Eighth Grade Limo

 
There were only about 20-something of us that graduated eighth grade together from our Catholic school. Less than half were boys. It was a day of expectation and celebration. I wanted some candy as a reward for making it through, so I walked to the drug store only a few blocks away.

As I walked home, a loud scream reached my ears, and I looked up from my Lick-A-Maid. An extended limousine passed by and hanging out of the windows hurling insults at me were all the other eighth grade boys. They secretly planned their celebration without me.

I ran home without looking behind me tears streaming down my face. My father forced the story out of me. He scoured the neighborhood for the limousine and boys and chewed them out for not even attempting to invite me. Their excuse: we were poor and probably couldn't've afforded it. Really, they all just hated the fag.

I still had to go to graduation that night. The pictures make me look happy, and I was somewhat happy. I was happy to finally be done with them. Only we weren't done. My father forced them to apologize.

Seeing his display of authority, I smiled. And the picture snapped.

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