I know how I look, Sammy thought, trying to ignore the penetrating stare of Bill Anson. Bill Anson the Handsomest Creature on Earth. Bill Anson the Great. High and Mighty Bill Anson. Sammy tried to shake off all these thoughts while he felt as if a hole was starting to melt its way through the middle portion of his lanky body. “Sammy Boy!” Bill’s unmistakable voice boomed across the room, making Sammy’s head jerk to its direction. “Yes?” Sammy’s answer was almost a whisper. He cringed at the devilish grin across Bill’s face. It meant trouble. Bill stood up from the armchair he’d been sitting on and went to Sammy. He draped an arm around Sammy’s shoulders and gave them a tight little squeeze. “Party at my house tonight. You’re invited.” At this, Sammy’s eyes bulged so much they could easily be mistaken as trying to fall off their sockets. His mouth, now a perfect oval, hung open as if meaning to say something. I’ve never been invited to a party before, Sammy could have just said. Bill chuckled. The sound wasn’t a bit lovely, Sammy noted. “Yes, I’m inviting you. So you better come.” The wide grin resurfaced. Sammy stared at Bill’s mouth as he was speaking and Sammy got lost in the way Bill’s mouth moved up and down, up and down, as he spoke. Somehow, it looked hilarious to him. He wanted to laugh so badly. But of course he restrained himself. Laughing at Billy would be a huge mistake. Massive.
“What’s the occasion, Bill?” Sammy asked as politely as he could after a serious consideration of the major holidays of the year. He thought maybe it was Bill’s birthday. Then he quickly threw the idea away. Who in Royal Commons forgot Bill’s birthday? “Well, nothing beats a Friday night, Sammy boy. And you’d be missed if you don’t come.” Bill’s grin grew wider than ever. Sammy fell silent.
If there was one thing Sammy sure knew, it’s that nobody was going to miss him if he chose to be a no-show. People don’t invite ‘freaks’ to parties. People deliberately forget about ‘freaks’. Bill gave Sammy a gentle pat on the hump on his back. Sammy exhaled sharply. He was suddenly reminded of the strange addition to his anatomy. How he hated that hump. He loathed it with all the life in him. He found it hard to accept the reason why people called him a ‘Mountain Range’. Of course that’s when they forget that he also went by the name ‘Humpy Sammy’. It was the reason why walking along corridors was a picture of the Parting of the Red Sea. The crowd always split exactly where he passed- as if he was Moses himself. And then occasionally, someone would comment: “Hey Humpy! Cool Backpack!” to which Sammy would automatically hug the backpack that he never wore on his back closer to his chest, squeezing comfort out of it. At that point, everyone laughed. The sound of their mocking laughter was horrible. It rang in his ears for weeks, even before he got another dose of it. It reminded him everyday how he didn’t ever belong. It reminded him that he was a freak show. The pain created an empty hole in him. The pain was new every day, and only Sammy knew how painful it was. But he chose to live with it because he found nothing else to do.
So when Bill the High and Mighty invited him to the party, he was expecting the part when people would tell him to get real; come on, invite you to a party? It always came with pranks like this. But strangely, it never came and Sammy’s heart fluttered with hope. Bill left him alone and went back to his friends. It even seemed as if it never happened at all.
He smiled to himself and he wasn’t aware that he looked quite stupid and scary with that smile. He decided he was going to the party. And then, with tightly closed eyes, he prayed that the hump would go away. Go away- just like that. He prayed in his armchair just minutes before Professor Harding arrived in the classroom with noisy and bored college students, just like every time.
…
Bill walked around his house, one arm around a stoned-looking brunette’s waist, laughing idiotically at a joke he shared to a group of people clustered together playing cards. Those people had laughed so hard at his joke, throwing their heads back and clutching their bellies. But he knew they laughed only for the sake of laughing and because they felt like they should. But for Bill, the joke was funny enough to set pieces of chewed cracker flying in the air. Bill didn’t care if he was the only one who found himself funny, as long as people forced themselves to laugh along. And why wouldn’t they? He was Bill- and that was that.
Bill looked for Sammy among the people crammed in his house. There was no sign of him. Then he saw it- the unmistakable hump on Sammy’s back glowing with the light from the open refrigerator it stood next to. Bill almost immediately sprinted to the direction of that deformed back. A wave of relief ran through him as he narrowed the distance between him and Sammy. Finally, breath heavy and chest heaving, Bill reached Sammy. Just that it wasn’t Sammy at all. Bill’s mouth fell open when the back he’d thought was humped straightened and revealed that it was just like any other back after all. Nothing extra. It was Phil, who’d bended forward into the fridge looking for something- a glass of water maybe. Slowly, taking some precious time, sweat trickled down his spine. Things shouldn’t go wrong, he thought. At once, confidence left him and he was suddenly cold. His arrogant swagger vanished to a drunken attempt at walking straight. When he heard that voice the other night, it scared hell out of him and he decided without any thought that he wasn’t going to dare disobey.
Bill tried to look tough, though he was far from it. He knew he was just a coward who hid behind connections- ones that his father had earned. No connection could help him now. He had to face the situation by himself. That scared him even more.
When he fell out of sleep that night, the voice unmistakably said: “Make sure Sammy comes along.” He’d instantly looked around his room although he didn’t really need to. He knew he wouldn’t see who the voice was from. He’d heard the voice as clear as any sound from a speaker on maximum volume. The voice rang in his ears so clearly he couldn’t deny it existed. He’d even felt the vibration that created it. He didn’t recognize the voice, the low murmur that it was. But the fear that crawled in his veins the instant that he heard it was enough. For the first time, someone told Bill what to do- and Bill obeyed without any debate. It was unusual as Bill’s immediate obedience.
When Bill realized that almost an hour had gone without any trace of Sammy, he started to shake, first inside then he trembled as if he was struggling with hypothermia. He was very afraid. When the voice said ‘Make sure Sammy comes along’, it had also meant ‘Make sure or else….’ And Bill knew that too, like all the other weird things he now knew and would die to not know.
Bill let go of the brunette the moment he understood that he was indeed trembling and he started to frantically search the house. He went upstairs with unstable knees. They felt like snapping any moment now. He opened three bedroom doors but not a shadow of Sammy was in any of the rooms. He searched bathrooms, went down to the garage, looked into every corner of the house and surveyed the street. Sammy wasn’t anywhere.
He was bathing in sweat now and he was breathing in ragged gasps. He fought hard to steady his hands but lost. He wanted to yell “Sam!” at the top of his voice but stopped himself. He didn’t want to go insane. He later decided to go back inside the house and look there again. You know Sammy’s not there, his mind told him. “Shut up!” Bill said aloud at himself and stepped into the house. As he walked inside, looking at everything and everyone but not really seeing, he felt as desperate as a dying beggar. He thought, ‘what’s the point?’ but went on anyway. His arms dropped to his sides and he didn’t notice that his shoulders were sagging so low he looked like a man-ape. Make sure Sammy comes along, the voice reminded him. It reminded him that he failed. He walked around the house mindlessly, hoping to death that Sammy would greet him there, with a wide grateful smile painted across his innocent face, but knowing that Sammy wouldn’t. Make sure Sammy comes along. Or else.
…
He walked along the corridor and, as was expected, the crowd parted in the middle. They must’ve seen Moses himself in him. He stared at the floor, trying to ignore the way people inched farther from him. He sighed weakly. It was lonely to be where you did not belong. He, of all people, knew that so well now but he still couldn’t get used to it. The loneliness was new everyday. It ate at his insides and gnawed away at his spirit.
Every day, he was amazed at how he managed to survive. And at night just before he went to bed, he always closed his eyes and prayed a prayer of thanks, just like every time. He’d learned to do that some time before, after his father sent him to the hospital and the doctor told him that there was an oversized tumor in his body. It was not painful- not physically though, and the doctor confirmed his feeling that it had been growing. Funny, he thought, where the tumor grew- the tumor that the doctors had no name whatsoever for. How he’d hoped they’d just had a name for it. He wouldn’t care if it was back cancer, if there was anything like that. If only it wouldn’t be this nameless hump growing on his back as if it had a life of its own. They weren’t even able to point out to him the causes for such growth. As the days passed and he grew more aware of its presence, he developed a certain dislike towards it. He hated it with every significant meaning of the word.
That day, as he sat quite uncomfortably on his armchair, he closed his eyes as tight as his facial muscles allowed and prayed for the tumor to go away. Go away- just like that. As he was opening his eyes, finishing his litany of requests, laughter roared across the room. Then, the source of the horrible sound remarked, a devilish grin on his face: “Hey Billy, cool backpack!” The rest of the people in the room then contributed to the horrifying chorus. And no one but Bill knew how painful it was.
“What’s the occasion, Bill?” Sammy asked as politely as he could after a serious consideration of the major holidays of the year. He thought maybe it was Bill’s birthday. Then he quickly threw the idea away. Who in Royal Commons forgot Bill’s birthday? “Well, nothing beats a Friday night, Sammy boy. And you’d be missed if you don’t come.” Bill’s grin grew wider than ever. Sammy fell silent.
If there was one thing Sammy sure knew, it’s that nobody was going to miss him if he chose to be a no-show. People don’t invite ‘freaks’ to parties. People deliberately forget about ‘freaks’. Bill gave Sammy a gentle pat on the hump on his back. Sammy exhaled sharply. He was suddenly reminded of the strange addition to his anatomy. How he hated that hump. He loathed it with all the life in him. He found it hard to accept the reason why people called him a ‘Mountain Range’. Of course that’s when they forget that he also went by the name ‘Humpy Sammy’. It was the reason why walking along corridors was a picture of the Parting of the Red Sea. The crowd always split exactly where he passed- as if he was Moses himself. And then occasionally, someone would comment: “Hey Humpy! Cool Backpack!” to which Sammy would automatically hug the backpack that he never wore on his back closer to his chest, squeezing comfort out of it. At that point, everyone laughed. The sound of their mocking laughter was horrible. It rang in his ears for weeks, even before he got another dose of it. It reminded him everyday how he didn’t ever belong. It reminded him that he was a freak show. The pain created an empty hole in him. The pain was new every day, and only Sammy knew how painful it was. But he chose to live with it because he found nothing else to do.
So when Bill the High and Mighty invited him to the party, he was expecting the part when people would tell him to get real; come on, invite you to a party? It always came with pranks like this. But strangely, it never came and Sammy’s heart fluttered with hope. Bill left him alone and went back to his friends. It even seemed as if it never happened at all.
He smiled to himself and he wasn’t aware that he looked quite stupid and scary with that smile. He decided he was going to the party. And then, with tightly closed eyes, he prayed that the hump would go away. Go away- just like that. He prayed in his armchair just minutes before Professor Harding arrived in the classroom with noisy and bored college students, just like every time.
…
Bill walked around his house, one arm around a stoned-looking brunette’s waist, laughing idiotically at a joke he shared to a group of people clustered together playing cards. Those people had laughed so hard at his joke, throwing their heads back and clutching their bellies. But he knew they laughed only for the sake of laughing and because they felt like they should. But for Bill, the joke was funny enough to set pieces of chewed cracker flying in the air. Bill didn’t care if he was the only one who found himself funny, as long as people forced themselves to laugh along. And why wouldn’t they? He was Bill- and that was that.
Bill looked for Sammy among the people crammed in his house. There was no sign of him. Then he saw it- the unmistakable hump on Sammy’s back glowing with the light from the open refrigerator it stood next to. Bill almost immediately sprinted to the direction of that deformed back. A wave of relief ran through him as he narrowed the distance between him and Sammy. Finally, breath heavy and chest heaving, Bill reached Sammy. Just that it wasn’t Sammy at all. Bill’s mouth fell open when the back he’d thought was humped straightened and revealed that it was just like any other back after all. Nothing extra. It was Phil, who’d bended forward into the fridge looking for something- a glass of water maybe. Slowly, taking some precious time, sweat trickled down his spine. Things shouldn’t go wrong, he thought. At once, confidence left him and he was suddenly cold. His arrogant swagger vanished to a drunken attempt at walking straight. When he heard that voice the other night, it scared hell out of him and he decided without any thought that he wasn’t going to dare disobey.
Bill tried to look tough, though he was far from it. He knew he was just a coward who hid behind connections- ones that his father had earned. No connection could help him now. He had to face the situation by himself. That scared him even more.
When he fell out of sleep that night, the voice unmistakably said: “Make sure Sammy comes along.” He’d instantly looked around his room although he didn’t really need to. He knew he wouldn’t see who the voice was from. He’d heard the voice as clear as any sound from a speaker on maximum volume. The voice rang in his ears so clearly he couldn’t deny it existed. He’d even felt the vibration that created it. He didn’t recognize the voice, the low murmur that it was. But the fear that crawled in his veins the instant that he heard it was enough. For the first time, someone told Bill what to do- and Bill obeyed without any debate. It was unusual as Bill’s immediate obedience.
When Bill realized that almost an hour had gone without any trace of Sammy, he started to shake, first inside then he trembled as if he was struggling with hypothermia. He was very afraid. When the voice said ‘Make sure Sammy comes along’, it had also meant ‘Make sure or else….’ And Bill knew that too, like all the other weird things he now knew and would die to not know.
Bill let go of the brunette the moment he understood that he was indeed trembling and he started to frantically search the house. He went upstairs with unstable knees. They felt like snapping any moment now. He opened three bedroom doors but not a shadow of Sammy was in any of the rooms. He searched bathrooms, went down to the garage, looked into every corner of the house and surveyed the street. Sammy wasn’t anywhere.
He was bathing in sweat now and he was breathing in ragged gasps. He fought hard to steady his hands but lost. He wanted to yell “Sam!” at the top of his voice but stopped himself. He didn’t want to go insane. He later decided to go back inside the house and look there again. You know Sammy’s not there, his mind told him. “Shut up!” Bill said aloud at himself and stepped into the house. As he walked inside, looking at everything and everyone but not really seeing, he felt as desperate as a dying beggar. He thought, ‘what’s the point?’ but went on anyway. His arms dropped to his sides and he didn’t notice that his shoulders were sagging so low he looked like a man-ape. Make sure Sammy comes along, the voice reminded him. It reminded him that he failed. He walked around the house mindlessly, hoping to death that Sammy would greet him there, with a wide grateful smile painted across his innocent face, but knowing that Sammy wouldn’t. Make sure Sammy comes along. Or else.
…
He walked along the corridor and, as was expected, the crowd parted in the middle. They must’ve seen Moses himself in him. He stared at the floor, trying to ignore the way people inched farther from him. He sighed weakly. It was lonely to be where you did not belong. He, of all people, knew that so well now but he still couldn’t get used to it. The loneliness was new everyday. It ate at his insides and gnawed away at his spirit.
Every day, he was amazed at how he managed to survive. And at night just before he went to bed, he always closed his eyes and prayed a prayer of thanks, just like every time. He’d learned to do that some time before, after his father sent him to the hospital and the doctor told him that there was an oversized tumor in his body. It was not painful- not physically though, and the doctor confirmed his feeling that it had been growing. Funny, he thought, where the tumor grew- the tumor that the doctors had no name whatsoever for. How he’d hoped they’d just had a name for it. He wouldn’t care if it was back cancer, if there was anything like that. If only it wouldn’t be this nameless hump growing on his back as if it had a life of its own. They weren’t even able to point out to him the causes for such growth. As the days passed and he grew more aware of its presence, he developed a certain dislike towards it. He hated it with every significant meaning of the word.
That day, as he sat quite uncomfortably on his armchair, he closed his eyes as tight as his facial muscles allowed and prayed for the tumor to go away. Go away- just like that. As he was opening his eyes, finishing his litany of requests, laughter roared across the room. Then, the source of the horrible sound remarked, a devilish grin on his face: “Hey Billy, cool backpack!” The rest of the people in the room then contributed to the horrifying chorus. And no one but Bill knew how painful it was.
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