The Things We Did

By Jamison P. Stevens

They were average. They were in the middle. They were nothing fancy. They were a group of kids who suffered from the abuses of the popular and the rough crowd when they were younger. Now seniors in high school, these average kids carry that pain suffered in their younger days around with them when they do the things they do. And the things they do are fun and give them a spice of life they need. Creeping around at night, soaping, TPing, and causing mischief are what they love to do, and most them have accepted the idea that its perfectly okay and really isnt hurting anyone. That is until the night before their graduation when they all must answer the question, When is enough really enough?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481762021

Book preview

Chapter 1—The Ride Begins

We were average. We were nothing fancy. You might even say we were ordinary.

They say birds of a feather flock together and I believe that to be true with all groups of friends, and it certainly was with us. We were happy to be a pack away from the other wolves. We were happy to have a group. And that group was most definitely not the popular crowd nor the angry, rebel element either. We were for the most part, the nice guy, safe crowd.

All of us were strapped with similar pasts and similar problems. We had all been tormented by others, been targets, and had good reason for anger. Yet quite often we took it out on each other instead dealing with the issues caused by those tormentors. I guess you could say we carried that pain around with us when we did the things we did.

And the things we did were fun and gave us a spice of life we needed. Creeping around at night, soaping, TPing, and causing mischief were what we loved to do and most of us had accepted the idea that it was perfectly okay and really wasn’t hurting anyone.

But we were wrong, and it wasn’t until one horrible night on the eve of our graduation from high school that we found out just how wrong we were. If I’d had an inkling of how bad it could’ve been, I would have avoided the whole thing. But that’s simply not the truth. I did have an idea, and I brought some friends along for the ride.

Yeah we were average, but that’s what made us special.

Chapter 2—Shaun

It was early June of 1987. I wasn’t sure how many trips I paced to each end of the porch, but it was several. It was so many times that I knew exactly where on our recently stained porch the wood would creak. Shaun Harris had made it very clear to me that he would pick me up at 6:30 sharp. But as I looked at my watch which showed 6:50, I knew that dream had died.

I paced harder up and down the porch making loud stomps as I went. It was nice for Shaun to have invited me to go have pizza with him at Jim Nolan’s birthday party last weekend, but I guess I should have told him that I enjoy my pizza with a side of ON TIME.

My pacing continued until I tripped and staggered to get my balance. When I looked down, I could see that my white tennis shoes had become untied. As I went down to retie them, it was then that I finally heard the sound of a car coming to my right.

Shaun’s black and gray Mustang appeared just on top of the hill and then he quickly zipped onto my blacktop driveway and had his window down even before he pulled in.

Okay, there it is. The two story, tan house with green shutters. I had a little trouble finding it. All these back roads, but here I am. Are you ready?

Yeah I’m ready. Thanks for coming, I said as calmly as I could trying to hide my frustration. But once I jumped in the car, the night had begun and all was well.

We sped off down the road, and I stole a glance or two at this very short, stocky, and visually impaired boy of my age. His glasses were so thick that I was amazed he could even see. He sort of reminded me of the character of Piggy from The Lord of the Flies that I had read in Mrs. Stark’s literature class last semester. And the glasses currently on the head of Shaun Harris could easily start a fire or two if he ever ended up on an unknown, deserted island.

He could see just fine though and watching him drive and use the shift, I was impressed at how good he was. I was better than I used to be but when given the choice to drive or not drive, I would often choose the not-to-drive option. My lukewarm attitude about driving stemmed mostly from my driving instructor who had been an overbearing menace. This was a teacher who would yell at the first turn signal missed. The one who would bellow, You’re backing up out of control again! I hated that teacher, but I sure didn’t hate my dad. The trouble was they were one in the same.

How was your dad in teaching you to drive?

He turned down the stereo to answer my question. My dad? He didn’t teach me. He started to, got frustrated, so my mom took over. She’s a little more patient. He’s never been too happy with me anyway.

Why’s that?

School was hard for me especially in the younger grades. I got picked on pretty bad for being short and having these glasses. Plus I used to copy off kids to get their answers. I got caught cheating on a test in junior high, and my dad has never let me forget it.

Oh, I see, I said and quickly shifted topics. Who is this group you’re playing? That lady leading the way can sure belt out the lyrics.

I thought you might like this being you like all that hard rock stuff. These guys are the Headpins. I think they’re from Canada.

I liked what I heard. It was a female lead singer with a powerful voice being surrounded by a loud, wonderful guitar. I drifted off for a moment thinking I was pumping my fist wildly at the group from the front row of a sold out concert.

We turned left onto the highway and headed toward our dinner destination. The music of the Headpins entertained us for a minute or two more before we pulled into the parking lot of Jane’s Pizza. It had a typical pizza place look to it and sat secluded by a field with another field across the road from it.

We were seated quickly and after we ordered our pizza of half pepperoni-half sausage, we launched into a conversation that carried us around like a pontoon boat. We went to various topics such as swimming and skiing on the surrounding lakes, hunting, high school, pretty girls, movies, but the pontoon boat that was our conversation eventually floated to a stop on something that I could very much identify with especially after what I had been through a few years earlier.

You know, Joshua, I lie in bed at night and do a lot of thinking. I think about how these guys in my drafting class make fun of me. Every damn day! What did I do to deserve this? What is it about me that makes them pick on me? I mean I can feel their eyes on me when I walk around the class. I hear their comments. I try to ignore them, but it’s hard. Why are they after me? One of them even told me they heard the teacher say I was dumb as a doornail. I’m not sure about that, but it still hurt. Like I already told you, I was picked on for my glasses and height all through elementary and junior high school too. It sucked.

I didn’t answer him, but I thought about it. Not only was he short, very short, and had extremely thick glasses, but he also had this wrinkled up twisted type of goofy smile when he grinned. It almost made me want to yell out the HYUCK sound the Disney character Goofy would make.

He actually reminded me of a guy I played baseball with named Ken Carlin. He had the same grin and guys on the junior varsity team my freshman year treated him the same way that Shaun apparently was treated by the guys in his drafting class. He was no one to take very seriously and certainly no one who could offer much in the way of baseball talent. And he didn’t. At times I wished he would get on a hot streak and shut those fools up, but he never did. Sometimes I wished he would smash a homerun and get those guys cheering. It never happened. He always tried, gutted it out, dove for grounders and missed. He swung as hard as he could and the bat would fly out of his hand. And he had the goofy grin to go with all the baseball clumsiness. Shaun was the same way. The same kind of guy-a goof.

The pizza finally arrived and soon we were each devouring a piece of steaming hot pizza that tasted fantastic and after we sucked down a few slices to satisfy our hunger, he continued the conversation.

Yeah, they pick on me and say I’m stupid. They say I’m terrible at drafting and shouldn’t be in the class. They say any building designed by me would fall over with the first gust of wind. Jerks! You ever had that kind of trouble?

I looked at him while holding a half-eaten slice in my hand. Did I really want to go there with this a guy? Did I really want to open up about where he had led our conversation? In my mind, a race car representing my past started to rev up and began to hum and roar as the gas pedal was hit. All it was waiting for was me to wave the flag. I swung it back and forth vigorously. The race was on.

It’s hard. When I played football in junior high, a few of the eighth grade guys had decided that they were going to tie me down to the bench in the locker room after practice and leave me there.

What? he asked in disbelief. This was when you were in seventh grade?

Yeah. I could hear them talkin’, probably loud enough for me to hear their plan to tie me to the bench, and Martin Streets, do you know who he is?

No. No I don’t.

Well he was at the head of it, but he didn’t seem as interested in tying me to the bench as much as he just wanted to ‘get’ me. On tackling drills, he always wanted to be paired up against me.

Really? And someone behind me grabbed his attention. Hey, Sarah! and he waved enthusiastically. How are you? Josh, I know her from work. Man she is such a cutie. Hey, she was waving at you too. Do you know her?

Nope. Never met her.

My race car began to sputter around the turns. He was losing interest and the race had barely begun. After we ate a few more slices of pizza, I tried to continue.

So anyway Doug Gibson corners me later in practice during a water break, and says to me that he and the boys are gonna tie me to the bench in the locker room if I don’t hang up Martin’s uniform after practice. And then he said that I had to go back and get his too.

Shaun squinted and his face twisted up. Why did you have to hang up uniforms?

Well after practice and all that sweating, they smelled like hell. So we had to take them to this storage room near the gym and hang them up so they could air out. The practice before Larry Mills forced me to lug his and word got around.

So you carried Larry’s, huh? I can see why. That guy’s a nut job. He shoved me out of the way in the halls my first week of high school. And with that the race car of my past continued briskly around the track.

Well, it wasn’t until I was hanging up his uniform that I realized what I had done. I was pissed that I let him force me into doing it. So I told Doug, after I took an extra-long swig of water, that he could forget it. I wasn’t gonna carry any more uniforms except my own.

Josh, I’ll bet they did stuff like that to take their minds off how bad they were. I went to Thornton, and we killed you guys one time. Remember that?

Thornton 40 Miriam 6. I’ll never forget it. I think I got into the game for one play, I grumbled sarcastically.

So what’s with the rope thing? he asked after taking a drink.

Well the year before Doug was tied to the bench, so since that was such a pleasant experience for him he felt he had to do the same to me. Spread the good will and all. I’m surprised his rotten twin brother didn’t help him out.

So did they get you tied down?

Well practice ended that day, and the two coaches were gone, and I picked the absolute wrong day to be pokey in changing. Anyway, they huddled up, two of them, one being Doug, and made their move toward me. Martin cheered them on, but he didn’t take part in it even though it was his idea. Somehow I fought them off, and they gave up doing it. I remember pulling hands off me and yelling things at them but I don’t remember what I said. And then after I left the locker room, I…

Well I never played football, but the guys in my drafting class are jerks like those guys in football, and I guess they always will be. It must make them feel better to put people down. Hey, let’s get out of here. You ready to go?

Well, let me finish this last piece.

My race car hit the wall, crashed and burned with a cloud of fire and smoke. His lack of interest in the rope story showed he’d heard enough from me.

As we got up from the table, I was surprised maybe even closer to shock when he offered to pay for everything including the tip. Not only did the thought of paying for all of it never cross my mind, but I actually had just enough for my half buried in the pocket of my jeans.

My opinion of him soared as we headed for the cash register. I wasn’t pleased that he cut me off during my painful football memory, but his paying for dinner almost made up for it. Maybe Shaun was a good guy after all.

We strolled up to pay, and I noticed a healthy stack of applications there. The NOW HIRING sign was also hard to miss. Behind the register sat Jane herself the lady who ran and owned place.

Shaun pulled out his money, and she took it without looking up at him. Her concentration was on some other paperwork that she was reading with her brown horn-rimmed glasses sitting very loosely on her nose.

How was everything? she asked still not looking up.

I heard her question, but I didn’t answer it because I became fixated on the applications. I wasn’t the one who paid her so I didn’t think she was talking to me. That error in judgment cost me.

Oh Jane, what are you asking him for? He never knows what’s going on. All he’s gonna say is, ‘Duh, are you talkin’ to me? What do you mean by everything?’ Next time ask me. I’m the one who knows. Everything was great.

Suddenly I was back in that locker room seething with rage. We weren’t that good of friends for him to insult me in front of a stranger no matter how playful he may have meant it. And that also wasn’t the first time in our lives that he had exposed me to his hearty desire to show off. I shot him a glare.

He looked back and gave me a puzzled look. Then he leaned over and said, You know I have Jane wrapped around my finger. She’s the lady I get my pizzas from. She needs my business.

Jane turned around and this time when she spoke to us, she looked right at us. Excuse me?

Shaun’s round, white face quickly became red and he gave her a quick, sheepish grin. I gave her a full smile and quickly snatched one of the applications causing her hair to swish. I think you’ll definitely be hearing from me, Jane!

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On the trip back to my house, I held the application in as much of the available light as I could.

You really gonna work there?

My dad wants me to get a job. I need a job, and that place is as good as any other.

"I felt the same way about working at the plumbing store in East Whiting when I started there. But my dream job is the Air Force. That’s gonna be my ticket outta here. You ever seen the movie Iron Eagle?" He then popped the Headpins tape out and fumbled through his tapes in the middle compartment between the seats and found the tape he wanted.

Can’t say I have, but my dad’s mentioned it to me before, I said holding the Jane’s Pizza application like it was an ancient scroll in the meager light.

It’s a great movie. Lou Gossett Jr. is in it, and it has kids about our age working on airplanes. I like to listen to this movie soundtrack every now and then and pretend that my car is a plane.

As he ascended the hill back toward my house I mumbled, Then I need your ‘plane’ to get me home as soon as possible.

What’s that? he asked over the music. What did you say?

Oh nothing, Shaun, I said. I’m just ready to land. But thanks again for the pizza. I appreciate it.

He nodded and smiled then hit the gas while turning the music even louder. No problem, Sir!

Chapter 3—Ted

"I was in second grade. I was sitting alone in a seat on the bus when these two much older and bigger guys, probably freshmen in high school, sitting behind me, began an unprovoked sneak attack," I said to Ted Ross, a good friend of mine who unfortunately fit the prototypical profile of the word nerd. He had glasses, walked with a slump, had a small, sunken head, and was spookily quiet when near a crowd. But those things didn’t make him a nerd, I didn’t think. They made him Ted.

An unprovoked attack, huh? he asked as we waited for our lunch orders to be delivered to our table.

Well for some reason those greasy haired creeps thought it would be fun to lean over the seat and slap me in the face. Both of them took turns doing it… over and over. One would lean up, slap, and then sit back down quickly trying not to be noticed. Finally, I’d had enough and began to avoid the slaps, but I didn’t have the courage to tell them to stop. Actually, I wanted to scream at them but I didn’t. I never did figure out why those two older guys would want to bother a second grader they didn’t even know.

Ted’s eyes grew with understanding. I know why they did. They’re losers! Scaring you made them feel all big and bad. Heck, those two are probably looking out through bars right now screaming for their drugs. Plus they knew they could get away with it; I mean you were a second grader!

Ted, I hated that day. That was a day of hell.

The Pointer Grill of Thornton was a place we didn’t eat at very much, but Ted and I always enjoyed it there because it was quiet and often not very busy despite the great food. Normally we didn’t mind the noise of some of our other favorite hangouts, like the McDonald’s across the street or the one we liked in Elkhart. But every now and then we liked a change of scenery, and this place with its roughly fifteen tables usually never more than one third ever filled at any one time was a calm and perfect place for the conversation we were having.

"I got a story for you Josh, and this happened to me a couple of summers ago. You know it was bad enough going to see Pee Wee’s Big Adventure by myself. But you know, I thought it would be funny. I had nothing better to do at home. Dad sat down with a six-pack and was controlling the TV and Mom was at work, so I decided to walk to the movies. It’s not that far and I’ve done it before."

I pictured Ted walking to the Parkway Theatre which was just down the road a ways from where we were sitting. From his house, it was a little bit of a trek but not too bad. Walking to a 7:00 or 7:30 movie with some light out would be alright,