The Chronicles of Cass: When It Began, Pt. 1

This is part 1 of a three part series. You can find Part 2 and Part 3 at their respective links.

Prologue

Mid-afternoon on a sultry summer day. I was seven years old. My father sat on the edge of his bed, hair still damp from a shower, buffing his already gleaming work shoes to a even higher gloss. The pungent aroma of shoe polish mixed with the recently applied aftershave.

A patrolman for our city's police department, he had worked midnight to 8:00 AM earlier, slept for several hours, and was now preparing for his 4:00-12:00 shift. Once he finished, he would have something light to eat before heading off to work.

My sister C watched from the doorway, clutching her beloved stuffed dog Brownie. My parents had purchased Brownie for her a few years years before when she was hospitalized for several extended periods because of a recurring health issue. They were now inseparable.

Idly perusing the cluttered dresser top, I opened the jewelry box he shared with my mother. Rummaging through its contents, something caught my eye. I pulled it out and studied it for a moment.

"What's this, Dad?"

He glanced up, brush paused mid-stroke.

"That is an onyx ring," he said, reaching for it. I dropped it into his hand.

 "Brownie wants to know - what's onyx?" asked C.

"It's a gemstone, Brownie," he said. "It's supposed to make people wearing it feel better when things are rough."

"Where did you get it?" I said.

 "Your Uncle W gave it to me when I graduated from high school," he said, slowly rolling it in his hand. "It was our father's. Your grandmother gave it to W when your grandfather passed away because he was the oldest."

"Oh," I said. 

A moment later C spoke.

"Do you remember your father?" 

He shook his head.

"No. I was only four when he died. 

Nothing was said for a moment.

 "That stinks," I said.

 He nodded. "Yeah," then hesitated for a moment. "Yeah."

 "Does it make you sad?" C said.

 "Well, I never really knew him. And your Uncle W and Uncle T were already grown up, so they were both sort of my father." 

He smiled. "Your grandmother used to make Uncle W take me on his dates with your Aunt E when they were dating."

 "I like Aunt E," I said. "She's really nice."

 "She is. She was very good to me when I was growing up. Still is."

 He looked at the ring for another moment, then handed it back to me.

"How come you don't wear it to work?" C said. 

"We can't wear jewelry when we're on duty for safety reasons, besides a wedding ring. Plus I wouldn't want to lose it. Then I guess I just got out of the habit of wearing it at home."

I looked at the ring, then at my father.

"Can I have it?"

 He smiled.

 "Why don't you try it on and see if it fits?"

 I slipped it on. It was so big - and my hands so small - that I could fit two fingers through it with room to spare. He laughed.

 "I guess it doesn't," I said, disappointed.

 "Can I see if it will fit Brownie?" C asked, holding out a stuffed paw. 

 He finished tying his shoes, stood, and ruffled Brownie's head. 

 "Sorry, Brownie," he said, "But dogs don't really wear rings."

 I handed the ring back to him. 

"Can I have it when it does fit?" I asked.

He put the ring back in the jewelry box and closed it.

"Sure," he said. "That won't be for a while, though, so we'll just keep it here until then. 

"OK," I said, then looked up at him. "Promise?"

He returned my gaze and nodded.

"Promise."

 ***

Five Years Later

September. A new school year, and a new school. The beginning of junior high (seventh grade, for this in locales with a different school calendar).

In one of my first posts, I wrote about how difficult sixth grade had been. My friend T had been in my class from grades 1 though 5. In grade six, however, he was transferred to the other grade six class, to balance the respective class sizes. This had major repercussions for me, as it turned out.

B was a transfer student who joined our class in fifth grade. He and T became good friends. While B and I weren't exactly friends, we were friendly. But things changed in sixth grade. 

In retrospect, it was the departure of T that was the catalyst. T was well-liked, and I now see that being good friends with him carried some weight in how I had been treated by classmates.

In T's absence, B revealed himself as a bully. Like all bullies, he was a coward; accordingly, he chose to torment the smallest, quietest, most vulnerable person he could find: me. 

Just after the school year started, he and a handful of our classmates came up to me on the playground. Smirking, he asked me if I was gay.  

This was the late 70s. I grew up in a blue-collar, Irish-Catholic family in a Boston suburb. I was only twelve; I didn't really understand what being gay meant. But I knew from his expression, and those of his acolytes, that it was something bad. When I replied that I wasn't, he snickered and said "that's what "faggots" always say. 

And thus was the tone set for the rest of the year. B went out of his way to make my life a living hell. I wound up missing a number of days that year, and my grades suffered accordingly. And while B and his sycophants were small in number, most of my other classmates (with a few notable exceptions, with whom I'm still friends to this day) simply drifted away, lest they be tarred with same brush.

I never told my parents what was going on - nor did they ever ask. I suspect there were several reasons why. 

My sister C had been hit by a car during the summer and was seriously injured. She was hospitalized for over a month, underwent several surgeries, and required a lengthy recuperation period at home. My parents, understandably, were preoccupied with her recovery.

That being said, it had to be obvious that I was going through a difficult time. I had never missed more than a few days of school before; that year I missed almost 40. Looking back, I clearly went through a period of severe depression. I wasn't sleeping, I lost a great deal of weight I couldn't afford to lose, and had stomach issues so severe that our doctor told my parents I was at risk of developing an ulcer if I didn't learn to relax. I was, again, eleven years old.

 So, why did they never ask me directly what was going on? My father worked a lot of hours - in part, I suspect, because he didn't want to be home, for a number of reasons. And my mother, as noted, was busy with my sister. 

The hard truth, which has taken me most of my life to accept, is that they didn't want to know. Why? I don't know. But it certainly foreshadowed how they would respond during what would be one of the most tumultuous years of my life.

 The first day arrived. Taking a breath, I entered the school and took the stairs to my homeroom on the second floor.

 My father worked at the school on his off days as a janitor/maintenance man, and I would occasionally help him during the summer to move desks and run the odd errand. I had already met my new homeroom teacher, Mr. W, during a few of those visits at the beginning of the summer as he and the other teachers closed up their classrooms. He was friendly and easy to talk with, especially when he learned I was a fellow history buff. That familiarity helped ease my nerves somewhat as I walked into the room.

Mr. W was seated at his desk, talking with another student when I entered. Spotting me, he waved me over.

"Good morning, L," he said with a smile. "Welcome to St. J's."

"Thank you, Mr. W," I said, shaking his hand. "It's nice to be here."

He gestured to the tall, athletic-looking student standing next to me. 

"I'm not sure if your father told you, but you're not the only new student this year. L, meet D. He and his family moved here from New York."

We exchanged greetings and shook hands. 

"Mr. W already showed me my desk," D said. "We're sitting together; I can show you yours if you want. 

"Thanks," I said. "New York, huh?"

"Yeah," D said. "My father was transferred here for his job. 

We arrived at the last two seats in the row.

"You have the last seat, I'm in front of you. You know, like the Red Sox are behind the Yankees in the standings," D said, straight-faced.

"Them's fighting words here, my friend," I said, mock-serious.

We looked at each other for a moment, then both laughed.

"Well, I do like the Yankees," D said, "But my favorite player is Carlton Fisk (ed. note: the Red Sox catcher). He grew up a few towns over from my Dad in Vermont, so I'm a fan."

 "That's a start," I said. "Maybe there's hope for you yet to see the light." 

 "We'll see," D said, grinning. "Maybe you'll come to your senses and root for the Yankees."

The final bell rang.

"Well, here we go," I said. 

"Should be an interesting year," said D as we took our seats. 

"No doubt," I said. 

***  

 She was beautiful.

The instant J entered the class and sat down two seats in front of me I was smitten. The most beautiful girl in class, she was my first crush, and I fell hard. 

In addition to being new to the class, I was also reserved and quiet by nature. Small and unathletic (although not from a lack of effort), I also had serious self-esteem issues, which made matters even more excruciating. 

Even at that age (I was 12 years old), I instinctively knew she wasn't just out of my league; she was out of my universe, and I should forget about thinking I had any chance whatsoever. But I couldn't help myself, try as I might.

Days, then weeks, passed in a painful, perpetual state of stasis, exacerbated by what I now know was undiagnosed clinical depression. I couldn't talk to my parents; that simply wasn't an option. As always, I kept my deepest feelings to myself.

Finally, I reached a point where I had to do something. And being an introvert, I made what seemed the logical choice: I went to the library.

The library was directly across the street from my school, so when school ended the next day I walked over and approached the information desk. The young librarian seated at the desk looked up.

"Hi, can I help you?" she said.

Suddenly my mouth went dry, and I could feel sweat forming on my brow, as it always did when I was under stress. I took a deep breath and exhaled.

"Yes, please," I said. "Do you have any books on, um... dating?"

"I'm sorry, on what?" she asked, bemused.

"On dating," I said, my voice cracking. I could feel the sweat trickling down my back.

Trying, and failing, to suppress a smile, she stood and walked over to and then behind the main desk.

"Off the top of my head I can't think of a book about that specifically. Maybe there's something related. I'll check the card catalog out back. This might take a while."

"Thank you," I said, removing my glasses to wipe the sweat from my eyes.

I took a deep breath and exhaled, trying - and failing - to relax. 

This might not have been a good idea, I thought. But it was too late now.

After an extended wait she emerged from behind the desk carrying a index card.

"Well, I found something that looks like it might cover dating. It's at another library in our network, but I put in a loan request. It should be here by Friday," she said, handing me the index card. "Just ask for it at the main desk and they can get it for you."

"Thank you," I said as I slipped the card into my bookbag.

"You're welcome," she said, with the same barely suppressed smile as I turned to leave. 

After exiting the building, I stopped to tie my shoe. Glancing back inside I saw her making a beeline for one of the other librarians, laughing. Sighing, I picked up my bookbag and headed for the bus stop.

***

Friday finally arrived. After the final bell rang I gathered up my books and my jacket and headed for the crosswalk, waiting for the pedestrian signal.

"Hey, where are you headed?" I heard a voice call out.

I turned around and saw D standing there.

"Um, just the library," I said.

"I'm headed to McDonald's to get a shake," D said. "Wanna get one?"

"No, that's OK," I said as the pedestrian signal came on. "I need to pick up a book, and I don't want to hold you up. But thanks."

"Ah, that's no problem," D said. "I'll just come with you, then we can head down together."

"Uh... sure," I said weakly. "That sounds good."

"Great!" said D as we entered the library. "Are you looking for anything particular?"

"I actually put in a request a few days ago," I said. "They said it would be here today, and I could pick it up at the front desk."

I turned the corner and saw that the front desk was unoccupied.

"If you want to go look for something for yourself I don't mind," I said quickly. "This might take a few minutes."

"That's OK," D said. "I was here last week and still have one left to read. I don't mind waiting with you."

Of course you don't, I thought. Please, just let me get this book without him asking any quesitons. 

I heard footsteps from behind the desk. And a moment later a figure emerged...

The same librarian from earlier in the week.

"Well, you made it back," she said. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Yes," I said, clearing my throat. "I'm here Is my book in?"

"It is," she said, turning to a shelf of books behind her. "Ah, here we go."

She handed me a book, wrapped in brown paper with my name written on it. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was almost over.

"What's the book about?" D asked as I put the book into my bookbag.

"It's about dating," she said immediately, smirking.

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I felt my face flush bright red. I was frozen in place.

After a seeming eternity I looked up and glanced at the librarian. She was looking at D with an uncomfortable expression. I turned to D. He was staring at her with undisguised contempt.

"So is this how you get your jollies?" he asked, spitting out the words. "Making fun of 12-year-olds? You must be very proud of yourself."

"I didn't mean anything by it," she said, her eyes averted from D. "It was just in good fun." 

"Is that so?" said D, still staring. "Well I'm sure my mother will be interested to hear what you consider to be 'good fun,' Miss-" he glanced at her name tag. "Miss S. She's on the library's board of trustees."

Her face turned pale.

"I'm sorry," she said to D, " I honestly didn't mean any harm."

"Don't apologize to me," D said. "I'm not the one you were rude to."

"I'm truly sorry," she said to me. "I mean it."

"Uh-huh," I said. I didn't care at that point. I just wanted to get as far away as possible.

D glanced at her one last time as we left and snorted. She sat at the desk, shaken.

D and I walked for a few minutes in silence. Finally I spoke.

"Thank you, D," I said. 

"No problem," said D. After a pause he added, "It's OK to get books on anything you want. It's nobody's business. Including mine."

I nodded.

"By the way," I said,"I didn't know your mother was a library trustee."

He grinned. 

"She isn't," he said. "I just said that to scare her."

I looked at him for a moment, then we both laughed.

"I cannot believe you would say that," I said.

"She deserved it," D said as we arrived at McDonald's. "I don't like bullies."

We pushed the door open.

"So," D said. "What flavor shake?"

***

"Are you going to the dance on Friday?" D asked one day during our lunch break.

"I don't know," I said. "Who's going?"

D laughed.

"Everyone! I mean, it's the first dance of the year. You have to go, L. You *know* the ladies will all be disappointed if you don't make an appearance," he said with a grin.

"Yeah, I'm sure they'll be devestated," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Seriously, you should go," D said. "It will be fun."

"Well, maybe," I said. "Some of my friends from [my old school] might want to come too."

"The more the merrier," D said with a grin.

***

I was walking with those friends - Tc, Bm, and Br - a few days later. I had known Tc since first grade, and Bm & Br for about a year; they were friend of Tc first, and we quickly became friends as well. We had remained friends even after I transferred out of [my old school].  

Tc was the unspoken leader (even if Bm & Br would protest from time to time), Br was the jokester (in a good way - he was genuinely funny), and Br was the straightforward, no-BS guy who tried to hide a big heart. I was the quiet one of the group. 

They were your typical tweener/early-teen boys - rough around the edges, always throwing insults back and forth and (in Bm & Br's case) trying to out-gross each other. I generally stayed out of these interactions, mostly because I felt unsure about what to say, and, even more, uncomfortable in a way I could not explain. I wanted to be part of the group; I just wasn't sure how. I was ostensibly in my peer group. In reality, I was a stranger in a strange land, one I didn't really understand in spite of my best efforts.

I also think I was an observer by nature - quietly filing away what I heard and saw for future use - of what kind I did not yet realize. What came naturally to Tc, Bm, & Br only came to me through careful, unconscious observation and study. 

As was usually the case, the topic of conversation quickly shifted from the Red Sox and Bruins (the Celtics were in a rare lull, pre-Larry Bird era, which would begin the following year) to - what else? - girls. This was, needless to say, the area  where I was really out to sea, especially as the conversation turned increasingly lurid (well, as lurid as possible for late-seventies pre-teens) as they described their upcoming conquests of their female classmates.

The fact that all of them, to a person, would be rendered mute simply by virtue of being in the same zip code of said objects of desire made not one iota of difference in their boasts, but provided me with hours of silent, bemused observation in the weeks, months, and years to come. 🙂 

After several minutes of listening to the ceaseless conversational blitzkrieg, I concluded that well, this must be what I'm supposed to be doing/saying, even if it made little sense to me. Thus, I made what I thought was a similar comment about one of the girls in my class (whom they had not yet met, being in a different school/class).

Immediately all conversation ceased.

"Hey," said Bm, a solemn look on his face. "You shouldn't talk like that." 

I glanced at Tc & Br, who nodded silently in agreement.

"But I'm just talking the same way you all do," I said, my face flushing red. 

"Yeah, I know," Bm said. "But it just sounds... weird when you say it." 

A moment passed. "But that's OK," he added. 

"Yeah." Tc said as he gestured to Br & Bm. "I mean, would you really want to be like these two morons?" 

A fresh round of insults of each other's lack of sexual prowess commenced between them, leaving me to ponder what has just happened. It was, in retrospect, a small moment of grace, their way of tacitly acknowledging that I was OK exactly as I was as far as they were concerned. Their acceptance, and those friendships, have endured since that chilly October day nearly 50 years ago. And will continue to endure, a fact of which I am exceedingly grateful.

You can find Part 2 here.