so?"
"Yeah, I really do. I also think it's important for people to be who they are inside. Otherwise, it's like they're not being true to themselves, their true nature, and in the long run, the sneaking, the hiding ... it'll make you crazy."
"You're probably right," Trevor says. "It's just not the right time. Not yet."
"I get that. Just know that there are people out there for you. I'll be here as long as I can."
"Thanks. I appreciate that." He approaches, gives me a quick hug, and pats my back like guys do.
"I have to go. I'll see you around, Trev."
"Hope so." I head back up the stairs, sneak out the door before Suz sees me, and get back into the car with Kaylee, who removes the buds from her ears.
"So?" she asks.
"It's all good."
"That's it? It's all good? You're really not going to tell me what's wrong with one of my best friends?"
"There's nothing wrong with him, Kaylee. He just needed someone to talk to, one person he could confide in so he doesn't feel so alone."
"What? Is he gay or something?"
This catches me off-guard, but when I look at her, I realize she's joking. "Right. We're talking about Trevor here, the guy who used to get it on with Shelly Baker? Get serious."
"All right. Good enough," she says as we once again hit the road.
Chapter Fifteen
"Where next?" Kaylee asks.
"Bertram Brewster," I answer.
"Who?"
"He used to go to our school, left in third or fourth grade. Everyone called him Bertie," I answer.
"Nerdie Bertie?" she asks, her voice lacking any sympathy at all.
"Yeah."
"So what's his dilemma?"
"I hope he doesn't have one."
"Why? What's he to you?" she asks, now eyeing me suspiciously.
"I just need to talk to him."
"All right, Mr. Button Lip. Do you even know where to find him?"
"I think so," I reply, giving her the last address I could find.
Bertie Brewster was in my class from kindergarten until he left Skyline Elementary. With his small frame, glasses, high-waters, and lisp, he was a prime target for bullies. Unfortunately, for him, I was in my bullying prime at the time. I picked on all kinds of kids, but for some reason Bertie was my favorite. Maybe I was scared of what he was, afraid to be like that: small, weak, inferior. Now look at me. I'm pretty much there. The reasons don't matter anyway. What I did was wrong. I want to make it right.
We pull up to a house, but I'm not sure if you can even call it that. It's more of a shack, really, paint peeling, roof caving in, one window boarded up. If I blew on it, it would probably fall down. I double-check the address to make sure it's correct. I exit the car and head up to the dilapidated house. One of the address numbers on the front falls off when I knock on the door.
"Bertie! Get the door, God damn it!" At least I know I'm at the right house. The door opens moments later. I recognize him immediately: still small, but he's lost the glasses and is way more muscular.
"Yeah?" he says.
"Are you Bertie Brewster?" I ask, just for clarification.
He laughs. "No one but my mom ever calls me that anymore. It's Double B now. What do you want?"
"Well, Double B"—it sounds stupid coming from my lips—"my name's Austin. We used to go to school together. Do you remember me?"
"No," he answers, too quickly to have given it any real thought.
I breathe deeply. I was hoping he would recognize me so I wouldn't have to explain too much. I say, "My name is Austin Parker. We went to Skyline together."
"Nope, still doesn't ring a bell."
"I was kind of a bully. I used to pick on you."
Now he studies me carefully, every feature, every detail, up, down, round and round, side to side, until it becomes clear. Anger spreads across his face.
"I remember you. What the fuck do you want?" he says.
"I've just come to apologize. I want to say I'm sorry for the way I treated you back when we were kids."
"You should be sorry, asshole!" he yells. "You used to kick my ass every day. Kids made fun of me, and when I came home with a black eye or
"Yeah, I really do. I also think it's important for people to be who they are inside. Otherwise, it's like they're not being true to themselves, their true nature, and in the long run, the sneaking, the hiding ... it'll make you crazy."
"You're probably right," Trevor says. "It's just not the right time. Not yet."
"I get that. Just know that there are people out there for you. I'll be here as long as I can."
"Thanks. I appreciate that." He approaches, gives me a quick hug, and pats my back like guys do.
"I have to go. I'll see you around, Trev."
"Hope so." I head back up the stairs, sneak out the door before Suz sees me, and get back into the car with Kaylee, who removes the buds from her ears.
"So?" she asks.
"It's all good."
"That's it? It's all good? You're really not going to tell me what's wrong with one of my best friends?"
"There's nothing wrong with him, Kaylee. He just needed someone to talk to, one person he could confide in so he doesn't feel so alone."
"What? Is he gay or something?"
This catches me off-guard, but when I look at her, I realize she's joking. "Right. We're talking about Trevor here, the guy who used to get it on with Shelly Baker? Get serious."
"All right. Good enough," she says as we once again hit the road.
Chapter Fifteen
"Where next?" Kaylee asks.
"Bertram Brewster," I answer.
"Who?"
"He used to go to our school, left in third or fourth grade. Everyone called him Bertie," I answer.
"Nerdie Bertie?" she asks, her voice lacking any sympathy at all.
"Yeah."
"So what's his dilemma?"
"I hope he doesn't have one."
"Why? What's he to you?" she asks, now eyeing me suspiciously.
"I just need to talk to him."
"All right, Mr. Button Lip. Do you even know where to find him?"
"I think so," I reply, giving her the last address I could find.
Bertie Brewster was in my class from kindergarten until he left Skyline Elementary. With his small frame, glasses, high-waters, and lisp, he was a prime target for bullies. Unfortunately, for him, I was in my bullying prime at the time. I picked on all kinds of kids, but for some reason Bertie was my favorite. Maybe I was scared of what he was, afraid to be like that: small, weak, inferior. Now look at me. I'm pretty much there. The reasons don't matter anyway. What I did was wrong. I want to make it right.
We pull up to a house, but I'm not sure if you can even call it that. It's more of a shack, really, paint peeling, roof caving in, one window boarded up. If I blew on it, it would probably fall down. I double-check the address to make sure it's correct. I exit the car and head up to the dilapidated house. One of the address numbers on the front falls off when I knock on the door.
"Bertie! Get the door, God damn it!" At least I know I'm at the right house. The door opens moments later. I recognize him immediately: still small, but he's lost the glasses and is way more muscular.
"Yeah?" he says.
"Are you Bertie Brewster?" I ask, just for clarification.
He laughs. "No one but my mom ever calls me that anymore. It's Double B now. What do you want?"
"Well, Double B"—it sounds stupid coming from my lips—"my name's Austin. We used to go to school together. Do you remember me?"
"No," he answers, too quickly to have given it any real thought.
I breathe deeply. I was hoping he would recognize me so I wouldn't have to explain too much. I say, "My name is Austin Parker. We went to Skyline together."
"Nope, still doesn't ring a bell."
"I was kind of a bully. I used to pick on you."
Now he studies me carefully, every feature, every detail, up, down, round and round, side to side, until it becomes clear. Anger spreads across his face.
"I remember you. What the fuck do you want?" he says.
"I've just come to apologize. I want to say I'm sorry for the way I treated you back when we were kids."
"You should be sorry, asshole!" he yells. "You used to kick my ass every day. Kids made fun of me, and when I came home with a black eye or
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