I was a fat kid and I would have felt like The Fat Kid were it not for a staunch circle of friends: e and e (twin boys who laughed all the time), y (buck-toothed with a round, friendly face that epitomized whatever notion of kinship I harbored at the time), n (whose frequent use of handkerchiefs made me wonder if there was enough fabric in the world), and t (soft-spoken, hefty, eminently likable). If coteries had sweet spots, t was unquestionably ours.
Breezy outdoor lunches perched on concrete steps overlooking the school parking lot, the patter of rain on the lunchroom roof and the six of us looking up just in time to hear the thunder; white collared shirts, gray shorts or slacks, white socks (argyles for classmates who’d gone stateside and wished to say something about it); black shoes (if you played by the book), penny loafers (a ridiculous choice, really, considering pennies weren’t our currency), or “tahp-sigh-ders”. There were the girls: a, c, and h – brunettes and a blonde from whom we learned the meaning of plaid, beauty, and longing. I share these and other memories with y, n and t and the brothers e. We sought one another, helped one another, and amused one another. We made something of the world we knew then.
Fat kids aren’t invisible, and a fat kid like me who wore thick glasses was especially riveting to Zero, a self-centered, unqualified menace who took a special interest in my corpulence and my nearsightedness. Neither friend nor brother, Zero never called me by my name. I was “bah-boy” (pig) and “fore-ice” (because high-index, plastic lenses hadn’t been invented yet). Zero’s parents, oddly enough, were close friends of ///////. We visited often and, when we visited, I regularly sat in a dark stained, hanging chair.
Zero built scale models of cars, planes, and tanks; the den – his enclave – was flush with them. He had the trappings of an engineer. I was younger than he was, but I admired him and his assiduousness. I craved his friendship and his approval; I wanted to do the things he could do, I wanted to know what he knew. In time, the white cabinetry, the fluorescent lights, and the harsh odor of cement in that den became unbearable.
I didn’t know and I barely understood. His liver….
I remember you, Zero. I’m sorry.
I remember you.