I supposed to keep up with all your hoarding!”
His face falls. In a split second, he goes from frowning and being angry at me, to looking at me as if I’ve let him down. In a split second, my anger is replaced by guilt, weighing me down even more than my lies.
His face is quick to show anger and resentment.
“So you’re saying that what I do is for nothing?”
No! That’s not what I meant!
“That everybody’s donations do nothing?”
No! I didn’t mean it like that!
“Or are you saying that I’m stealing? That I take the money and use them myself?”
“No! I-“
“At least I’m doing something!” He sounds sad. He can’t sound sad! He’s always so happy.
“Instead of sitting on my ass,” he says accusingly.
“I don’t sit on my ass! I try to sur-“ This time, I stop myself. I give him one last look that hopefully says nothing.
I don’t want him to know.
His eyes flare with hatred. I tear my eyes away from his and turn around, walking away quickly. Once I’m around the nearest corner, I almost break into a run.
I scramble into the first bathroom I find and rush into a stall. I drop my backpack on the floor, sit in a dirty, disgusting corner and gasp for breath as I try to calm myself down.
He can’t know. He shouldn’t have to carry that burden. I shouldn’t have hurt him like that. Why did I hurt him? Why did I do that!
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