with them in an effort to rattle Eric a little.
I'm guessing that he must have done just that, because later that night, we got another phone call from the Harrises. This time, it was Mr. Harris, letting us know that he was bringing Eric over to our house to apologize.
My mom took Aaron and me aside. “I want both of you in the back bedroom, and don't come out,” she said. We went, and we listened at the door as Eric came in.
“Eric came over and stood in our doorway, and he just had this fake tone to his voice,” Judy said.” ‘Mrs. Brown, I didn't mean any harm, and you know I would never do anything to hurt Brooks I let him finish, but I could see right through the act. And then I said, ‘You know, Eric, you can pull the wool over your dad's eyes, but you can't pull the wool over my eyes.’
“That seemed to surprise him. He said, ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ I remember that specifically. And I said, ‘Yes, I am. And if you ever come up our street, or if you ever do anything to Brooks again—if I ever even see you on our street again—I'm calling the police.’”
Eric was shocked by Judy's words. He didn't say anything further; he just turned and stormed out to his father, who was waiting in the car .
“I don't think anyone had ever confronted him like that before,” Judy said. “I think he was amazed that I didn't just go, ‘It's okay, Eric. Yes.’ Maybe he had gotten away with it for so long, manipulating people that way, that he was stunned when it didn't work.”
Eric hadn't counted on my mother's attitude. He couldn't believe what she'd said to him.
At least, that's what I heard from people around school, since Eric and I weren't speaking anymore.
Dylan tried to make peace between us, but he always failed. Eric wanted nothing to do with me, and after what had happened to my windshield, I felt the same way toward him. Dylan and I would still go out to have cigarettes together, and Eric would refuse to go along because I was there. Sometimes I would go visit Dylan while he was working at Blackjack Pizza, and then Eric would show up and I would have to leave. I wished I could do something to improve the situation. But if that meant talking to Eric again, I refused. I was too angry.
However, I had no idea that, in the privacy of his study, Eric was quietly plotting his revenge.
8
the web pages
IN MARCH OF 1998, I WAS WALKING TO CLASS WHEN DYLAN approached me with a small piece of paper. On it was written the address for a Web site.
“I think you should take a look at this tonight,” Dylan said.
I shrugged. “Okay. Anything special?” I figured at the time that it was the address for some new program Dylan had uncovered.
“It's Eric's Web site,” he said. “You need to see it. And you can't tell Eric I gave it to you.”
I nodded. “All right.”
That night I logged on for the first time. Sure enough, it was Eric's page; I recognized the more familiar features, like the “Jo Momma” joke section; all of us would sit around and tell those. “Jo Momma” jokes are a takeoff of the traditional momma joke, only they're made to be deliberately bad. The humor came from seeing just how lame you could make them. We'd say things like, “Jo Momma is so poor she lives in a two-story Dorito bag.” “Jo Momma is so fat she uses a Greyhound bus for roller blades.” “Jo Momma is so dumb that she has seven extra fingers and two extra toes and she still can't count to 29.”
However, Eric had several pages that clearly were not meant as a joke. They were brutal, savage attacks on everything he hated about the world. One of them had to do with me. Eric had written:
My belief is that if I say something, it goes. I am the law, if you don't like it, you die. If I don't like you or I don't like what you want me to do, you die. If I do something incorrect, oh fucking well, you die. Dead people can't do many things like argue, whine, bitch, complain, narc, rat out, criticize, or even
I'm guessing that he must have done just that, because later that night, we got another phone call from the Harrises. This time, it was Mr. Harris, letting us know that he was bringing Eric over to our house to apologize.
My mom took Aaron and me aside. “I want both of you in the back bedroom, and don't come out,” she said. We went, and we listened at the door as Eric came in.
“Eric came over and stood in our doorway, and he just had this fake tone to his voice,” Judy said.” ‘Mrs. Brown, I didn't mean any harm, and you know I would never do anything to hurt Brooks I let him finish, but I could see right through the act. And then I said, ‘You know, Eric, you can pull the wool over your dad's eyes, but you can't pull the wool over my eyes.’
“That seemed to surprise him. He said, ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ I remember that specifically. And I said, ‘Yes, I am. And if you ever come up our street, or if you ever do anything to Brooks again—if I ever even see you on our street again—I'm calling the police.’”
Eric was shocked by Judy's words. He didn't say anything further; he just turned and stormed out to his father, who was waiting in the car .
“I don't think anyone had ever confronted him like that before,” Judy said. “I think he was amazed that I didn't just go, ‘It's okay, Eric. Yes.’ Maybe he had gotten away with it for so long, manipulating people that way, that he was stunned when it didn't work.”
Eric hadn't counted on my mother's attitude. He couldn't believe what she'd said to him.
At least, that's what I heard from people around school, since Eric and I weren't speaking anymore.
Dylan tried to make peace between us, but he always failed. Eric wanted nothing to do with me, and after what had happened to my windshield, I felt the same way toward him. Dylan and I would still go out to have cigarettes together, and Eric would refuse to go along because I was there. Sometimes I would go visit Dylan while he was working at Blackjack Pizza, and then Eric would show up and I would have to leave. I wished I could do something to improve the situation. But if that meant talking to Eric again, I refused. I was too angry.
However, I had no idea that, in the privacy of his study, Eric was quietly plotting his revenge.
8
the web pages
IN MARCH OF 1998, I WAS WALKING TO CLASS WHEN DYLAN approached me with a small piece of paper. On it was written the address for a Web site.
“I think you should take a look at this tonight,” Dylan said.
I shrugged. “Okay. Anything special?” I figured at the time that it was the address for some new program Dylan had uncovered.
“It's Eric's Web site,” he said. “You need to see it. And you can't tell Eric I gave it to you.”
I nodded. “All right.”
That night I logged on for the first time. Sure enough, it was Eric's page; I recognized the more familiar features, like the “Jo Momma” joke section; all of us would sit around and tell those. “Jo Momma” jokes are a takeoff of the traditional momma joke, only they're made to be deliberately bad. The humor came from seeing just how lame you could make them. We'd say things like, “Jo Momma is so poor she lives in a two-story Dorito bag.” “Jo Momma is so fat she uses a Greyhound bus for roller blades.” “Jo Momma is so dumb that she has seven extra fingers and two extra toes and she still can't count to 29.”
However, Eric had several pages that clearly were not meant as a joke. They were brutal, savage attacks on everything he hated about the world. One of them had to do with me. Eric had written:
My belief is that if I say something, it goes. I am the law, if you don't like it, you die. If I don't like you or I don't like what you want me to do, you die. If I do something incorrect, oh fucking well, you die. Dead people can't do many things like argue, whine, bitch, complain, narc, rat out, criticize, or even
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