The Incident

Note: No sex or romance in this one, folks. If that's what you want, look elsewhere.

It was a fraternity prank gone bad. At least that's the way Gary Durant described what happened between Christmas and New Year's one night before the age of social media. In fact, it was something else. Fraternity pranks usually involve more than one person. What Gary did was totally his doing. In fact, no one even knew about it until the guy he chose to prank taught Gary a very painful lesson.

Gary was an eighteen-year-old freshman at a local college pledging a local fraternity. Gary's main motivation for pledging was to improve his social life. He'd meet more chicks, he figured, or so said a few fellow pledges he knew from high school, some even from junior high. "The women like fraternity guys," one of them assured him.

On a night just after the college let out for winter break, Gary, along with other pledges, was at the fraternity house, a three-story, nineteenth century brownstone in the city, a few blocks from campus. A guy named Tom Lurie dropped in just to say hello. Tom had been a member the year before but had dropped out because he had transferred to a different college in his sophomore year. Beer in hand, Tom mixed with his former fraternity brothers, talking about old times and catching up. The pledges, meanwhile, went about their business of doing whatever the brothers ordered them to do, and that usually meant some labor job, like sweeping the floor, taking out the garbage or just being a gofer at a brother's beck and call.

Gary was scraping off some old paint from one of the living room walls, when Tom said, "Hey pledge, get me another beer from the fridge, will ya."

This pissed Gary off, mainly because Tom was no longer a member. So who was he to order him around? That was okay for one of the brothers, but not this guy, sitting back in one of those well-worn cushion chairs, probably from Goodwill, ordering him around. Gary didn't like his condescending tone either. But when Billy Magin, one of the brothers talking to Tom, gave Gary the nod to do what Tom ordered, Gary went to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of Bud and handed it over.

"Thanks, pledge," Tom said, drawing a sarcastic, smart-ass sneer.

Billy and two of the other brothers in the room laughed, then returned to their conversation, while Gary returned to his paint scraping.

That should have been the end of it. And years later, upon reflection, Gary Durant, like many whose past emotional wounds never totally heal, concocted fantasies of going back in time to change the course of his personal history. We all take paths in life that years later we wished we hadn't because of the unpleasant consequences that followed. Such was the case with Gary, who wished he had not taken his pique against Tom so seriously.

Yet he did, and looked for payback for what he considered Tom's disrespectful attitude. Given his penchant for making prank phone calls, Gary decided to lay one on Tom, and the following night he made his move. Only it wasn't exactly night but the next day. Two in the morning to be exact. Tom had no trouble finding the landline number listed in the phonebook. No problem either making the call. He lived with his parents but had his own line and bedroom phone.

After several rings, Gary heard a groggy older man's voice at the other end. "Hello..."

"Is Tom there?"

"Is Tom here? He's sleeping. Who's calling at this ungodly hour?"

"Just wake him up and get him to the phone."

Gary was surprised that the man didn't put up an argument. He smiled as he pictured Tom being roused from his bed. From the length of time it took Tom to pick up, Gary knew he'd been awakened.

"Hello."

"You didn't expect this, did you?"

"Huh? Who's this?"

"John Doe or Joe Blow. Take your pick. Did I rouse you from your peaceful slumber?"

"All right, who the fuck is this?"

"Testy, testy. Like I said, John or Joe."

"Who the fuck is this, man?"

"A guy who's telling you never to enter my fraternity house ever again. Ya hear me?"

"What fraternity house?"

"Gamma Epsilon, of course."

After a pause, Tom said, "You were there the other night?"

"I was. And if I ever see you there again, I'll beat the shit out of you. I hit hard. Very hard."

"You do, huh."

"I do."

"Okay, now tell me your real name. A tough guy like you shouldn't be afraid to reveal his real name after waking me and my parents at two in the morning, and after threatening to beat the shit out of me."

'Should I tell him?' Gary thought. No, he decided. Then he said, "That's for me to know and you to find out. Hint. I'm a pledge." Then he hung up.

Gary lay awake for over an hour. Part of him felt gratified, the other part anxious. Hell Night was only hours away, a final initiation when the brothers hazed the pledges into doing ridiculous things such as smearing the floor with peanut butter and then making the pledges clean it up. He figured that Tom knew when Hell Night was. Knew also that he might be there to find out who called him. Then what?

He thought seriously of not showing up. But that would be the coward's way out, and Gary didn't think of himself as a coward. On the other hand, he wasn't a fighter either. Hit hard...He never hit anyone hard in his life. The call was a total prank. At least he thought so. But he was beginning to think that Tom had other ideas. Well, maybe Tom wouldn't show. Or so Gary hoped.

No such luck, because hours later, while Gary was on the second floor, sweeping a broom across the green linoleum floor of what was once a bedroom, he heard a hard knock on the front door. The door opened, and then Gary heard brother Ross Danehy cry, "What?!" Then he heard this: "I said I'm here to find the motherfucker who woke my family up at two in the morning and threatened me."

Gary felt like shitting in his jeans. Literally, shitting in his jeans. He heard more talk between Tom, Ross, and then two other brothers who joined the conversation, Billy Magin and Paul Bonvoy. "All right, everybody upstairs," Ross ordered.

The pledges, all eight of them, including Gary and the brothers, about twenty people in all, gathered in the room that Gary had been sweeping. Tom hadn't come alone. He brought along two older friends of his, tough looking Marine vets who had done duty in the Middle East.

"Okay, it's your show," Ross told Tom. "Proceed."

While everyone stood by, Tom told all the pledges to line up against a wall, covered in pinewood that lay over the original building material. Tom Lurie, unlike his Marine buds, didn't look the least bit intimidating. Slightly above average height, average build. On the slender side. Straight, reddish-blond hair, worn with a spit curl in front. At first meeting, he gave the impression of a relaxed, easy-going guy, a guy who didn't mess with anyone unless someone messed with him.

Gary, on the other hand, looked far from average, at least in build. He'd been lifting weights since his early teens, and it showed. He stood around five-foot-eight and weighed close to two-hundred pounds, all muscle. He could military press close to three-hundred pounds, something that Tom, and perhaps even those Marines, couldn't do. However, as noted, a fighter he wasn't, and on that night, he felt almost paralyzed with worry, facing what he anticipated could be the most painful payback in all his eighteen years.

The pledges, standing against the wall, looked clueless. What the hell was this all about? Of course, Gary knew and could do nothing but stand there, struggling to hold back the shit he felt sliding down his colon toward his butt.

"Last night," Tom began, addressing the pledges, "one of you called me at two in the morning, waking me and my parents out of a deep sleep. This individual might or might not be here tonight--he didn't have the guts to give me his real name. John Doe and Joe Blow, he said."

He paused for the subdued, nervous laughter.

"Anyway," Tom continued, "this John or Joe said if he ever caught me down here again, he'd, and I quote, 'beat the shit' out of me. 'I hit hard, very hard,' he bragged."

Tom turned from the pledges toward the full-fledged frat members, letting them absorb his words. He was the center of attention, a ringmaster dressed in freshly pressed, off-white chinos and a blue V-neck sweater, holding the room in thrall and enjoying every second of it, including the incredulous looks on the faces of pledges and brothers alike.

He continued: "Somehow, I doubt this individual is here tonight. If not, then Billy and Ross told me they'd know who's missing and I could get his name."

Billy and Ross nodded when Tom looked at them for assurance. Then Ross spoke up. "Tom, all the pledges I know are present and accounted for. So your man, if in fact he's pledging this fraternity, must be here."

Tom nodded and faced the wall of pledges. "Right. So, will the so-called, self-styled, hard-hitting guy who threatened to beat the shit out of me, please step forward."

Gary wanted to sink into the proverbial hole in the floor, never to be seen by these folks again. His bowels were bursting at their seams, his stomach roiled, and he could feel streams of sweat roll down his back and form on his forehead. Why the fuck did he ever make that crazy phone call? If only he could take it back, his one prank call too many. To the wrong person. He sensed that Tom knew who it was, could sense the feel of guilt on his caller, could see his perspiration, could hear his stomach growl, could see the fear in his brown eyes. Gary knew he was trapped, a trap of his own making, and just standing there like his fellow pledges would not free him from this horrible predicament. If he failed to step forward, Tom Lurie would find a way to ferret out the guilty party; Gary just knew it.

And so, he stepped forward, raised his hand, and said, "It was me. And I apologize."

A switch flipped. Suddenly, Mr. Cool turned into Mr. Ferocious. Tom got inches from his face, teeth bared like an angry dog, blue eyes ablaze with menace and hatred.

"WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"

"Gary Durant."

"WHO?"

"Gary Durant."

"LOUDER!"

"GARY DURANT."

"WELL, GARY FUCKING DURANT, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TO DISTURB MY FAMILY LIKE YOU DID?!"

After Tom's screaming voice echoed off the walls and ceiling, the room fell silent. Gary caught a lump in his throat and swallowed hard. He knew that a simple apology wouldn't do. Tom was out for blood, if not to hurt him physically, then to humiliate him in front of the assembled. Which he had already done.

"WELL?!"

Tom's furious tone felt like a baseball bat across his head, a punch to the gut and a kick in the nuts, all rolled into one. "I apologize," Gary said again. "It was a stupid thing to do."

"I'LL SAY IT WAS A STUPID THING TO DO! WHERE'S YOUR BRAVADO NOW, TOUGH GUY? YOU'RE NO TOUGH GUY, YOU'RE A PUSSY." Then, lowering his voice, he added, "Not the same face to face as it is hiding behind a phone, is it?"

"No."

"No." He turned away, looked at the others and then faced Gary again. "You know, asshole, my parents work hard to provide for me, to pay for the clothes on my back, the food I eat and the roof over my head. They work, they need their sleep, and the last thing they need is a putz like you disturbing that sleep. Got it?"

"Yes. Look, I apol--"

"You apologize one more time and you're toast. I don't need your phony apologies. You're only sorry because you got caught."

He gave Gary a light punch to his ribs. So light that Gary barely felt it. Tom would have spared him the awful emotional pain and embarrassment he now felt if he had just come out swinging.

Ross Danehy stepped in. Ross was a big guy. At around six-feet and weighing close to two-fifty, he was bigger than those Marines. But he didn't look as tough because he carried lots of excess weight (unlike the muscular Marines) and had the face of a guy who hadn't got into many scrapes nor wanted to. He looked "pleasant," with light curly hair and a fair complexion. "Tom don't hit him," he said. "You're working him over pretty good without any violence needed. We don't want that in here."

Tom nodded, then turned back to Gary. "Okay, no violence. At least in here. But after all this, if you want to go someplace and duke it out, you're on. Just you and me. And if you beat me, you beat me."

"Your friends--"

"I said just you and me. No friends." He traded looks with his Marine buddies.

Tom's eyes felt like lasers boring into him. Gary thought he might be able to take this guy. Physically, he wasn't afraid of him. But he just didn't have it in him to accept the challenge. He'd been wrong to do what he did, and Tom had every right to be pissed. On some level, Gary felt he deserved it. "Look, I was wrong. No more apologies. And they'll be no more prank phone calls. To anybody. I've learned my lesson."

Skeptically, Tom looked at him for a few moments. Then he said, "I'm not sure you have, Gary. I know you won't be calling me again, but I have a feeling you're not done. In any case, WE'RE done." Then, smiling for the first time, he turned toward the crowd and cried, "Okay, everybody get drunk."

Tom and his friends hung around, drank beer, chatted with his old frat buddies and laughed watching the pledges being put through their initiation rituals. He left Gary alone. Well, for the most part. Hearing that he was a bodybuilder, Tom said he wanted to see Gary hit a few poses. When Gary demurred, Tom said, "Come on, consider it part of your hell night gig. Show me your muscles."

Reluctantly, Gary whipped off his shirt and hit the usual poses one sees in bodybuilding contests, though he had never actually been in one. He liked to train, liked the way he looked, but couldn't see himself up on a podium doing this. He felt silly posing in front of Tom, the Marines and others. In fact, he felt almost as humiliated doing this as he did an hour ago when Tom was giving him the business.

Tom watched with his arms folded across his chest. "Not bad," he said. "If those pecs get any bigger, you'll need a bra."

Gary forced himself to laugh, along with his audience. Inside, he cringed. Tom had made him into a minor spectacle, and he didn't like it one bit.

When Tom and his two friends were ready to leave, one of the Marines took Gary aside. "Look, I know how humiliated you must feel. I couldn't do what you did, stand up there in front of a bunch of people with a guy screaming insults at me. In boot camp we had to. But that was different. We knew it wasn't personal, knew that's what drill instructors did. Gotta hand it to you, man, you've got incredible self-restraint. Had it been me, no matter what I did, I'd have been all over the fucking guy yelling at me. That said, my advice to you would be to forget this ever happened and go about your business. People get killed over shit like this."

The night ended in the wee hours of the morning. Gary went home and slept. He spent winter break lounging around the house. A snowstorm made for good sledding, which Gary did with a few neighborhood chums. He had fun, though the humiliation from what happened weighed him down like the proverbial monkey on his back, one he couldn't shake. Maybe he SHOULD meet Tom somewhere and duke it out. Tom had every right to be pissed. But what he did, Gary was starting to think, was way over the top.

He stayed at the college for another semester, then transferred to one further away from home. The Incident, as he started calling it, was never far from his mind. The monkey, while no longer on his back, lurked nearby. He wondered if he had a form of posttraumatic stress. He didn't wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and screaming like some combat vets did. But he did have flashbacks to that night, could still feel the sting of humiliation, could still see all those twenty pairs of eyes on him as he stood there and took it, nearly shitting in his pants.

By June of the following year, just after school let out, Gary and Heidi, his girlfriend of six months, attended an art festival held around a reservoir, where artists hung their paintings on the surrounding fence. Hand in hand, they strolled along, looking at the artwork on this warm, partly sunny June day. It was one of those rare moments in his life when nothing serious or unpleasant was on his mind, including Tom Lurie. He felt happy and relaxed, enjoying the artwork, the weather and being with Heidi, cute and petite and damn sexy in her red shorts and halter top, and so into him.

And then...

Standing on the grass with Heidi, a few feet away from the fence and the asphalt promenade that circled the reservoir, while spooning a cup of ice cream they bought from a food truck, Gary couldn't believe his eyes. Tom Lurie! He was by himself, strolling along wearing summer slacks and a glorified T-shirt. He looked relaxed, his face impassive, nearly expressionless, a far cry from the snarling, angry guy he was during The Incident. Gary had yet to tell Heidi about it. In fact, no one knew except those who had witnessed it. He was still too ashamed to tell, ashamed that he made that prank call in the first place, and ashamed that he didn't stick up for himself more, that he stood there and took it, meek as a sheep, letting Tom humiliate him in front of all those people. He still had fantasies of avenging what Tom did, the Marine's advice notwithstanding, even as he admitted that he in some measure deserved it.

Well, now was his chance to do something. Tom was alone. No Marine buddies by his side, no fraternity brothers to stop him. But what would he do and how would he do it? He was with Heidi, a nice girl who loved him, who he knew wouldn't appreciate him starting something in front of her at this festive public gathering, where people were enjoying themselves, where the violence of the world seemed far removed.

Gary continued to watch while eating his meal, and Heidi began to watch him watching Tom. "See someone you know?" she asked.

Gary kept his eyes on the crowd. "Um, maybe, an old fraternity brother."

"I didn't know you were in a fraternity."

"Yeah, it was brief. I got out after I transferred to another school."

Tom, with the crowd around him, was now parallel with Gary and Heidi, strolling a few yards away. In seconds, he'd pass by, so if Gary was going to do something, he didn't have long to do it.

"Which one is he?" Heidi asked.

Gary pointed him out. "The guy with the striped blue and white shirt. See him?"

She nodded. "Are you going to say hello?"

Gary kept watching, could only see Tom's back now. He wanted to do more than just say hello. His heart burned for revenge, his veins swelled, his adrenalin pumped, and his mind swirled with terrible acts of violence. "Well, we weren't exactly friends," Gary finally said.

"No?"

"No. In fact..." He kind of wanted to tell her. They were getting closer, and he'd already told her a lot about himself and his life, not all of it good, and she had reciprocated. Taking his eyes off Tom, he said, "Look, something happened a couple years ago between us at the frat house. It should be water under the bridge, but it isn't. Not yet, at least not with me. It's still too painful for me to talk about. Maybe later?"

Heidi took his hand. "Sure, whenever you're ready. Don't feel you need to tell me everything. I'll still love you." She smiled, then reached up for a kiss.

Gary could barely see Tom now, strolling into the distance, blending in with the rest of the crowd. Minutes later, he was driving away from the festival, Heidi by his side. He felt he had made the right decision in not letting his still seething anger get the best of him. No use compounding one mistake with another mistake. Discretion was the better part of valor, was it not?

*****