The Secret Room

To Whom It May Concern Or Matter,
                    
Even now, as I pen this memory, I find it difficult to recall my most painfully beautiful memory involving love and inevitable loss.

See, I never used to think twice about it, or imagine great love because I was much too young to understand it.

All around me, people were falling in love.

And all around me, people were just as easily falling out.

I was fifteen and a half in nineteen-sixty-two.

I had successfully finished junior high and ninth grade and was entering my first year of actual high school.

Since the town was so small, we had our ninth grade year at the same school as the junior high kids.

The local high school started at tenth grade which was unwelcomed by the returning high school kids.

It had become tradition for the older kids to single out and destroy an individuals reputation while schooling with them.

Lucky me, I was one of them.

The brunt of the bullying was a pack of greasers called The Dukes.

You might think a bunch of guys with a smoking problem and dirty hair with matching jackets was something imagined by Hollywood, but  I can assure you it wasn't.

These guys were for real.

A colorful bunch who clowned around and carved their grungy names into every surface around school.

Like most kids I was in class with, I had grown to fear and hate them.

They seemed to get away with everything.

At night I would pour out all my rage to my mother while she passively sipped on her second martini and smoked.

She seemed to live in a different world.

My father worked long hours at the plant, sun down to sun up.

Both my mother and I rarely saw him, save for the morning when I left for school.

He often reeked of brandy and nicotine as he stumbled into the house.

Father had grown accustomed to sleeping in his car.

Whenever I would find him, I wasn't sure if he was dead or alive.

For a while, it scared me.

I would go to school imagining what I would find when I returned home.

A weeping widow?

A roaring ambulance?

Once I arrived to a policeman leading father away in handcuffs.

Some dishes were broken on the floor and my mother had bruises around her neck.

She looked like a scared raccoon as she lifted a shaking cigarette to her lips.

Father came home later that night but neither talked to me for weeks.

The most communication I got during this time was when pop gave me a fifty dollar bill and told me to take care of myself.

After that, he stopped showing up at the house.

Mother was often comatose on the floral print couch, staring out the window.

I started to wonder what she did while I was at school, since she never moved from that spot.

She always had the same clothes on from when I woke up to when I went to bed.

After a while she had become a mannequin in the room, that I had learned to completely ignore.

The highlight of my days was getting out of that house and distracting myself with school.

I had thought tenth grade was going to be increasingly difficult, yet it hadn't.

Most of my peers had sounded like they struggled, but while they were out at malt shops and cruising, or so I've heard, I was studying.

On the bus ride to and from, kids would be singing, goofing off and gossiping, but I learned to drown out the noise with a good book.

One that I had often heard much criticism from my teachers was Jack Kerouac's "On The Road."

I had checked it out at the library, with much disapproving looks by the librarian, and found that it spoke to me.

The sensory details and emotional thoughts by the author were so rich.

I had grown intrigued and enamored.

I must have read it three or four times.

Kerouac had touched on thoughts I imagined I only had.

One that stood out was "why think about that when all the golden lands ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?” 

Through all of the wretched things in my life, it had somehow kept me afloat.

Composition was the subject I had excelled in.

While I was more interested in authors like Kerouac, my teacher seemed to fawn over relics like Shakespeare and the tales of Beowulf.

No matter the literature, the subject of love and loss always seemed to come up.

All around me kids were falling in love, while never truly understanding the subject themselves.

One week a couple would neck in the halls.

The next they'd be fighting.

I never quite understood the appeal.

As the year went on, I felt I had started to slip under The Dukes radar.

Us loners, learned tricks to avoid our tormentors.

Lunches were often spent reading and eating over a toilet in a locked stall in the men's room.

One particular afternoon, I was reading Howl and Other Poems an Allen Ginsberg novel, which I had first heard about in conversation at the library.

A housewife was returning it and demanded it be burned.

Of course, this only peaked my interest more.

In the midst of reading about "angel-headed hipsters burning," The Dukes bursted into the bathroom.

I knew it was them because they always raised hell wherever they were.

Through the crack, I watched as they overturned the garbage can and plugged the sinks with paper towel.

The ringleader Davy was cussing out the principal while the others lit up a smoke or shared a flask.

They cracked jokes, and talked explicitly about some of the girls, eventually turning on all the sinks, causing them to flood.

I learned to drown them out, no pun intended, by reading on.

Eventually I hadn't heard them anymore, so I exited the stall.

To my surprise, the only blond one of the bunch, Jesse was standing in the entry way alone.

He stared at me as I dropped my book.

It splashed into some of the excess water, until it was completely destroyed.

He asked me if I liked eating in here like a loser?

I just nodded.

As he approached me I flinched, hoping he wasn't going to hit me, but he picked up my book and glared at it.

Lucky for me, the janitor burst in looking at the overflowing sinks and water logged floor.

He began to curse at us and demand who was responsible.

Jesse balled his fist.

Now, I'm not sure what compelled me to do so, but I stepped up and took the blame.

Perhaps, I had hoped it would get me my book back, but it didn't.

The janitor grabbed me by my collar and hauled me to the principals office.

There, I had received my first detention.

I served it after school, missing my bus.

It took me three hours to walk home. 

The sun had already been down, when I walked through the door.

The mannequin hadn't moved.

The fridge was nearly empty, so I emptied mothers purse and collected her last twenty.

On my walk to the grocery store, I had passed Jesse's house.

I only knew this from my bus rides.

The bus picked the neighborhood kids up across the street from Jesse's.

Often times, The Dukes were parked outside harassing us.

Since it was night, I could see inside the front window.

Jesse was arguing with his father.

I couldn't help myself but watch.

His mother tried standing between them, but was slapped by the father.

The father then, struck Jesse in the face.

Jesse turned away from his father, facing the window.

As soon as he saw me, he exited the front door and came after me.

I knew if I ran it would be worse, but I tried my luck anyway.

I figured since he was such a heavy smoker, that he couldn't catch me but the adrenaline must have gave him extra speed because he tackled me to the ground.

He pinned me down and screamed that I was a bastard.

He balled his fist and raised it over me, but began to cry, punching at the grass beside me.

He got up and stormed back into his house.

I must have been in shock because I just lied on the grass, staring at the stars in a trance until the growling of my stomach awoke me.

The next day at school I had avoided The Dukes.

I didn't want to trigger any PTSD.

Since my stall in the bathroom had been discovered, I took to exploring the school.

At first I found a cozy corner of an old stairwell to keep me hidden, but soon learned it was the main make out spot for most students.

I was determined not to step one foot into the school cafeteria.

One afternoon, I noticed a key in the lock of the boiler room door.

I had assumed it was an accident, left by the school janitor.

At that moment, familiar voices had begun to fill the hallways.

It was The Dukes.

Out of desperation, I had slipped into the boiler room, removing the key.

To my surprise, it wasn't a room but an entry way to the basement.

In the basement, I found a small room behind the boiler, with a musty couch and a dusty record player that sat on a cheap folding table.

On the player was a 45 of The Skyliners "Since I Don't Have You."

It wasn't much, but to me it was a fortress.

Something out of a Kerouac novel.

I dusted off the record the tested the player.

With a few cracks and pops the record began to sing out.

Since the boiler was bit noisy, and the room was underground, I knew the noise from the player wouldn't give me away.

I had to make this room mine.

A place to escape.

 From then on, I had developed a routine.

The bell would ring for lunch.

As the halls filled with students, I would wander aimlessly, until they were clear.

Only then, would I slip into the boiler room and enjoy my limited freedom.

I always left five minutes before the bell, to allow me ample time to slip back in the halls, unnoticed.

Things had started looking up.

I had managed to avoid The Dukes for the rest of the semester and I coasted through my classes with invisibility.

Homecoming came and went.

Mother had started to move again.

Father sent money every month, that I kept track of.

I had begun to sneak some of my mothers 45's to school and store them in my secret room.

All was well.

Until, after Christmas break.

It was my first day back.

I inserted the key into the lock but it did not fit.

I tried to reverse its position, but it wouldn't work.

Over break, they must have changed the locks.

I was determined to get back to the only place that made me happy.

The problem, was how?

I wasn't going to steal a key from the janitor.

He always kept it on a giant key ring and would never let me get close enough after the bathroom flooding.

My only other hope was that he would slip up and leave it in the lock again.

I was much too impatient to wait.

I visited the library, and read up on picking locks.

Since I had such a heavy penalty for the missing Howl book, I couldn't check it out.

I made notes and practiced at home.

Many times, unsuccessfully.

Until one day it just clicked.

I had been using cheap paper clips until it dawned on me to use my mothers old hair pins.

Naturally, the density of the pin helped make it much smoother.

The next day at school I tried out my new skill flawlessly.

My secret room had gone untouched.

Save for a little dust on the vinyl, everything was as it was.

I reacquainted myself by dropping the needle on The Skyliners 45.

As I settled in and began to read, I was over taken by fear.

In front of me stood Jesse.

He had a split lip, that was scabbed over and bruised knuckles.

My heart was in the bowels of my stomach.

He didn't say a word, just simply stared.

At that moment, I felt a part of me die.

My secret was out and was likely to become the new make out spot.

Or a place for The Dukes to overturn and over run.

I waited for a reaction, but Jesse remained silent.

He looked over my collection of 45's as The Skyliners ended.

Jesse asked if these were mine.

I nodded.

He told me that I left the door unlocked and that I should be more careful next time.

Then he left.

I felt myself go into that comatose state mother had found herself in when father left.

Hours must have gone by before I left that room.

The hallways were empty and dark.

When I got home, I saw the water damaged copy of Howl and Other Poems sitting on the front step of the house.

Inside were phrases underlined.

The most puzzling "I want people to bow as they see me and say he is gifted with poetry, he has seen the presence of the creator. ”

The next day during lunch, I watched the boiler room from a distance.

I wanted to see The Dukes take it over.

My dreams destroyed.

Another disappointment.

To my surprise, they didn't.

The door was still unlocked, so I entered, listening for their voices.

As I got closer, I could hear The Skyliners playing over the boiler.

Inside the room was Jesse, lying on the couch.

I didn't know if I was to leave or join.

He opened his eyes and sat up.

Before I could leave, he asked me to join him.

I froze.

He took my bag and told me to sit.

I followed.

He asked if I got the book he left.

I nodded.

He told me he wasn't going to hit me.

I asked if he told his friends about this place.

He told me he needed a place to get away from everything.

We then, looked each other in the eye.

It was the first time I had looked anyone in the eye, especially him.

I had noticed his eyes were hazel but glanced away before I could recognize any more details.

Something had startled him, forcing him to his feet.

He told me he wouldn't tell anyone about the room as long as he avoided me at all cost.

I agreed, and he left me in peace.

From then on, I was left alone.

A month had passed before he had returned.

Mostly he sat in a corner of the room listening to records as I read silently.

At first I found it hard to focus.

I mostly read the same line over again, trying to figure out what he was doing.

I always arrived before him and he stayed there after I left.

Curious, I started to leave my books.

I knew he had been reading them because each day a new chapter had a fold in the corner of the page.

One day he had asked me why I picked such sad stories.

The only thing I could think of was to tell him I was sick of unrealistic love stories.

It became fairly routine for us to meet.

I had begun to read the stories aloud, as he reclined on the couch.

We had run out of records to play, so he began to buy new ones.

We successfully avoided each other outside the secret room.

Jesse had managed to keep me off The Dukes radar.

Spring had set it.

Everyone was a twitter, because the spring formal was coming up.

Jesse had began to open up to me to a degree.

He would tell me how he wanted to travel  and wished he was like Dean from "On The Road."

How high school was not for him.

And that there are days he wishes he could drill a tap into his head to let out all his bad thoughts.

I had begun to read "A Single Man" by Christopher Isherwood.

My next door neighbor had died that year, so his family came to clear out the house.

They had a rummage sale of all his stuff.

"A Single Man" was of some of the books I bought there.

Had I known the content I would have been more careful.

Jesse didn't seem to understand the material.

Even thought he was bright, he only saw what he wanted to.

Never had a book been so raw and painful to read through.

Jesse found it the most depressing of all my books.

Something about it scared me.

Something I didn't quite understand.

Until the spring formal.

Dances never intrigued me, but now that mother was taking more of an interest in me, she insisted I go.

She dressed me in my fathers old suit and dropped me off at school.

I had hoped to slip away to the public library and read until they closed, but she would not leave until she saw me enter the front doors.

Inside, students gushed and snapped pictures of one another, while teachers miserably chaperoned.

I kept my eye on the door, until mother pulled away.

The Dukes to make their grand entrance delaying my escape.

I hid behind some decorations as I watched them stumble through the doors with cheap dates, slinked under their arms.

Jesse followed them with an equally tasteless date.

The teachers told them to keep their hands to themselves, which only riled them up more.

The coast was clear but I couldn't help but be intrigued.

The gymnasium was blasting My Guy by Mary Wells.

I had already come this far, I might as well checked it out.

The gym was littered with tacky hearts and streamers.

The theme was cliche "Love Is In The Air."

I watched as kids twisted and shook to top forty.

Girls lined the walls, depressed and dateless.

Some even seemed hopeful as I got close, but I wasn't looking for them.

The floor was a smorgasbord of students, making it hard to distinguish any single person.

Eventually I spotted Jesse, nestled in his dates neck.

They slow danced to "Dancing In The Street" by Martha and the Vandellas, while everyone else jumped around.

Martha and the Vandellas ended, queuing "Since I Don't Have You."

Jesse snapped to spotting me from across the dance floor.

He gave me a look before pulling away from his date.

The look in his eyes was fearful.

I realized this didn't look good for me, so I fled.

The exits were locked.

I knew he would be coming for me, so I took off for the boiler room.

I figured if I was to be beaten, it could be in privacy.

So I waited.

The room began to seem much smaller as his footsteps came closer.

I sat on the couch, staring at the floor.

His dress shoes were the only thing I could see as they came closer.

Jesse asked me what the hell I was doing, but I couldn't move.

All I kept thinking about was Christopher Isherwood's words from A Single Man "A few times in my life I’ve had moments of absolute clarity. When for a few brief seconds the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh. It’s as though it had all just come into existence.
I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be."

Jesse took hold of my fathers lapel and shook me.

He kept asking what I was thinking but it was all a blur.

The image of my father stumbling into the house, the mannequin on the couch, the constant put downs my class mates, students dancing, clutching one another.

Jack Kerouac and Christopher Isherwood.

I felt myself drown, until Jesse leaned in and kissed me.

He pushed me away and ran.

My lips still wet with a hint of bourbon.

I collapsed to the floor.

My mind a mush of memories and confusion.

I waited until the dance ended and walked home.

I stopped by the park and sat on the swing for a while.

The stars seemed to wink this night.

I kicked my legs until I swung high in the air.

I kept thinking of the kiss, until I jumped and broke my fall on the cold wet grass below.

I rolled over, retching in pain and hoped to die before I awoke.

In the morning I awoke in the park.

As I trampled in, my mother seemed concerned.

Somehow I had looked like my father trolling in the same fashion he used to before school.

She didn't speak, but resumed her old spot on the couch.

The next few weeks, Jesse avoided me, and school for that matter.

The boiler room began to feel empty without him.

Occasionally I would walk past his house, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but the curtains were always drawn.

I thought about leaving a note, but didn't want to cause more conflict.

Eventually I had heard he was expelled from school and ran away from home after beating up his dad.

The Dukes continued to terrorize the halls which elevated my harassment.

I continued eating lunch in the secret room, occasionally underlining passages that reminded me of him.

One afternoon, I dropped a pencil that slipped between the couch cushions.

Upon retrieving it, I found a folded up letter addressed to no one.

It read:

I've often been plagued by my own thoughts and worst fears, hoping to leave this mundane town and life to experience that of the great Kerouac.  Until now, I've never truly experienced love. Not the sexual kind but the kindred kind that touches the soul.  For that I thank you, for I hope one day I can be as free as Dean or even Sal. Until then, remember what our friendship has meant, and keep playing our song.

"Life is life, and kind is kind"
-Jack


That afternoon, I played The Skyliners one last time, before packing up my mothers records and returning them home.

I left "Since I Don't Have You" in the room, in case Jesse would return, but deep down I knew he wouldn't.

I began eating in the lunch room, facing my tormentors.

Never returning to the secret room again.