In the late ‘80s, your eighth grade civics teacher Mr. Abenshein had worked part-time in the summers as a ranger at Warren Dunes State Park, located right on the shore of Lake Michigan. You learned about this one day, when he shared a story with the class about how on this one night he had gone down to the beach, his usual rounds, to make sure no one was at the beach past curfew. He’d have to put out abandoned camp fires, or clean up empty beer bottles. One night, he saw something out in the water. Sometimes he’d catch a bunch of Chicago people skinny dipping. The kids in class giggled at this bit of news. Chicago people, they rolled their eyes. He said he had to turn on the flashlight to get a better look. He said it was like catching two animals in the act, one man bent over another man.
You can’t remember the punchline, or if there even was one. You just remember how the class no longer held back, girls uncovered their mouths, unlatched their jaws like snakes to release high-pitched squeals while the boys loud whispered faggots, the s sound scraping the walls of your ear canal like an aluminum bat being dragged across pavement before battering the ear drum.
You’re not sure why Mr. Abenshein shared the story. You just remember how he stood in front of the class, how his eyes moved from student to student, nodding in approval while silently marking some imaginary grade in some imaginary roster until his eyes stopped on you. Then you were caught in the heat of that flashlight, frozen and exposed, like those two men, with nowhere to run or hide. Your mouth opened like a ventriloquist dummy and you waited, but no ventriloquist to save you, dummy. Nothing. No sound came out. Even Marie Jones, the nice Pentecostal girl who you sat next to on the bus, who wore long jean skirts everyday, shook her head as she smiled, like she disapproved, but that shame, your shame, fed her joy, even if for a second.
Kristian Sean O’Hare’s writing has appeared in Third Coast Magazine, San Francisco State University’s Fourteen Hills, Hawaii Pacific Review, South 85 Journal, New Orleans Review, The Indianapolis Review, Fatal Flaw Literary Magazine, Hobart, Fauxmoir Lit Mag, Reservoir Road Literary Journal, Sweet: A Literary Confection, Peatsmoke Journal, and Raleigh Review. He lives in San Francisco and teaches first-year writing, creative writing, and modern literature courses at San Jose State University.
Image Credit: Flickr Creative Commons/Eric Verleene
What a powerful piece! I could feel the protagonist pain.