About Wes

When I first moved to the neighborhood, there was a boy with a rat-tail named Wes who lived in the cul-de-sac at the end of my street. He was in my fifth grade class and on the first day of school he befriended me when all of the other snooty kids kept their distance and inspected me. During my very first snack time, Wes was kind enough to share a can of cream soda (my first taste of this wonderful pop, mind you) and some of his snack crackers. Discovering that we lived on the same street, Wes walked home with me, introducing me to two very cute girls on our block (folks, this happened in fifth grade, so cut me some slack). We went over to their house and they entertained us with an entire hour of renditions of country favorites like Randy Travis' "Forever and Ever, Amen." Our friendship continued to blossom, with him inviting me over to his house to watch bad T.V., play Super Mario Brothers and eat chocolate pudding-filled cupcakes (and ogle his hot mom -- again, I'm sorry, but she was really a looker).

As time went by, the other students started warming up to me and I learned more about the lay of the land. You see, Wes was a dork and by being his friend, I was also a dork. This was made clear to me everyday and Wes started to notice that it started to affect our interactions. During snack, I had stopped sitting with him. After school let out, I wouldn't necessarily walk with him. And worst of all, he noticed that I was hanging with the crew of kids that had always picked on him. This is where things got really bad. One afternoon I happened to be hanging out on our school playground with Wes. The "cool kids" were there, hanging on the swings and monkey bars as though we were in some pre-pubescent version of West Side Story. Wes had to go into the school for whatever reason and left his bike outside and unlocked. Knowing full well what these kids were capable of, he warned them to keep their hands off his bike. They all nodded and kiddingly reassured him that nothing would happen to his bike. But as soon as he disappeared into the school, they plotted.

"Let's hide it," one would suggest.

"Let's deflate his tires," another would say.

"You do it."

"Naw, you do it."

"I'll do it," I proudly declared.

Stunned by my audacity, they silently stared as I walked over to my friend's bike and started letting the air out of both tires. I can still recall the loud, long hiss as each tire flattened out. I didn't have to look at the cool kids to see that they were impressed. I had passed a test they hadn't even realized they had given me. When I was done, I stepped back and sat down on a swing, waiting for the scene to play itself out.

Wes came out minutes later and quickly hopped on his bike to leave. It didn't take long for him to realize that his tires were deflated. He hopped off, shoved his bike to the ground and started charging at the group of kids, threatening to kick the shit out of them. They screamed back at him, telling him that they had nothing to do with it. I stood up and walked over to Wes. I can recall speaking in a cool, calm steady voice -- "Wes, I took the air out of your tires."

Wes, frozen, stared at me in disbelief. "No... you didn't."

"But I did."

"How? Why?"

I didn't have an answer for him. I sensed his pain. I had betrayed my first friend in my new hometown. There person that first reached out to me when others didn't, the one who opened up his home to me, shared his cupcakes with me -- I betrayed him. And I did so in such an ugly way. Despite my admission, Wes was still unwilling to accept this sad truth. He was adamant that the real culprits were the cool kids. Tears in his eyes, he leapt back on his bike and pedaled hard down the hill towards home -- the sound of steel frames and soft rubber crunching on the grass.

Needless to say, things changed after that. We were enemies. He hated me and for good reason. One time, I even got into a fist fight with him (to this day, the only fist fight I ever got into). I used to say that it was because he was picking on my sister, but that's only half of it. The fight was really about us. It had to happen. Wes had carried that anger in him for so long and I needed an excuse to have it out. We never talked after this. He and his mom eventually moved. I think once after that, he came back to visit. I remember I was out in front of my house doing something mundane like raking leaves. He was in front of his house, too. We made eye contact and acknowledged each other with a "hey" before going back inside.

To this day, I have a lot of trouble keeping friends. It's horrible and I know it's rooted in some major insecurities. It's also ruined a lot of potential relationships like that really pretty tomboy who had a crush on me (she was obviously on CRACK). For whatever reason, I believed what others said about her -- that she was weird, that she was ugly -- and totally pushed her away. Her and a million of other would-be friends. And where are those shitheads now? The haters. Don't know. Definitely not friends with me.

So as feeble as it is, I want to say to Wes and all of the other people I've ever been ugly to by listening to my fears instead of my heart:

"I am sincerely sorry. If I ever had the fortune to meet any of you again, please allow me to buy you a drink and apologize in person. I hope that wherever you are, you all are doing well, that you're surrounded by folks who love you and celebrate all of your achievements."

As that turn of the century artist, Usher, so wisely sang, "this is my confession - just when I thought I said all I can say..."