My Name Is Kyle

First thing in the morning that next day I go up to the office and hand them my “signed” sheet .
I have P.E. fifth period, right before lunch. That day I happen to be running late, so I hurry into the boys’ locker room.
Straight away, boys start hollering objections and covering themselves.
“There’s a girl in here!” a boy with braces yells.
Bo stands up on the bench, even though he’s dressed merely in his blue skivvies. “Hey! It’s all right; he’s a boy.”
One of the larger boys, a dick named Andrew Patterman gets up on the bench as well and faces Bo. “Are you on this dyke’s side?”
“Don’t call him a dyke,” Bo spits .
Andrew entraps Bo in a headlock, reaching and twisting one of Bo’s nipples. Bo squirms free and shoves Andrew away. Andrew nearly topples off of the bench, but luckily regains his footing.
“ Bo Harper, your ass is grass!” Andrew threatens. He shoves past Bo, almost knocking him off, and then storms past me. I mouth a “thank you” to Bo, who smiles in return.
The rest of the boys stand in shock, looking nervously from Bo, to me, and then to the door from which Andrew had departed.
“So? Show’s over, get dressed!” Bo barks. He jumps off of the bench and pulls on his shorts.
I go into a bathroom stall to change to avoid further trouble.
After P.E., I get out of the locker room with mild harassment .
At lunch, I tell all our friends about how Bo had stood up for me.
“Oh stop it, you,” Bo insists, flapping his hand effeminately.
“Thank you so much,” I tell him. “Sorry that Andrew Patterman is going to beat you up.”
Lee brushes a clump of Bo’s ebony hair out of his face, kissing him on the spot it had once resided. “I don’t want anyone hurting my baby.”
“Well it’s going to happen,” Bo responds. He slumps his head down on the table, groaning, “And it’s gonna suck!”
Lee hugs him and replies, “I can file a complaint-”
“No!” Bo interrupts. “That’ll just make it worse.”
A boy named Cody McGuire struts over. He grips the back of Thurston’s neck and slams his face to the table, giving him a pressure point. Thurston yelps out in pain and writhes in his seat in an attempt to get out from under Cody’s hold.
“What the Hell are you doing?!” I demand. I shove Cody away, shouting, “Leave my boyfriend alone!”
Cody just guffaws, wheezing, “You two fags are dating?! Oh my God, I’ve got to Tweet this.”
“Why don’t you tweet this?” Thurston challenges, giving Cody the bird.
Cody grips Thurston by the vest and pulls him close, warning, “You better watch yourself, freak.”
He backs away, clapping and mocking, “You know what? Two freaks do go together well. I hope you guys go far.”
“Oh my God, what an asshole,” Thurston mumbles.
“Are you okay?” I worry. I rub his neck, which is red from being handled so harshly.
Thurston bats my hand away, answering, “I’m fine. Thanks for sticking up for me, by the way.”
I grin into his cheek as I kiss him, replying, “It’s what boyfriends do, sweetie.”
“Kyle? Walk home with me; I’m afraid I’ll get jumped,” Thurston asks.
“No problem. We can watch anime at your house,” I suggest .
“Sounds great,” Thurston agrees.
After the final bell rings, I go to Thurston’s locker to walk with him to his house; but he isn’t there. Confused, I call him on his cellphone. Someone picks up, but as soon as the voice comes out I realize it’s not Thurston.
“Your boyfriend’s in the boys’ room on the first floor!” a boy’s deep voice chortles before hanging up .
Shoving my cell into my pocket as I run, I go down to the first floor as fast as I can. I skid to a stop in front of the restroom, banging the door open so hard that it slams loudly against the wall. I’m too late. Thurston is cowered under a sink, his lip bloodied and his vest torn. He’s muttering to himself under the sink, and his beautiful blue eyes are full of terror and restlessness.
I rush over to him, kneeling to be on his level. I pour some water into the cup of my palm and splash it onto Thurston’s face, asking, “Are you okay?”
Thurston nods, but his eyes remain the same. That crazed, horrified look seems to be permanent.
“It’s okay, baby they’re gone,” I comfort. “See?”
Thurston leans forward to peer out from under his shelter, and then nods.
“Thurston, who did this?” I ask.
“It was C-Cody McGuire and his friends,” Thurston replies. “They’re gone?”
“Yeah, they’re gone,” I assure. I pull Thurston out from under the sink and up to his feet. “You seem really distraught, Thurston. Do you want some of my anti-anxieties? They’re in my bag.”
Thurston shakes his head. “No, I’m alright. I don’t think your prescription would help.”
I walk him home. Mya is sitting in the living room, and she asks, “God Thurston, what happened to you?”
“What do you think happened?” Thurston snaps. “Your buddy Cody and his pals kicked my ass.”
Mya starts laughing . “Oh God, that’s rich.”
Thurston flips her off, and she barks, “Fuck you, freak!”
I walk with Thurston up to his room. He curls up on his bed, and allows me to take off his vest and inspect the tears.
“There’s some pretty bad snags in this,” I observe. “You might as well pitch it.”
“Okay,” Thurston murmurs.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “Tomorrow, just wait at your locker. Don’t go to the bathroom without someone, okay?”
Thurston nods, and mutters, “Kyle. I’m scared.”
I slide my hand up the back of his shirt and rub his bare back, coaxing, “I know, baby. It’s okay; we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“No, it’s not that,” Thurston answers.
“Well then what is it?”
Thurston rolls up his sleeve, to reveal rows of red, fresh cuts on his wrist and the underside of his forearm. I immediately know there’s at least twenty. “I’m getting bad again."
I hug him, kissing his cuts. I begin to cry, and I sob, “Oh, my poor baby.”
Thurston begins to weep too, and chokes out, “I don’t want to be a freak forever.”
“Oh, you’re not a freak,” I promise. “Do you know what a smart person told me about people who cut themselves?”
“What?” Thurston snivels.
“That… that they’re angels,” I reply. “Too sensitive to their own pain and that of others. That they cut because they’re trying to get back to heaven.” I kiss him on the forehead, whispering, “I’m so glad that this angel’s journey back was delayed so I could meet him.”
Thurston squeezes me tighter, and cries harder. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I’m so sorry I ever tried to-”
I take his mangled arm, rubbing the cuts with my thumb lightly. “Don’t apologize for being empathetic. I know you’re just… you’re too sensitive for your own good sometimes, Thurston.”
Thurston sniffles and questions, “C-could you go home? Sorry, but I just really have to be alone right now.
I go, even though I don’t want to leave him. I’m definitely not okay with the idea of Thurston being left alone when he’s in such a poor state that he’s self-harming.
I’m relieved to see him in English 1 the next day, happy as a clam.
We’re discussing Romeo and Juliet, when Mr. Andrews asks,
“Would you take the same route as Juliet, if you found that your lover was dead?”
The room fills with a chorus of “Hell no’s!” and “No ways!”
Thurston raises his hand, and Mr. Andrews allows, “Thurston.”
“I um… I think that I would. Some people, they care about others more than themselves. They put everyone else in front of their own needs and desires to show their love. They hold onto their lives and continue them just because this one person exists to get them through the day. When that person’s gone…” Thurston glances over at me before flicking his cornflower blues back to the teacher. “They’d do anything to be with them again, even if it means killing themselves and leaving behind those who have dedicated their lives to them.”
Mr. Andrews is quiet for a long time, biting his finger, his fist pressed to his mouth in thought. He removes his hand and finally replies, “Interesting insight. Class, any rebuttals?”
Cody McGuire raises his hand. “I think that anyone who can’t respect themselves enough to live is pretty pathetic.”
Thurston stiffens in his chair, and then turns to Cody. “Oh, yeah? Well I think that your opinion sucks and that you’re a heartless person that needs to take a class on basic human compassion.”
“Thurston! Let’s keep our manners now, shall we?” Mr. Andrews suggests.
Thurston glares at Cody some more before turning in his seat to face Mr. Andrews. “I think that Cody shouldn’t pick on people who have it hard enough as it is. If someone’s miserable enough to take their own life, they don’t need people like him on top of that.”
Mr. Andrews seems to contemplate this, and then writes something down, ordering, “Thurston, see me after class.”
“Looking forward to it,” Thurston responds.
The class ends in a longer amount of time than what I would want it to. The curiosity of what Mr. Andrews is going to say to Thurston is eating me, so I hang outside the opened door after class is over .
I pick up all of the conversation clearly.
“Thurston? Are you okay?” Mr. Andrews asks.
“What do you mean?” Thurston questions ambivalently.
“You’re… you seem to be acting strange. That whole monologue about Juliet’s suicide, and…. And how angry you became when challenged on the topic, I just want to make sure that things are okay,” Mr. Andrews replies.
“I’m fine,” Thurston lies. I can tell just by his tone that he’s forcing a smile as he adds, “I’m Thurston, the school’s loveable fag. I’m not allowed to be unhappy, remember?”
Mr. Andrews sighs, and says, “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”
“If you think that was a weird thing for me to say, then you obviously don’t know me very well,” Thurston retorts.
Mr. Andrews scribbles something down, and tells, “I want you to give me a call if you need anything. You seem sad, Thurston. Very sad, the kind of sad where you’d make a pernicious mistake when a lot of people love you.”
“People don’t love me,” Thurston responds, his voice a little shaky. “They acknowledge me, but… but they don’t care. Or they hate me. Pick my poison, right?”
“Thurston… are things okay? How’s home? Are you eating right? Any…” Mr. Andrews swallows. “Any incidents since your attempt in sixth-”
“No!” Thurston interrupts. He forces a laugh, insisting, “Mr. Andrews I’m fine. Trust me.”
“I trust you, Thurston,” Mr. Andrews replies.
I notice the time, and realize that if I don’t haul ass right now, I’ll be late for class. I muffle a frustrated groan into my hands as I start down the hall .
At lunch, as soon as I take my normal spot at the table I realize that a seat is empty. I take a quick mental account of everybody who’s there, and then turn to Lee, asking, “Where’s Bo?”
Lee shrugs. “I dunno. Usually I meet up with him at his locker, but today he wasn’t there.”
Just then, Bo walks in. His black hair is soaking wet and dripping down his neck, and the collar to his vest and shirt is drenched as well. His hair is a soggy mess, twisted and tilted. He plops down next to Lee, grumbling angrily to himself.
“What’s wrong, Bo?” Lee asks. She takes one of Bo’s hands in hers and strokes the back of it.
“Fucking Andrew Patterman,” Bo scowls.
“What’d he do?” Thurston asks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Bo growls. “He and his little punk ass friends, they came to my locker and carried me into the boys’ room and… and they gave me a swirly.”
Lee backs off of Bo, telling, “I’ll touch you when you take a shower.”
I step over to Bo, brushing a tangle of damp locks from his eyes. “Bo, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay; it’s not your fault,” Bo responds. “Just…. Make sure you walk home with Thurston, because he told me that he’s jumping Thurston after school.”
“What? Why does he have a problem with Thurston? Is it just because of their little argument in English?” I ask.
Bo shrugs. “Honestly, which asshole in this school doesn’t have a problem with Thurston?”
When I walk home with Thurston, I hold his hand. He’s so nervous that they’re trembling. He reaches to his pocket to pull out a cigarette, but his hands just fumble around loosely. “Kyle? Can you get a cigarette for me, please?”
I nod as I reach into the front pocket of his pants, pulling out his trusty pack of cigarettes and his purple lighter. I slam one out by hitting the box against my hand like I’ve seen Thurston do, and place one between his lips. He bites down on it and watches as I try to get the lighter to work. It takes me three tries of pitiful, useless embers before I get a nice flame. I hold it to the end of the cigarette, lighting it. I shake the lighter to put out the flame and put both of the items back into Thurston’s pocket.
Some boys suddenly begin walking behind us, so I walk faster, pulling Thurston along with me. The boys speed up as well, and when I peek back, I realize that it’s Cody McGuire and his friends.
“Thurston, run!” I whisper. I let go of him in case I hold him back, and we both take off sprinting.
Cody and his piece of shit buddies begin to bolt as well, following us. We turn sharply on a corner in the opposite direction of Thurston’s house, but we don’t lose them. We dart through someone’s yard, nearly trampling their camellias, but Cody and them just tear through the flowers after us.
They begin to advance on us, getting closer. One of them grabs one of the adjustment ropes to Thurston’s backpack and yanks it back, throwing Thurston backwards onto his back.
I stop and turn, to see the boys gathering around Thurston. I run up to get him out of there, but am bodychecked to the side. When I’m lying on the ground, prone, one of the boys comes over and pins me, pulling me into an arm bar so I can’t move.
“Thurston!” I cry out. I squirm and scream for all I’m worth, but the boy merely strengthens his hold.
I hear the other boys mocking him, making fun of my baby.
“Oh I’m Thurston, and I’m a little faggot hoodrat that’s so totally cool that I run with a cigarette in my mouth!” a boy mimics.
“Fuck with me, you little queer?” Cody asks. I hear Thurston scream, loud and distressed. What’s he doing?! “Fuck with the boss, you get burnt!”
Oh my God. They’re pressing the cigarette against his skin! Thurston’s yells cease, and I hear a boy remark,
“Oh, the little homo’s gonna cry now. Cry for us, you little bitch!” he delivers some sort of blow to Thurston’s body, as Thurston grunts in pain.
I see Thurston’s vest and dress shirt go flying . One of them shouts,
“Look at this skinny fuck! He looks like a crack head Holocaust victim!”
“You got the crack head part right!” one of them laughs.
I hear Thurston scream again, so I deduce that they must be burning him again. I just want them to stop. They can all pick on me, but you fucking leave Thurston alone. I deserve it; but Thurston’s just this sweet bitty guy who would never hurt a soul.
“Oh shit, a parent’s coming out!” one warns. They all scatter, including the one holding me. I hurry over to Thurston, gathering his clothes as I do so, and help him to his feet as quickly as I can.
“Come on, let’s go before trouble,” I say, dragging Thurston along to my house, which is closer than his from where we are right now.
As we walk there, he begins to put on his white collared shirt. I stop him when he begins to button it, telling,
“I’ll have to look at that burn when we get there, so you may as well leave it unbuttoned.”
“It’s turning all white,” Thurston informs. “It stings like Hell!”
I pull my water bottle out of my bag. It still has some ice in it, even though I filled it with only ice around seventh period . I flap open his shirt and hold it to the burn, located below his left breast, asking, “Better?”
Thurston presses his neck to it as well, where another burn resides below his jawline. “Better.”
When we get to my house, I regrettably ask my mom to help me tend to his burns. My mom took a class on how to treat all kinds of injuries, and our bathroom is always stocked with gauze, medical tape, burn cream, Peroxide and the sorts.
“These… these look like cigarette burns,” my mom realizes. She puts gauze and tape over the spot on his neck, and then places her hands on her hips, demanding, “Do you want to tell me the real story, Kyle?”
I sigh, and answer, “Some kids from our school burnt him with one.”
My mom looks horrified. She dabs a bit of burn cream onto the sore on Thurston’s chest, and presses gauze to it, instructing,
“Hold this there, honey.”
She stomps out of the bathroom, mumbling something about kids these days and how they just have gotten nastier and nastier.
I follow her, asking, “Mom where are you going?”
She picks up her phone, and I question, “Mom who are you calling?”
“The school,” my mom fumes. “This is ridiculous. Kids will call each other names and what have you, but for one to actually burn another with a lit cigarette? It’s ridiculous, and I’m not going to overlook it like some shitty parents would!”
“Mom! You’ll just make things worse for him, please don’t call!” I beg.
“Sorry, Kyle, but they can’t get away with this,” she replies. “Yes hello? This is Ms. Hyde, Kyle Hyde’s mother. Thurston Rapp, one of your students, was burnt by a lit cigarette by your pupils. Names?” she holds the phone away from her mouth asking, “Kyle? Who did it to him?”
“Cody McGuire, Thomas Cutler, Richard Bentren, and Max Wheeler,” I mumble .
“Cody McGuire, Thomas Cutler, Richard Bentren, and Max Peeler-”
“Wheeler!” I correct.
“Excuse me, Wheeler. This happened….” She looks at me, and I mouth after school in the streets. “After school and in the streets. Yes, it was off of school grounds, why does that matter? What?! Not your division!? They’re your students, punish them!”
She’s quiet for a while, and then hangs her head, defeated. “Yes. Alright. Thank you for your time.” She hangs up.
“So?” I ask.
“Apparently, it’s not their job to take care of it since it was off school grounds,” my mom informs. “Ugh, that makes me mad!”
“It’s okay,” I assure. “I’m pretty sure that even if they had tried to take care of it, it’d just make things worse for Thurston. Those kids picking on him are relentless.”
“Honey, why don’t you let me pick you two up from school?” my mom offers. “That way, this won’t happen again.”
“Sounds great!” I beam.
“Now don’t get too excited. There’s one hindrance,” my mother tells.
I feel like a balloon that’s just been deflated. “Oh, what is it?”
“The car’s in the shop. Won’t be back till sometime next week,” my mom replies. She gives me this worried mom look she has , and pleads, “Sweet heart, please be careful until then.”
I nod, and respond, “I’m always careful.” I go up to the bathroom where Thurston is sitting on the sink, still pressing the gauze to his chest.
“What happened?” he asks.
I remove his hand and hold the gauze there myself. With my free hand, I grab the medical tape and pull out a strip, biting off the section with my teeth. I place it over the gauze, answering, “Oh, my mom called the school. Don’t worry; they aren’t going to do anything about it.”
“Alright, good,” Thurston responds.
“Also,” I continue. “Starting next week, my mom will be driving us home from school. That should help while things cool down a bit.”
“Any idea why it’s been flaring up lately?” Thurston questions.
“Probably because Cody McGuire has spread that we’re dating all over the school,” I reply.
“Do you….” Thurston groans. He peers up at me through strings of hair, saying, “Kyle, I hate to say this but…. Do you think that we should break up for a while? Just until things calm down?”
I kiss the two spots Thurston was burned, answering, “Never.”