Doctor Fate
January 25th, 2010, 02:13 AM
I met Evan in Arts class in the 5th grade, and was almost immediately overcome with a light case of "hero worship". Evan was always thought provoking, incredibly smart, an excellent thinker, and a gifted artist. He made friends quite effortlessly, and blew all the teachers away with his intellectual and artistic prowess. He had infallible taste in books, music and visual art. He was a phenomenal listener, and never needed to be the center of attention.
In many ways, he was my polar opposite. He was kind, while I was unfeeling and callous. He was calm and collected, while I was always high-strung and rowdy. He always thought things over carefully and logically, while I constantly made impulsive mistakes. He was considerate and generous, while I was cruel and selfish. Despite all of this, he became one of my best friends. Even though it seemed as though our friendship was with filled with appreciation and equality, deep down I was extremely jealous. Jealous because I knew that Evan was everything I always wanted to be, but more than likely could never be, no matter how hard I tried.
I took Evan to my house and introduced him to my family because I was so proud of my marvelous new friend. My Aunt Joanne took one uneasy look at him, and pulled me aside in the hallway. “You shouldn't have a fat friend, J,” she harshly whispered in my ear, “Do you have any idea what that will do to your reputation? Your image?”
Before hearing those coldly hushed words, I hadn’t even noticed that Evan was a bit overweight. I'd been too busy being enchanted by all the things that were simply wonderful about him to bother evaluating what he looked like. His outward appearance was totally insignificant to me.
Needless to say, I cleanly brushed off my aunt’s discriminative advice against being friends with Evan. I couldn't care less if my "image" suffered in the least; it's not like I really ever had one to begin with. It didn't matter in the least what Evan looked like; I had found a phenomenal person who was good to me and wanted to my friend, and I didn't have many good friends, so I was not going to to give that up for anything in the world.
We were extremely close friends for over 4 years. Our bond seemed unbreakable as it lasted through the beginning of puberty, the transition into teen hood, the transition into high school, and our blossoming obsession with girls.
At the age of 14, I had secured my very first "real" girlfriend. Evan was still fancy-free at the time, but he had a bit of a fling going on with a girl who was a couple of years older than himself. He was always messing around with the older girls, but I thought that just made him more "mature" and experienced. After all, why else would a female be willing associate with a younger male?
My girlfriend was my own age, but being an estrogen-pumped 14 year old, she was frequently pressuring me for sex. Being filled with raging testosterone myself, I was tempted to say yes, but I felt extremely uneasy about the idea and I was very unsure of myself. Although we were both technically virgins at the time, I turned to Evan quite a lot for consolation and advice since he had more experience with girls than I did. He kept urging me to "do it", even though I knew I wasn’t ready for it, and he was aware of that. When I look back at that, I do not think he had any ill intent with the advice he gave me. He probably felt he was ready for sex himself and guided me based on his own emotional needs and desires.
Ultimately, I didn't end up doing it, and rather ironically, it was Evan who led me into making that choice. Completely out of the blue, he called me up on the phone one evening, sobbing, and admitted to me that he had just lost his virginity... to my girlfriend.
He was bawling into the phone, obviously in a state of great emotional distress. He kept apologizing over and over and over again, and in my own utter shock and confusion, I assured him that "everything was alright" and that we would talk it over in the morning.
When I returned the telephone to the switchhook, I buried my face into the bed sheet and sobbed myself to sleep as reality began to sink in. I wasn't sure what else to do.
By morning the initial shock and utter bewilderment had worn off and pure anger had taken its place. I went over to Evan’s house, completely beside myself with rage and ready to confront him. I found him quietly sitting in the snow on his front porch, waiting for me, completely disheveled and wrapped in a tattered quilt.
Seeing him sitting there looking so downbeat and miserable caused my rage to dissolve almost immediately, and my whole premeditated physical confrontation was reduced to a single word.
“Why?”
It took him a moment to respond to my short question. “It’s hard to explain. But you know how you sometimes feel like your life is total crap, and you’re going absolutely nowhere, and no one gives a damn about you?”
“You know I give a damn about you, Evan. A lot.”
“Well here was this girl, and she wanted me…”
“So, what? That’s all? You did it just because she wanted you, but you don't even know her that well? You don’t really even care about her?”
“No, I’m not even attracted to her…”
“But I was, Evan. I did care for her, and I had feelings for her. She meant a lot to me. Didn’t that matter to you at all? Did you even stop for a second to think about that before you decided to do this to me?”
“What do you know about it, J? You’re not a fat guy.”
I am ashamed of this fact, but I must admit to it. It wasn't until that precise moment that at long last, I realized that there was a foil between us that had afflicted our friendship since the day we met. Evan was brilliant, but I was thin. Evan was lighthearted and funny, but I was thin. Evan was talented, but I was thin. Evan was everything I wished I could be as a person, but to him, all of the extraordinary qualities he possessed were completely quashed by my toned figure.
Of course, the incident killed two birds with one stone. My relationships with both Evan and my girlfriend permanently ended after that.
I promptly broke up with my girlfriend immediately after my talk with Evan because there was no way I was going to stay with someone who obviously didn't respect me and didn't care about me at all. She confirmed that Evan was telling the truth, apologized to me, and agreed that it we had to go our separate ways. At least I credit her for her honesty, and to this day I'm so glad we never had sex.
As for Evan and I? Well, apologies were nice, but they did little to alleviate my immense hurt and heartbreak. We tried to forgive each other and continue being friends, but it just didn't work out. The damage had been done. When it became clear that mending our friendship was impossible and things could never be the same again, we decided to end it all in a phone call. I haven't spoken to him ever since.
It’s been many years since our friendship ended, and that knowledge still haunts me. That’s one of the main reasons I get so ticked off when people make assumptions and nasty comments regarding those who are overweight. What are they trying to say about "big" people in general? Does a person have no worth just because of a number on a scale?
But then I remember that the sad fact of the matter is that they can have so many awe-inspiring qualities, and can have everything going for them in life, but in a world so deeply caught up in superficiality and looks and body image, many consider them hopeless nobodies, worthless by-products of society.
Oftentimes, I wonder how things would have turned out if Evan wasn't a "fat guy", or if I was. I wonder if things would have played out differently than they did. We very well may have still been great friends to this day if he'd had the capacity to look past my size and care more about me than he cared about ‘getting one over on the pretty boy.’
I wonder if he would have believed me if I'd told him that I would have traded my body in a heartbeat for just a fraction of his wit, and talent, and personality?
Probably not. After all, image is everything, right?
In many ways, he was my polar opposite. He was kind, while I was unfeeling and callous. He was calm and collected, while I was always high-strung and rowdy. He always thought things over carefully and logically, while I constantly made impulsive mistakes. He was considerate and generous, while I was cruel and selfish. Despite all of this, he became one of my best friends. Even though it seemed as though our friendship was with filled with appreciation and equality, deep down I was extremely jealous. Jealous because I knew that Evan was everything I always wanted to be, but more than likely could never be, no matter how hard I tried.
I took Evan to my house and introduced him to my family because I was so proud of my marvelous new friend. My Aunt Joanne took one uneasy look at him, and pulled me aside in the hallway. “You shouldn't have a fat friend, J,” she harshly whispered in my ear, “Do you have any idea what that will do to your reputation? Your image?”
Before hearing those coldly hushed words, I hadn’t even noticed that Evan was a bit overweight. I'd been too busy being enchanted by all the things that were simply wonderful about him to bother evaluating what he looked like. His outward appearance was totally insignificant to me.
Needless to say, I cleanly brushed off my aunt’s discriminative advice against being friends with Evan. I couldn't care less if my "image" suffered in the least; it's not like I really ever had one to begin with. It didn't matter in the least what Evan looked like; I had found a phenomenal person who was good to me and wanted to my friend, and I didn't have many good friends, so I was not going to to give that up for anything in the world.
We were extremely close friends for over 4 years. Our bond seemed unbreakable as it lasted through the beginning of puberty, the transition into teen hood, the transition into high school, and our blossoming obsession with girls.
At the age of 14, I had secured my very first "real" girlfriend. Evan was still fancy-free at the time, but he had a bit of a fling going on with a girl who was a couple of years older than himself. He was always messing around with the older girls, but I thought that just made him more "mature" and experienced. After all, why else would a female be willing associate with a younger male?
My girlfriend was my own age, but being an estrogen-pumped 14 year old, she was frequently pressuring me for sex. Being filled with raging testosterone myself, I was tempted to say yes, but I felt extremely uneasy about the idea and I was very unsure of myself. Although we were both technically virgins at the time, I turned to Evan quite a lot for consolation and advice since he had more experience with girls than I did. He kept urging me to "do it", even though I knew I wasn’t ready for it, and he was aware of that. When I look back at that, I do not think he had any ill intent with the advice he gave me. He probably felt he was ready for sex himself and guided me based on his own emotional needs and desires.
Ultimately, I didn't end up doing it, and rather ironically, it was Evan who led me into making that choice. Completely out of the blue, he called me up on the phone one evening, sobbing, and admitted to me that he had just lost his virginity... to my girlfriend.
He was bawling into the phone, obviously in a state of great emotional distress. He kept apologizing over and over and over again, and in my own utter shock and confusion, I assured him that "everything was alright" and that we would talk it over in the morning.
When I returned the telephone to the switchhook, I buried my face into the bed sheet and sobbed myself to sleep as reality began to sink in. I wasn't sure what else to do.
By morning the initial shock and utter bewilderment had worn off and pure anger had taken its place. I went over to Evan’s house, completely beside myself with rage and ready to confront him. I found him quietly sitting in the snow on his front porch, waiting for me, completely disheveled and wrapped in a tattered quilt.
Seeing him sitting there looking so downbeat and miserable caused my rage to dissolve almost immediately, and my whole premeditated physical confrontation was reduced to a single word.
“Why?”
It took him a moment to respond to my short question. “It’s hard to explain. But you know how you sometimes feel like your life is total crap, and you’re going absolutely nowhere, and no one gives a damn about you?”
“You know I give a damn about you, Evan. A lot.”
“Well here was this girl, and she wanted me…”
“So, what? That’s all? You did it just because she wanted you, but you don't even know her that well? You don’t really even care about her?”
“No, I’m not even attracted to her…”
“But I was, Evan. I did care for her, and I had feelings for her. She meant a lot to me. Didn’t that matter to you at all? Did you even stop for a second to think about that before you decided to do this to me?”
“What do you know about it, J? You’re not a fat guy.”
I am ashamed of this fact, but I must admit to it. It wasn't until that precise moment that at long last, I realized that there was a foil between us that had afflicted our friendship since the day we met. Evan was brilliant, but I was thin. Evan was lighthearted and funny, but I was thin. Evan was talented, but I was thin. Evan was everything I wished I could be as a person, but to him, all of the extraordinary qualities he possessed were completely quashed by my toned figure.
Of course, the incident killed two birds with one stone. My relationships with both Evan and my girlfriend permanently ended after that.
I promptly broke up with my girlfriend immediately after my talk with Evan because there was no way I was going to stay with someone who obviously didn't respect me and didn't care about me at all. She confirmed that Evan was telling the truth, apologized to me, and agreed that it we had to go our separate ways. At least I credit her for her honesty, and to this day I'm so glad we never had sex.
As for Evan and I? Well, apologies were nice, but they did little to alleviate my immense hurt and heartbreak. We tried to forgive each other and continue being friends, but it just didn't work out. The damage had been done. When it became clear that mending our friendship was impossible and things could never be the same again, we decided to end it all in a phone call. I haven't spoken to him ever since.
It’s been many years since our friendship ended, and that knowledge still haunts me. That’s one of the main reasons I get so ticked off when people make assumptions and nasty comments regarding those who are overweight. What are they trying to say about "big" people in general? Does a person have no worth just because of a number on a scale?
But then I remember that the sad fact of the matter is that they can have so many awe-inspiring qualities, and can have everything going for them in life, but in a world so deeply caught up in superficiality and looks and body image, many consider them hopeless nobodies, worthless by-products of society.
Oftentimes, I wonder how things would have turned out if Evan wasn't a "fat guy", or if I was. I wonder if things would have played out differently than they did. We very well may have still been great friends to this day if he'd had the capacity to look past my size and care more about me than he cared about ‘getting one over on the pretty boy.’
I wonder if he would have believed me if I'd told him that I would have traded my body in a heartbeat for just a fraction of his wit, and talent, and personality?
Probably not. After all, image is everything, right?