Just Wait » Boyf Riends

Somebody Once Told Me The World Was Gonna Kill Me

just a warning that all chapter titles are going to be as meme-y as i can make them, i am not responsible for any second hand embarrassment caused
michael's pov
  When I walked into the school, everything was decorated with blue ribbons and streamers, and lots of chatter around me concerning "Father's Day" which really confused my 10-year-old mind at the time.

  I thought this would be a one-off thing. Things would be blue, people would yap about it for a minute, and then it'd vanish from the face of the earth.

  However, when I got into class, there was even more talk of it. The teacher announced that for Father's day, I had to write a note to "my dad" thanking him or something along those lines. I didn't really get the memo.

  This, however, didn't make much sense to me. I just decided to wait it out as she demonstrated, and maybe then I'd get it.

  However, as the teacher explained, I got even more confused. You know when you snoop around in your parents' stuff and you find an email from their taxpayers and it sounds like they're just completely beating the shit out of the thesaurus to sound smart, but it fails miserably, because when you put all the big words together it just sounds like an unintelligible mess?

Because, yeah. That's exactly what this assignment sounded like.

"Okay! That's it, any questions?" She smiled.

I put my hand up, hoping that my confusion at least had a straight forward answer, "But what if you don't have a dad?"

The teacher's face turned sympathetic, "Awh, no, don't worry Michael, you can talk about what he was like before he left if you want!"

The kid next to me patted my back in a 'I'm trying to be reassuring but failing miserably because that pat was maybe a bit too aggressive' way. I shoved his hand off, because I wasn't sad, just confused.

"No, no, I don't have a dad," I say again, "I have two moms."

A silence spread across the classroom

The teacher smiled, "Oh, sorry, sorry, I should've known," she grit her teeth, knowing that she just completely humiliated me, the entire class trying to whisper about said situation as quietly as possible, but ended up just being super suspicious. My 10-year-old brain fortunately didn't seem to notice. "You can write about one of your moms, or both of them, do what you want as long as it sticks to the subject!"

I nod slowly, not seeing why this wasn't common knowledge. Yes, I knew a lot of people had a mom and a dad, and some people had two dads, and here I was, I had two moms. I can't be the only one right? I knew having a mom and a dad were common, but I didn't think it was "the norm."

I mean, the teacher assumed that I had a dad that left before she even considered that I have two mothers.

There had to be at least one kid in the class with parents like that, right? Or did the school just assume that everyone had one, and no more than one dad? I felt like scrunching up my paper and eating it. This was a new realization to me.

Come to think of it, no one's ever really talked about having two moms before. As I stared down at my paper, I was left with a void in my stomach. Why don't I have a dad? Is a dad superior? Have I been missing out on special dad antics all because I have two moms?

I couldn't seem to vomit out any words, which is ridiculous when I look back at it. I mean, I had not one, but two people I could write about! That's double the usual material!

And my moms were great, man, they were amazing. I could write two books on them alone.

So the excuse that I had nothing to write about was a lie.

However, the excuse that I was just a lazy ass was a lie too, I liked writing essays.

Ugh.

Why am I getting so worked up over this?

I've never really been a perfect cookie-cutter kid, and I don't need to be. Hell, kids in 4th grade pride themselves on being weird. Something about this doesn't seem right though. The way everyone started whispering when I announced I had two moms didn't sit right in my stomach.

I just zoned out and started writing.

I couldn't even get to paragraph three when the bell rang. I sighed. The kid who did the aggressive "reassuring" pat movement, which I'm pretty sure left a bruise, ticked me, a bit less aggressive than the back pat, but it hurt nonetheless.

"Hey, meet me in the 7th grade square, okay?"

My eyes widened, "We're not allowed to be there, that's for the older kids."

"Exactly, no one will be able to see us there. 13-year-olds have different recess times than we do."

I wanted to protest, saying that you fucking idiot someone's gonna catch us and no matter how cool my moms are, they're not going to be okay with signing my detention slip.

However, I did not say this. My current 17-year-old self would say this in a heartbeat, but this was self-conscious 10-year-old me. Here are some reasons why saying this would most likely fuck up any potential friendship with this aggressively reassuring back pat kid:

1. People don't like it when I swear. Mom taught me a new swear word once, and I loved it. I used it constantly, but that was until Mama heard me saying it, telling me it was vulgar. Mom was as much of a kid as I was, so she was just as bummed out. However, I realized that I didn't know if I could trust this kid. His aggressive back pats were tell-tale that he was super shady. Who knows what could happen if I said fuck in front of him? He'd probably tell on me!

2. He probably had some philosophy. Heck, who knows. Maybe this kid can teach me something. He looks like one of those people you'd probably give 50 cents to for some advice. As shady as he was, he may be a drug dealer with morals. Mama would insist that that's an oxymoron, I, however, being too young to know what that word means, didn't care.

Back then having detention once was being treated like a criminal record. You had detention once? People would look down if you made eye contact with them. People would walk a bit faster if you were behind them. People would pull their friends closer if you walked past, as if to protect them.

  As far as my history with detention goes, I have a clean slate. I intend to keep it that way.

  However, my dumb ass was still too garbled up into my thoughts that I let out a weak: "Okay..."

  All I knew about aggressive back pat guy is that his name is Rick or something. I couldn't quite remember. I knew that he was jacked though, which probably explains why the hell his back pats were so aggressive. Also, yes, seven years went by and I'm still angry at the aggressiveness of that one particular back pat. Give me a break.

  All I could do was hope that Rick would not kill me, and instead we'd have a friendly talk about roses, or knowing Rick, guns. Like mama would say, "A friendly talk about guns is an oxymoron!" I still don't know what it means, though, but thanks for the effort, mama.

  Does that mean... I'm an oxymoron?

Holy shit.

  I stared down at my desk contemplating this for a second.

  Whatever, I'll sort out my complete misinformation about the English language after I talk to Rick.