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October 14th, 2008

When I went to homecoming, I was in a black tux with a dark red vest and a red tie. I think the only time I’ve ever worn a tie was when I was going to court. I drove to this girl’s house who I was going with. She’s really cool actually—I wouldn’t have gone if she hadn't asked me. 

A couple dressed in formal wear, posing in front of a vehicle. The man is wearing a black suit with a red shirt and tie, and the woman is in a red dress.

I drive up to the house and there’s a limo outside. People are taking pictures. I fucking hate pictures, and I hate people. I’m getting anxiety being there. Parents are taking pictures and laughing and everyone is talking to each other. We get in the limo and everyone is drinking. Drinking doesn’t bother me but I just don’t get it. I never liked alcohol. It takes too long. I think I’ve been drunk like 30 times in my entire life, and 10 of those times were when I would drink my parent’s alcohol when I was dope sick thinking it would help me sleep…it never helps.

We walk into this hotel and enter the ballroom. Everyone is dancing and grinding on each other, but I’m just sitting at a table being anti-social thinking how much I hate this, and why I bothered coming…They are announcing the homecoming king and queen, who do some dance together. Ashley is here and she looks beautiful. I’m just sitting by myself, feeling like leaving, twirling a napkin. My date asks me to dance a few times and I say no.

Then I see him. 

The fucking faggot. 

I look at him the same way you would look at anyone you want to die. He looks back at me and turns away, but I keep staring. My heart is pounding. I stand up and walk towards him. He looks scared and he asks, “What do you want?” I cock my right hand back and slap the shit out of him with an open palm, like the bitch that he is. His head turns hard as I hit him and he grabs his face. I grill the fuck out of him, breathing out my nose hoping he does something back so I can kill him. 

HE RUNS TO A TEACHER.

I really didn’t want to hit him but I can’t control myself sometimes.

I sit back down. He is holding his face talking to a teacher, I look over from the corner of my eye. There’s a crowd of people around me talking because they saw the whole thing. Some teacher lady walks up behind me.

“Get up… NOW,” she says. 

I get up, take a deep breath. They pull me outside of the ballroom and ask me why I hit him.

About three to five administrative people come up and ask me. The head security guard comes up to me and asks me what happened, and I know him pretty well. I actually like him a lot, he’s helped me a few times and has always been straight up with me.

So when he walks over to me, I smile. I’m glad it’s him and not someone else.

“Hey man,” I say, “It’s been a while. Good to see you.” 

He shakes his head. “Fuck, what’s going on with you now, Bryan?” He looks into my eyes. “You getting high again?” 

I pull out my keys and show him my key tag.

“Nah man, I got six months.”

“Well that’s good, but everyone is saying you hit this kid.” 

I look him in the eye, and from the bottom of my cold dead heart I say:

“I didn’t man. I really didn’t. I SWEAR.”

The lady who first grabbed me overhears me and says, “Oh he’s lying! I’m calling the cops!” She gets closer to me. “You’re getting charged with battery!”

I start laughing. 

The cops get there. This black, tall, thin cop walks up to me. Asks me my side of the story, but first he tells me to turn around and handcuffs me and tells me to sit on the ground. I cooperate. I turn around, he cuffs me and I sit on the ground. He grabs my right hand puts the cuff on. You never feel first cuff, but when the second one goes on and it clicks, it felt it, in my bones, it was like an old friend saying: 

“Hey, remember me? Buddy Ole Pal—this is where you belong.”

He crouches down and asks me to explain the entire story to him. I tell him about me being a recovering addict. I tell him how much I hate this kid—but I didn’t hit him—I told him that everyone who is saying I hit him is lying because they are all friends with him. The cop is really cool and writes everything down and he goes over and talks to administration and the security guard. All the kids from homecoming start leaving and going back to their hotels and gay-ass parties. There I am, sitting on the ground outside the hotel in handcuffs.

The cop comes back to me and he says something I never expected him to say.

He says, “You know, my brother is an addict. If you want to stay clean, you know you gotta be one hundred percent completely abstinent from all drugs. Nothing, not even alcohol.” 

I look up at him from the concrete, “C’mon man, who do you think you’re talking to?” I ask, and I’m smirking. “I got six months clean, I would show you my key tag but I’m a little tied up right now.” 

He starts laughing. “So you’re in AA, and going to AA meetings,” he says.

My neck starts hurting and I crack it. “I do NA, but yeah I got a sponsor, work steps and go to NA meetings.”

The cop pats me on the shoulder. 

“Hang on kid, let’s see what they want to do with you.”

He goes and talks to everyone and comes back again.

“Do you have a parent you can call to come get you? They’re going to deal with this on Monday at school.”

I call my mom.

“Um, mom, can you come get at homecoming?”

“Oh no, Bryan. What happened?!”

“Ugh the cops are here, they think I hit someone, but they’re letting me go.”

“Bryan no, no, no, tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m okay, I’m going to text you the address. I’ll be outside ugh… you’ll see the cop cars.”