World Issues Project

In Canada, specifically the province of Ontario, high school sucked worse than anywhere else did on the continent. There's a reason for this. We had to go to school for five years. They had this thing where in order to go to university you had to have six OAC's (Ontario Academic Credits). The OAC year was the fifth year. And EVERYONE was expected to try to go to university. Hence the sucking.

My name is Ethan. I'm not the classic porn story jock who's six foot two, two-hundred and twenty pounds of solid muscle with a ten inch dick. Nor am I the classic porn story five foot five one hundred and eight pounds soaking wet, with a foot long dong, nerd-who-gets-laid guy. Instead I'm the not so classic long-haired five foot eleven inches tall, one hundred and sixty pound guitar player that got laid once when I was twelve years old but hasn't since. Now that's one sorry set of blue balls I had, let me tell you.

My high school days were not exactly a time of prosperity for me. I was part of the Goth crowd. In fact, you might say I ran the Goth clique at our school...though I wouldn't have called myself "Goth". I didn't wear the makeup or dress all in black or have any spiked collars or any of that stuff. My wardrobe consisted primarily of jeans and tee shirts. I did however wear a trench coat and that set the stage for my acceptance with that crowd (though man did I ever catch a lot of flak after the Columbine shootings). Funny thing is that I didn't seek them out. I just sat in a corner during spares or lunch hour (or during class when I wanted a break) and played guitar.

Going to a primarily jock filled school and hanging out with a goth crowd does not add for a lot of harmony. We were fine with people and people generally seemed fine with me, though it was rare that my crew could get through fifteen minutes without someone being called 'gay' or 'fag' and the girls stuff like 'dyke' or 'slut'. As I said though, people generally didn't have much of a problem with me because I was quiet, smart and, despite my average frame, looked intimidating. At the time however, I felt under attack just as much as anyone else in my little "posse" did.

Now in most of these stories there's a perfect girl (or guy, I suppose...though it's a girl here) that the protagonist (that's me) really wanted. Off hand, I can think of three people I really wanted. Two of them were friends though and I had no idea about how to approach them about starting a relationship. The third person, I had never even talked to. I knew her only by name. Tabitha was THE girl. Every guy wanted her and every girl wanted to be her. I was no different from the rest of the guys in this respect.

She was tall and had long dark hair and brown eyes that really captured you (as you'll see in a bit). She was slim and voluptuous and had a set of wonderfully pouty lips. Her skin was pale and my god was it smooth to the touch! I had a dream about god coming down from the heavens and taking on a female form and she was hot, but didn't really compare to Tabitha.

The morning things started, I wasn't having a good day. A friend of mine had been beaten up pretty badly and I was the person who had found him and called the ambulance. This of course made me late for school and we all know how forgiving office administration is. Yes, that's my teeth you can hear grinding.

Well, long story short here, I ended up with a week of detention . . . after talking my way out of a suspension (this wasn't my first late incident. And to my sympathisers, don't worry--I've never showed up to any of the detention days). So thinking that famous last thought "at least nothing else can go wrong" fate kicked me in the crotch. I went to my English class to find out that I had just missed a quiz.

"Mr. Guilder, you've just missed your quiz," said Mr. Fallson. He had a cocky smile on his face and his balding head was shining in just the right position that the glare was right in my eyes.

"Sorry sir, I was in the office," I replied. I would have gone into more details, but he wouldn't have cared. He was one of those teacher types that was in it to teach us young punks a lesson.

"Well, then I'll check with them and assuming you were, I'll develop a harder quiz for you to do during the detention you would have been given. I assume you finished your Othello essay?" he asked.

The thing about school, be it grade school, high school or university, is that I've rarely ever handed anything in on time. Mr. Fallson knew this. So, of course we had this discussion loud enough for everyone to hear in front of the class.

"No sir," I replied.

"Hmph. Surprise, surprise," he stated in that smug, irritating voice. "I'm afraid I can't give you an assessment until all your outstanding assignments are handed in."

I just nodded and sat down at my seat, but not before catching Tabitha's eye briefly. When a guy has a crush, he can read things into the smallest gestures. The only thing I saw in that glance was a bit of pity, and maybe some amusement. I sat through that period and the next just waiting for lunch. I needed a break.

The lunch bell rang and everyone got up at the same time, as always. The crowds thickening down the hallways into the stairwells all headed to their individual lockers. I was no different except that I was probably a lot more cranky than most people. I met every challenging stare with one of my own that probably would have gotten me killed in certain areas of the country. I didn't care.

I started walking toward the stairway that would take me to my locker and the crowd seemed to just melt. As I was going down the stairs, there was only one other person that seemed to be heading up that I hadn't rounded the bend and was thus out of my sight at the moment. I got ready to glare and lo and behold my shock when I found myself staring into Tabitha's eyes.

Now, proper stranger eye contact etiquette dictates that the correct thing would have been for me to look past her, as though something interesting has caught my eye. It would also dictate that she do the same. Neither of us did.

I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine. It felt like an eternity. In reality it was seven seconds. Not long, right? Bullshit. You try looking into a veritable stranger's eyes for seven seconds and tell me how long you think it is. The interesting thing about it though was the fact that I couldn't read anything from that look. I didn't see any pity, amusement, malice, scorn or any of those other things that I had trained myself to look for. The only thing I could identify was the smallest bit of anxiety.

Throughout lunch my mood brightened. I was informed that the friend that I had found was awake and despite numerous fractured ribs and a pretty nasty concussion he'd be ok. No one came looking for me for that detention (detentions were served at lunch in my school) and my lunch consisted of a twenty dollar bill...which I used to buy pizza. Tabitha was also in my next class, significantly doing its part to make me happier.

When I got to class the person who sat at my table was already there. He was a pretty cool guy and despite being a jock he had a friendly attitude towards me and my friends. In fact we probably would have been pretty good friends if I knew him outside of school at all.

"Hey Ethan, what's kickin'?" he asked me as I sat down.

"Not too much dude, you?" I replied. He was also one of the luckiest people I know because earlier that month he began working on his end of semester project with Tabitha. He was happy about that, as any guy in his position would be.

We basically just chatted for a few minutes till class started. Our real teacher wasn't there today so a sub came in and told us to work on our projects. Greg (the guy I sat with) sighed at this point.

Everyone got up and moved to their partner's desks except Greg and myself. For me, this was understandable, as I was working alone. Greg's behaviour however was confusing. I was about to question him about it when Tabitha walked over to us and began talking with him. What they said was lost on me, as I was directing all my will into not staring at the ample bust that had just been placed in front of me. I'm pretty weak willed, it seems.

"Can I borrow your text book?" Those were the first words she ever said to me. I nearly drowned in her eyes this time.

"Please, be my guest," I replied. Man did I ever think I was smooth. I said it without the slightest hint of a waver in my voice. My stomach was a sea of acid however.

"Thanks!" she said, then bounced back to her table.

I didn't even try to stop staring this time. I figured I had good cause. After all, she had my textbook, right?

"You want her?" Greg asked me.

"Pardon?" I was stunned. Of course I wanted her. Everyone did. Redundant questions bothered me.

"I can't stand being her partner for this fucking thing. Wanna trade partners?"

All I could do was nod. Thinking back on it, it was the logical thing for him to do anyway. Greg worked in a library and could get all his information there. I didn't. I needed a partner.

"Good," he said. "Tab! Hey, you wanna work with Ethan? He doesn't have a partner."

"What about you?" she replied.

"I'm good."

She looked at me, kind of shrugged and said, "Yeah, sounds good."

And that was the end of it. Tabitha and I were now partners for this project that would go on till the end of the semester. I smiled at her, one of those awkward little 'so-what-now?' type of smiles. She gave me the same look. Ah well, time to bite the bullet, I thought, and stood up. She stood up too. This confused me and the lack of verbal communication was killing me. I bit another bullet.

"Err...did you want me to go there or did you want to come to my desk?" I asked. I was handling this worse than a job interview. She was smiling.

"It's ok, I'll go there," she said with a bit of a laugh. My god did that girl have a beautiful face! I watched as she walked the five steps to my desk with a big stupid grin on my face that actually hurt once I let it go. Only a man can ever look that foolish.

As she came over and sat down the possibility of me concentrating was totally lost as I found myself stealing glances at the open cleft in her shirt. The view was incredibly stimulating, as I was beginning to create quite a tent in my pants. Of course, I couldn't feel it and didn't have any idea about it, until I realised she hadn't been speaking for a few seconds and she had cut herself off midsentence. Then I noticed her eyes looking down not quite at the textbook. She was looking at my hard-on!

The bell rang suddenly and her head jerked upwards. She looked a bit surprised for a split second then smiled at me.

"We should get together this weekend and get some material established," she said. "Can I get your number?"

I couldn't resist. "We just met and you're already asking for my number! Tabitha! I must have made a pretty good impression," I said, writing down my number on a piece of paper.

"Yeah, you were real smooth..." she said, as she casually brought her finger up to "adjust" her shirt at the V where I had been staring. I didn't know what to do. Girls didn't like it when guys did stuff like that, right? See, that's the problem with the education sector these days. Guys are told that girls don't like anything to do with sex, and the girls are told that they aren't supposed to do anything "slutty". Our lives would be a lot happier if we were given the truth about sex at an early age and not left with vague, incorrect assumptions. "Sunday sound good to you? I'm busy the rest of the weekend with my boyfriend."

That got rid of my hardness pretty quick. As a quick note to the women out there, mention of the word boyfriend is a great way to stop most people in their tracks.

"Sunday's good. Your number?" I asked.

"Don't worry, I'll call you," she said and that was the last I saw of her till the weekend.

Friday nights for me were nothing special. They were just another night of the week. Since I had turned eighteen last year I could sign my own notes at school and took advantage of "sick days". This meant that on any day of the week I felt like staying out and having fun, I did. Of course, this meant that I was failing most of my classes, including the World Issues class I had with Tabitha. It didn't really matter; I had all 30 credits I'd need to graduate. I just didn't have the six OAC credits necessary for university.

That Friday night however, was special. I was sitting at home just after midnight when my phone rang. Now, my parents had this thing about the phone not ringing after 10:00 unless it was an emergency. If my mother was home and my father was sober, I'm sure I would have heard about it sometime Saturday afternoon. Regardless, neither was the case so I answered the phone to a very drunk Tabitha.

"Hey Ethan! It's Tab, and I'm very drunk and very sad," she said...cheerily. I figured she was joking.

"Ok...why are you sad? It's after midnight," I replied.

"Let's work on the thing now...you know...Come over to my house," she said. The girl was both very drunk and there was definitely something wrong in her voice. My mind was racing with only two distinct possibilities. The first was that her being my partner was all a joke and she'd have her boyfriend and a bunch of his friends over to kick the crap out of me for various reasons. The second, which I hoped for, but thought was outside the possibility of my reality, was that she was horny, just dumped her boyfriend and her parents were away for the weekend.

"I don't know where you live," I lied, "and your parents probably wouldn't want me over this late at night." I don't think there was a guy at the school that didn't know where she lived.

"They're gone. My address is 386 Partrage Road," she said with a giggle. Why she laughed, I didn't know.

"Ok, give me half an hour," I said, and hung up the phone.

I stood up and went to my closet and pulled out my uniform: a pair of jeans (ripped in the left knee) and a slightly faded royal purple tee shirt. As I got dressed I went over the conversation that we had just had in my head. Sad, she said, and yet her entire intonation and attitude screamed that she was lying, that there was some alternate ploy behind her words that she was poorly trying to put in place.

Convinced that I was going to get myself beaten up yet unable to stop myself for the possibility of her wanting to get laid by me, I left. Most of my friends drove. Those who didn't took the bus or walked. In order for me to get to her place in the half-hour mentioned, I had to ride my bicycle. I got on my bike, which to me at the time seemed very childish and immature, and rode.

When I finally got close enough to her house I saw that her boyfriend was indeed there, though not with a bunch of his friends and not really looking like he was waiting to get into a fight. Regardless, I sneaked up a little closer to listen to what he was saying. Better safe than sorry, right?

He was standing outside the door, talking just bellow a yell. What I heard was this: "You fucking whore, just pay me for what you drank tonight! I'm going to knock down this fucking door, knock in your teeth and take it if you don't RIGHT THIS FUCKING MINUTE!"

I couldn't quite make out her reply, but I have this thing where I'm old fashioned when it comes to threatening violence against a woman. Don't do it. Especially when you don't know I'm nearby with a 70 pound hunk of metal (my father hadn't bought me a mountain bike since they were made of what must have been cast iron and lead) that I can use to bludgeon you with. Man, did he not see it coming.

I picked up the bike holding the front wheel steady with the rest of the body, walked calmly up behind the drunken idiot and brained him, bringing the rear tire down on the back of his head. He was breathing so he wasn't dead, and he probably would have a concussion from it so he sure as hell wasn't getting up any time soon.

I could hear Tabitha sobbing behind the door, so I knocked lightly.

"Tab? It's Ethan. Uh...I think we should call your boyfriend a cab...he's, done for the night," I said to the thick panelled wood that the guy at my feet wouldn't have come close to being able to break open. I was starting to shake. The effects of the adrenaline were running off and the effects of the norepinephrine (the hormone in adrenaline that forces the "flight" part of the "fight or flight" reflex) kicking in. While I was looking down at the body I didn't notice Tabitha had opened the door just a crack.

"Is he dead?" she asked making me jump like a twitchy chinchilla getting electro-shock therapy. Her hair was tousled a bit and her eyes red-rimmed, but my god was she gorgeous!

"Ah...I hope not. He's breathing. Let's call him a cab and get him out of here," I replied then went for his wallet, taking his last forty bucks. I followed Tabitha inside and waited as she called for the taxi. When she finished we both went outside and waited for about five minutes in total, awkward silence. When the cab finally did get there I put him inside with some mumbled words about having too much to drink to the cabby and thrust the forty bucks at him.

"Take him as far as half of that will get you toward the north end of town, the rest is yours. Just lay him down near some bushes when you get there, so he'll sleep it off," I told him. The great thing about cabbies is that they have such awful jobs already that they'll do almost anything just shy of murder for twenty dollars. Some of them won't be so shy. This cabby just nodded and smiled, then sped away, the inertia being the only force to close the back door.

Tabitha laughed. That was a good sign. She wasn't too freaked out about what happened.

"He lives in the East End. He won't have any clue where he is when he wakes up," she said with a devious gleam in her eye. I couldn't help but snicker a bit at that myself as I casually glanced down at her breasts, thinking for some odd reason that she wouldn't notice. She wasn't wearing a bra. That got my heart pumping. "Let's go inside."

However drunk she may have been earlier in the night (she sounded quite smashed when she had called me) she had definitely sobered up some within the forty-five minutes since the phone call. Her speech was no longer slurred and although she walked with a slight drunken gait, she could have passed it off as just wanting to show off her assets. It didn't matter to me, I was still curious as to why I was there in the first place.

We got inside again and, looking around for a second, I found that the place looked like the owners were comfortable in a financial sense. The brown leather couch and matching chairs set against the stone and wood panelling in the den area sat on top of an impeccably well done afghan rug. The flat panel plasma TV (a fifteen thousand dollar commodity at the time) sat above the fireplace. On top of the frosted glass coffee table I took note of the peach schnapps that 26 ounce bottle that was about one quarter of the way through and the 20 ounces of whiskey left in the 40 ounce bottle near to it. Having several alcoholics as "friends" this picture was starting to put itself together in my mind.

"Why are people so mean when they drink that stuff?" Tabitha asked me in a hurt voice. She gestured emphatically at the half-empty liquor bottle.

"Whiskey just does that to some people. It can actually get really bad. I have an uncle that was sent to jail for it," I replied. Making conversation seemed like a good idea. I don't know why, but it just did. I moved further into the den, near one of the matching leather chairs.

"That sucks. All I was hoping for was a fun weekend where we could fuck around and...well...have some fun. Instead he turns into the prick from hell when he finds out I started my period a few days early," Tabitha said. She said it all without a hint of embarrassment, though her cheeks did look the tiniest bit red. I chalked it all up to the schnapps.