As a freshman whose voice dropped before most of his peers, I got singled out a lot.
Want to watch a guy turn into a bully? Threaten his testosterone level.
Students at my school made such a big deal about my voice that by the time I was fifteen, no one called me by name anymore. They called me Deep Throat. I was so mortified, I didn’t have the sense to say anything back. I shut down and didn’t socialize anymore.
Back then, I was awkward and spindly and shy on my bravest day. Once my vocal cords became a source of entertainment and a way to target and treat me like shit, I clammed up and didn’t speak at all. Not to my classmates. Not to my teachers. And not to my grief counselor when my parents passed away.
I spent my high school life with guys hating me, and girls afraid of me. I didn’t find my groove until college, and it’s still shaky sometimes.
“I’ll probably have to take my computer somewhere to get it fixed, but I’m going to try a couple more things on my own first,” Ara says, making my heart run off with my balls. I should offer to fix it for her. I want to. But…
“Come on Ara, pick up your lady dick and quit lagging.”
“If I pick up my lady dick, will you stop tripping over it? Or should I smack you in the face with it to get you to actually hit a target, asshole?”
“She’s not wrong, Carson.” Trey laughs. “You suck at this game.”
I listen while they go on and on, slinging insults and racking up points. I always carry the team when I’m on, so while they run around and do what they can, I do my thing.
“Suck my dick!” Ara squeals as she wipes out a bunch of zombies at once. Then she assassinates both Trey and Carson, because this is a one-player-takes all game.
Everyone starts shooting off at the mouth, screaming and calling her all kinds of names.
Everyone but me.
I want to tear them limb-from-limb for talking shit to her. That includes my best friend, Trey. My hands grip the controller so hard, the case cracks. But it’s her laugh that stops me from following through with the threats racing around in my mind. I loosen my grip on the controller. My heart still races as I ease back in my chair, but I’m no longer seeing red.
If she’s okay with them talking trash, then I’ll try my best to suck it up too. She’s a grown ass woman. If she didn’t like it, she’d shut them up herself. Or leave the game.
“When are you going to marry me, Arabella?” Trey’s register drops when he asks. He always asks her this. It always pisses me off.
“I’d rather suck on a dead pig’s foot than be your wife.”
Fuck. What a woman.
We play until there’s one of us left alive. It’s her. Usually is. Without a word, we start another game. This goes on for another hour—the bantering, me getting mad; me staying quiet. Ara winning. Another game starts up and I keep my eyes on Ara666. Even her name on the side of the screen is pretty.
Jesus, I’ve got it bad.
My cell vibrates my ass cheek, and I reach into my back pocket to snag it. Shit. Knocking my headphones off, I answer my phone and pinch it between my ear and shoulder so I can keep playing. “Hey little dude. What’s up?”
“Can you play Minecraft with me?”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, hang on.” Listen, when my nine-year-old nephew asks me to play a game, I play. Doesn’t matter that I can’t stand the games he’s into. I will jump in and play until his mother tells him he has to shut down his console and go to bed. “Can you give me five minutes?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks, Beetle.”
“Don’t hang up with me,” he says in a hurry.
Uh oh. When he says shit like that it means he’s having a bad day and is clingy. “Not going anywhere.” I finish up the game in silence and sign off, because dropping out mid-game is a dick move and I wouldn’t do that to Ara. The others? Yes. I’d drop them in a heartbeat, but not her.
“Okay, I’m all yours.” I move to play Minecraft in the living room. Listen, building a world with a nine-year old takes forever. The least I can do for myself is get comfortable while I make castles and kill ender dragons. “How was your day?”
Non-Parent Parent Tip: Some kids have trouble sharing their feelings. Give them a controller and a screen, and they’ll usually open up. I’ve seen it a million times over the years. Adults are no different. It’s easier to vent when you aren’t staring someone in the face so they can see your emotions.