Seeking Samuel
I bite my lip and stare at the clock. The hands seem to be moving impossibly slow, and the ‘tick tocks’ echo in my ears. I pinch the bridge of my nose in attempt to keep an oncoming headache at bay. My heart begins to pound, and I am suddenly overwhelmed with the need for fresh air. My fingertips drum against my desk, and I stare at the test in front of me. The whiteness of the sheet scares me. It always does. I know the answers. I know I know the answers, yet I can’t seem to recall any of them. I start to sweat, and I tug at the collar of my cotton t-shirt. The ticking is reverberating in my eardrums louder still, and I swallow, suddenly aware of my time limit, and I steal a look at the clock once again. The substitute teacher monitoring the classroom catches my wandering eyes and gives me a stern look. I quickly return to my test and stare apprehensively at the questions. The print swims before my eyes and I have to read the question four times before I am able to comprehend it. My hand moves slowly as I write out what I think to be a decent answer. I’ll probably fail. Again.
When that dulcet bell rings, I throw my bag over one shoulder and shove past the other teens, making my way out the door before the others. At the end of the hall I make a sharp left, then a right. I stop walking when I see the second door on the left, next to the only good water fountain on this side of the building. At the top of the scraped wood door there is a shiny plate that reads ‘Janitor’. I turn the knob and quickly squeeze inside, tucking myself behind a shop vac and a pyramid of big brown paper towel rolls. Here is where I finally feel safe. In my comfort zone, I finally allow the tremors to take over and I tug at my hair. This week has been particularly difficult for me, and I’ve been coming here to relieve my stress for the past four days.
Outside the door is the world of pain and hardships. I can hear the sound of the other students making their ways to lunch. My lunch lays forgotten in my messenger bag as I take out my anger on one of the paper towel rolls, slowly tearing it apart, strip-by-strip. With each tear, I imagine one of my problems floating away. The first tear represents my parents. My father was recently laid off, causing my parents to fight constantly. Maybe they’ll finally divorce like they’ve been threatening for years. As I crinkle the paper, I think about how much it hurts when they ignore me, when they pretend that I’m not there so that their problems are lessened. Currently, I am a piece of paper towel. They have torn me off the role and tossed me in the trash.
The second strip stands for my grades, which are currently in the gutter. In all honesty I think they aren’t that bad. Unfortunately, in my family, getting a ‘C’ is out of the question. I currently have two Cs. The third strip stands for loneliness. I lost most of my friends when my parents forced me to quit soccer last year to focus on my studies. What with my schoolwork and my part-time job at Happy-Mart, I don’t have time to socialize anymore. I pause to consider this strip and try to remember what it’s like to go out of the house simply for the sake of having fun… I can’t recall the feeling. As the brown paper falls to the ground I tear off another strip. This strip is for my sister, who died four years ago. She was eleven, and forgot to look both ways before crossing the street. I miss her. Instead of dropping that strip, I fold it up carefully and tuck it into my pocket.
The fifth strip represents my sexuality. Being gay in a relatively conservative town isn’t easy. I still haven’t come out of the closet, which is yet another stress that leads me to hide in a closet. Ha. There is a sudden draft, and I shiver, gooseflesh covering my arms. I rub at the horripilation and pull my sweater out of my backpack. As I tug it on, my mind wanders back to the test I just took. If I fail this one, my grade will drop. I sigh sadly. The only time my parents take notice of me is when my grades are low. They started ignoring me when Ellie died.
My hands close around the paper strip that is Ellie, my thumbs smoothing out the edges as I remember her laugh... I remember how she refused to let mom do her hair, even though her pigtails always came out crooked when she did them herself. I remember the time when she kicked a boy in the shins, just because he thought it was funny to call me a loser. I remember how she used to make chocolate chip cookies with me, every time mom and dad fought, since she was seven and I was eight. As images of her smile, her lopsided pigtails, and her chocolate chip cookies flash through my mind, I shudder and clench my teeth. I try to keep the tears out of my eyes, but I fail miserably.
I let my head fall back against the shelf, enjoying the loud thudding noise I hear when my skull comes in contact with the cool metal. Suddenly, the door is wrenched open and a boy walks in, invading my space of solace. I quickly wipe away my tears, and he stares at me- I can only imagine what he thinks of me, huddled in the dark in a supply closet. After a few seconds, he walks closer and pushes aside some paper towel rolls to grab a plastic bag that had been hidden in one of the cardboard tubes. I stare at the green substance and wrinkle my nose as the smell permeates my nostrils. He stuffs the marijuana into his pocket and looks at me once again. I blush and shift, trying to hide my tearstained face, and I tuck myself into the corner. I’d never seen him in person before, but I knew who he was.
His name is Samuel, and he’s a junior, a grade ahead of me. He’s pretty infamous at school. Samuel was notorious for skipping, and rumor had it he was a total pothead. I stare at the not-so-small lump in his pocket. It was a rumor confirmed.
Samuel cocks his head as he regards me, his eyes burning into me with a look of interest. My heart nearly stops when he abruptly reaches down to grab my arm, yanking me up from my sitting position. He drags me out of my sanctuary, my bag left behind in the cold storage closet.
“Hey! What’re you doing?” I ask, frightened. He doesn’t answer. He simply continues to walk, pulling me behind him. I try to tug my arm out of his grasp, but his hold is firm, and he refuses to let go. Eventually, we reach the side doors, and he nudges them open with his foot, and shoves me through it. He leans against the brick wall and pulls out his baggie. Without looking at me he takes his time stuffing bits of weed into a tinfoil pipe. I fidget nervously, not understanding why he’s brought me here. He glances at me and gives me an annoyed look.
“Relax, chicken shit; you look like I’m gonna murder you or something,” he growls. I flinch at his tone and tug at the bottom of my shirt. He sighs and pulls a lighter out of his vest pocket and flicks his thumb against the top. After the fourth strike it lights, and he holds the small flame to the homemade pipe.
“What do you want?” I ask, wanting to go back to my closet. My heart still hurts, and I’m having trouble breathing. Now that I’m out of my haven all the worries of my parents, my job, and my life envelope me, and I shudder. Samuel simply looks at me calmly and brings the pipe to his mouth. I watch him, momentarily mesmerized as his lips enclose the tinfoil, and he inhales slightly. He pulls the pipe away and holds the smoke in his mouth awhile before releasing it into the air.
“I’m Samuel,” he states, his voice wavering a bit as he let his breath out.
“I know. I’m Ethan,” I say, still wary of the older boy. “What do you want?” I repeat.
“It’s better for you out here than in that stuffy closet,” he says, and leaves it at that.
He brushes his bangs aside as he takes another hit, and I notice for the first time that the front of his hair is dyed blond in stark contrast to his dark brown hair. As I continue to study his face, I see many other things that make him unique. His eyes are a murky green, much more beautiful than my dull brown ones. He has wickedly arched eyebrows, and his left one supports a piercing. He has a mole under his left eye. I think it makes him look dashing. His left ear is pierced four times; the bottom one is a large gauge. Suddenly he looks at me again, and I’m embarrassed to be caught staring.
“You gay, closet boy?” he asks, trails of smoke trickling out of his lips as he speaks.
“So what if I am?” I retort, before I can think. He stares at me for a moment, and my eyes widen as I realize what I’ve said, and I feel my cheeks heat up.
“Whatever, man,” he says, and he stares at the sky.
For some reason, I find his response hilarious. I’ve been hiding my sexuality for years, afraid of rejection, and the first person I tell says ‘whatever’. I begin to laugh, and I slide down the wall I’m leaning on until I’m sitting on the grass. As I laugh, my eyes water, and suddenly I’m crying. I can’t tell if I’m happy or sad. Then, I stop laughing, and my body has decided for me that I am sad. I cry and cry and cry as I let out my stress. I never did get to finish in the closet.
Samuel’s face remains impassive, like he expected me to break down all along. He rolls up the rest of his pot and shoves it into his pocket as he sits down next to me. He wraps an arm around me and hugs me, startling me. He doesn’t look at me, though, just tightens his grip.
“I’m sorry. That’s gotta be tough,” he says. I lean against him slowly, questioning his intentions. “I’m straight,” he adds, and I nod my head. That was fine.
“You’re the first person I’ve told,” I say quietly.
For a moment he doesn’t speak. Then he says, “I won’t tell anybody.”
“That’s fine,” I say “I probably won’t even see you again.” We have a big school. Upperclassmen have a different campus than the underclassmen. Which brings to question why he was hiding his shit in our building.
“What are you talking about? You’re going to meet me tomorrow for lunch right here.”
I look at him in shock, “What? Don’t just decide things for yours-” I was cut off by the bell and Samuel stood, turning away from me.
“Bye, see you tomorrow,” he said, and he walked away, leaving me there utterly bewildered.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When night comes, I lie in bed and think about Samuel. I think about the colors in his hair, about his big green eyes, and I think about his arms that gave me the first hug I’d had in about two years. But most of all, I think about how calm and free he seems. I curl into my sheets and remind myself that he’s straight. I close my eyes and smile, thinking about the fact that I finally came out. Well, maybe not completely, but at least I told somebody. I felt like one of my worries really had been stripped away. A feeling of contentedness washed over me and I fell asleep.
The next day I contemplate meeting Samuel. I wasn’t sure if he’d actually show up, but I hoped he would. When the bell rang, I gathered my things, and for the first time in months, I don’t try to race the kids out of the room. I walk slowly down the hall and pause at my sanctuary. Making my decision, I continue on and make my way out the red doors. When I get outside, I look around and see Samuel sitting against the wall, one hand holding a black IPod, the other sitting in a bag of Doritos.
He looks up at me and says, “Hey closet boy.”
“Ethan,” I say.
“Right. Sit down,” he says, and I do.
We talk about a lot of things. Some of them are random; others are a bit more profound. When the bell rings, I feel disappointed, which shocks me. I get up to leave, but Samuel grabs my arm and pulls me back down.
“The bell rang,” I stutter.
“So?” he asks.
“So, that signifies that class is starting,” I growl, trying to stand again.
“You don’t need to go. Skipping once in a while is good for you,” he says and begins to pick at the duct tape holding his right shoe together.
I strongly disagree, but I can’t seem to make myself defy him. He fascinates me with his blatant disregard for rules, and his relaxed state of mind, though his tranquil attitude may be pot induced. I skipped the last two classes and spent the time talking to Samuel. He didn’t say much; just let me ramble on about all the little things that caused me pain. When the buses came, he finally stood and crumpled the Doritos bag into a ball. He nods his head at me, and then leaves, walking in the opposite direction than the buses.
When I go home, I finish my homework and decide to bike to the park. The bike hasn’t been used in a few years, so it’s pretty dirty, but I don’t really care. It takes my leg muscles a while to get used to peddling again, but eventually I find a rhythm and before I know it, I’m at the park. I throw the kickstand down and park my bike by a tree, not bothering to lock it down. When I walk over to the playground, I see Samuel sitting on the end of a teeter-totter. Surprised, I walk over to the boy and sit next to him. The woodchips are hard and uncomfortable, but I don’t mind. After a while he looks at me.
“Hey, Ethan,” he says.
“Hey,” I say, and we sit there in a comfortable silence for about an hour. Suddenly, it began to rain hard.
“Fuck,” groans Samuel, and he stands quickly.
He grabs my arm and the two of us run under the play set, sitting under a small bridge trying not to get wet. We shiver, and I huddle closer, trying to stay warm. He stares at me, and I shift uncomfortably under his gaze. I could smell his shampoo, and his pot. He is so close to me, and his eyes are so bright that I almost feel diminished. If I was a girl, I’m sure he would have kissed me. But I’m not, and he doesn't. He clears his throat and looks away. We wait for the rain to stop for about a half hour. When it clears, he stands up and stretches, stepping out from under the tiny bridge. As he smiles at me, and I feel my heart flutter. I mentally slap myself for feeling this way, and I have to pinch my arm to calm down.
“I’m heading home. See you tomorrow,” he said, and he walked away.
That’s how all our meetings were. At school he would wait for me at lunch. I would talk, and he would listen. On the fourth day, he brought a quiet looking freshman with him. His name was Derek. I looked at the kid, wondering why he was there.
“I found him under the bleachers,” was Samuel’s assertion.
“What were you doing under the bleachers?” I ask the kid.
“Hiding,” he responds, hugging himself insecurely.
“What were you doing under the bleachers?” I ask, this time to Samuel.
“Getting more pot,” he said, and then took out his bag. The kid stared at him, and back at me, not understanding why he was there.
“It’s better for you out here, then under those bleachers,” I say, smiling. Samuel grins at me; he knows I understand now.
After two weeks, he also picks up Katie and Ryan. Katie was sitting in the greenhouse, and Ryan was found in the hidden stairwell by the school’s kitchen. The five of us sit outside during lunch, talking about the good stuff, the bad shit, and everything in between. Samuel brought us together. I’m sure we wouldn’t have met otherwise.
After school I finish my homework as fast as I can, then bike to the park. If Samuel’s there, I sit with him, enjoying the silence and the company. I’m glad there’s time that I get alone with him. He’s started to slowly tell me about himself. I know that his parents are divorced, and he’s an only child. I know that he started smoking pot when he was in the sixth grade. I know that he’s happy with himself.
On days that he’s not there, I call up Derek, or Katie. I still don’t know Ryan all that well. If one of those two is available we hang out until it’s time to go back home and then it starts all over again. My house no longer feels like a prison to me. Sure it’s not home, but being there with my parents is a little more bearable. My dad’s still looking for work, and my mom still threatens to leave him, but looking at Ellie’s picture doesn’t seem as painful as it used to be. One night I caught my mom in her room, sitting on the bed and holding one of her stuffed animals. I know it’s hard for her, too.
About a month after Samuel saved me, he stopped coming to school. Derek figures he was skipping. Katie worries that he might be sick. Her mother died of pneumonia, and she fears that everyone is going to be attacked by some type of illness. After the fourth day, Ryan suggests that he changed schools. I wander down to the student office and ask around.
Turns out Samuel’s mom sent him to a military school in Virginia near his dad. Because we never traded phone numbers, I wasn’t able to call him. Though I wasn’t able to get close to Samuel, I’m glad I met him. He was able to change my life in the couple months that I knew him. I still worry about my parents, my job, and my grades. I still miss my sister, and I still get stressed. But through Samuel I was able to meet new people, and learn to relax again.
Against my parents’ protest, I started soccer again my junior year. It seems to be good for dealing with stress. No wonder my grades went down freshman year. My grades have risen, but I’m still not the top of the class. That’s okay, though; it’s not as important to me anymore. Katie, Derek, and I still hang out, and Ryan joins us for lunch once in a while. Usually, though, he’s preoccupied with his new girlfriend, Emily. Katie doesn’t approve of dating in high school, and Derek is still looking for a girl that won’t judge him for his love of anime figurines.
On my seventeenth birthday, I decided to completely come out of the closet. My parents didn’t even look at me when I told them, so I figured they didn’t love me any less. My friends were pretty cool with it, and Ryan constantly introduces me to people that he thinks are gay. They usually aren’t, but they’re pretty cool anyways. I started going out with a boy in my world history class. He’s really nice and has green eyes. Not quite as green as Samuel’s, but they’re great all the same.
Samuel really helped me come back to life. I wonder sometimes about all the lives he must have touched, because I know my friends will always be grateful to him. He taught us that we couldn’t let stress take over our lives. He showed us that we could always find someone to lean on when we don’t have the strength to stand on our own two feet. Samuel’s state of mind was like that of nirvana, always tranquil and calm. Katie uses his name to describe peace of mind. We will probably always be seeking Samuel.
