By Jaelle Terrell

This was it. The moment Jim was dreading. What was he going to do? And what was wrong with him anyway. He was in junior high school. Today you call it middle school. It was October 1967 and the eighth grade had started about a month ago. Parma Valley Junior High was loaded with stressful and grueling situations for Jim every day.

            First, there were the cliques. This group of kids and that. The kids in the band. The theatre kids. The cheerleaders. The greasers. And the jocks. The jocks absolutely terrified him. Jim couldn’t connect with any of the other students. P.V. had their bullies. They had been hitting Jim, knocking him down, and calling him names for years. Names like sissy and pussy. Homo. And faggot. Oddly, sissy and pussy didn’t cut him that deeply. He knew who he was. A boy who had no interest in playing football or baseball with the other boys, preferring instead the company of girls. “I guess I am a sissy,” he thought. “And so what!” He didn’t hurt anybody, didn’t bother anybody. But faggot. That one hurt. The other kids, his mother, and yes, even Johnny Carson told him that was uncool and wrong. Faggots are bad. Wrong. Perverts and sexual deviates.

            This was hard-wired into Jim. You see, Jim’s mother was divorced. She dated guys and went to bars. She drank. She was an honorary member of the Rat Pack. If you asked her, anyway. We don’t know about Frank, Sammy, or Dean. But their music, their humor, and their cavalier attitude about drinking most definitely. Jim had selected for himself two father figures who he admired and respected. James Bond and Hugh Hefner were both strong males, men’s men who heavily influenced the early 1960s. You will agree that today both men are dangerously close to Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein. Granted, he could have made better choices.

            Today Jim was horrified. It was third-period gym class. They had put on their gym clothes and exercised outside, ending with a lap around the track circling the football field. Now he was hesitating at the doorway to the boys’ showers.

            This was it. The moment Jim was dreading. he sighed and pushed open the door. Boys were moving normally. Taking off their gym clothes, showering, and dressing. Normally. Just what was wrong with him? They did not freak out. They barely noticed Jim if they did at all. Laughter and typical teenage banter filled the air, hot and steamy from the showers. His eyes furtively stole a glance at the boys naked in the shower. Blushing, he turned quickly away. “Well there’s nothing to be done,” he thought. He quickly peeled off his uniform and headed to the shower. He showered quickly, with his eyes on the floor, and doing his best to be invisible.

            As Jim was walking down the hall to his next class he was startled by a hand messing up his wet hair.

            “Hey,” David said. “Gym class?”

            “Yeah,” Jim replied in a doleful voice.

            David was one of the few students in P.V. that would spend time with Jim. David, never Dave, was good-looking and a little heavy with long dark hair. They had known each other a couple of years, but only recently had this graduated into friendship. David was sharp. He was always neat and well-groomed, and Jim appreciated his quick wit. David was definitely one of the weird kids.

            “God, I love gym class.”

            Jim, with a little choke, asked, “Why?”

            “Hello! The showers, of course. All those delicious bare-ass men!”

            One afternoon, not very long ago they were walking home from school together, chattering away. Slowly, they were opening up to each other. Becoming friends. Suddenly David stopped. His eyes met Jim’s and in an anxious voice he said, “Listen.” He was trembling.

            “What?”

            For a long moment, David was silent. He was obviously nervous as he searched for the words he needed.

            Without thinking, Jim reached out and touched David’s arm. “It’s okay.” Almost a whisper.

            Then, breathlessly, “I think I’m a homo.”

            Silence.

            Jim’s mind raced. Everybody, everything told him that was wrong. Even evil. But David looked so torn up, tears running down his cheek. Surely he wasn’t evil.

            “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”

            They hugged each other. They drew together, locking like two magnets, Jim comforting David.    

            Now sobbing quietly David said, “I just … ” His words trailed off.

            “Ssshh,” Jim said. “It’s okay.”

            Their eyes locked again with a new look. A newly discovered warmth. A passion. They kissed. First, a hesitant kiss as they discovered each other. Then a deeper, embracing, soulful kiss. Both boys now had tears flowing. Boys being boys and hormones being hormones, they hugged more deeply and slowly began grinding their hips together.

            Suddenly Jim broke away. Unable to look at David he panted and said, “I …, I …, I can’t.” He turned and sprinted for home.

This was it. The moment Jim was dreading. What was he going to do? And what was wrong with him anyway?

            He was in junior high school. Today you call it middle school. It was October 1967 and the eighth grade had started about a month ago. Parma Valley Junior High was loaded with stressful and grueling situations for Jim every day.

            First, there were the cliques. This group of kids and that. The kids in the band. The theatre kids. The cheerleaders. The greasers. And the jocks. The jocks absolutely terrified him. Jim couldn’t connect with any of the other students. P.V. had their bullies. They had been hitting Jim, knocking him down, and calling him names for years. Names like sissy and pussy. Homo. And faggot. Oddly, sissy and pussy didn’t cut him that deeply. He knew who he was. A boy who had no interest in playing football or baseball with the other boys, preferring instead the company of girls. “I guess I am a sissy,” he thought. “And so what!” He didn’t hurt anybody, didn’t bother anybody. But faggot. That one hurt. The other kids, his mother, and yes, even Johnny Carson told him that was uncool and wrong. Faggots are bad. Wrong. Perverts and sexual deviates.

            This was hard-wired into Jim. You see, Jim’s mother was divorced. She dated guys and went to bars. She drank. She was an honorary member of the Rat Pack. If you asked her, anyway. We don’t know about Frank, Sammy, or Dean. But their music, their humor, and their cavalier attitude about drinking most definitely. Jim had selected for himself two father figures who he admired and respected. James Bond and Hugh Hefner were both strong males, men’s men who heavily influenced the early 1960s. You will agree that today both men are dangerously close to Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein. Granted, he could have made better choices.

            Today Jim was horrified. It was third-period gym class. They had put on their gym clothes and exercised outside, ending with a lap around the track circling the football field. Now he was hesitating at the doorway to the boys’ showers.

            This was it. The moment Jim was dreading. he sighed and pushed open the door. Boys were moving normally. Taking off their gym clothes, showering, and dressing. Normally. Just what was wrong with him? They did not freak out. They barely noticed Jim if they did at all. Laughter and typical teenage banter filled the air, hot and steamy from the showers. His eyes furtively stole a glance at the boys naked in the shower. Blushing, he turned quickly away. “Well there’s nothing to be done,” he thought. He quickly peeled off his uniform and headed to the shower. He showered quickly, with his eyes on the floor and doing his best to be invisible.

            As Jim was walking down the hall to his next class he was startled by a hand messing up his wet hair.

            “Hey,” David said. “Gym class?”

            “Yeah,” Jim replied in a doleful voice.

            David was one of the few students in P.V. that would spend time with Jim. David, never Dave, was good-looking and a little heavy with long dark hair. They had known each other a couple of years, but only recently had this graduated into friendship. David was sharp. He was always neat and well-groomed, and Jim appreciated his quick wit. David was definitely one of the weird kids.

            “God, I love gym class.”

            Jim, with a little choke, asked, “Why?”

            “Hello! The showers, of course. All those delicious bare-ass men!”

            One afternoon, not very long ago they were walking home from school together, chattering away. Slowly, they were opening up to each other. Becoming friends. Suddenly David stopped. His eyes met Jim’s and in an anxious voice he said, “Listen.” He was trembling.

            “What?”

            For a long moment, David was silent. He was obviously nervous as he searched for the words he needed.

            Without thinking, Jim reached out and touched David’s arm. “It’s okay.” Almost a whisper.

            Then, breathlessly, “I think I’m a homo.”

            Silence.

            Jim’s mind raced. Everybody, everything told him that was wrong. Even evil. But David looked so torn up, tears running down his cheek. Surely he wasn’t evil.

            “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”

            They hugged each other. They drew together, locking like two magnets, Jim comforting David.    

            Now sobbing quietly David said, “I just … ” His words trailed off.

            “Ssshh,” Jim said. “It’s okay.”

            Their eyes locked again with a new look. A newly discovered warmth. A passion. They kissed. First, a hesitant kiss as they discovered each other. Then a deeper, embracing, soulful kiss. Both boys now had tears flowing. Boys being boys and hormones being hormones, they hugged more deeply and slowly began grinding their hips together.

            Suddenly Jim broke away. Unable to look at David he panted and said, “I …, I …, I can’t.” He turned and sprinted for home.

~ Jaelle Terrell

copyright©2022 Jaelle Terrell