Page 47 of The Story of You
“I’m here. Go back to sleep, baby.”
I’ll tell on myself in the morning.
ChapterFifteen
Simon – November 1985
Shane says he didn’t notice me stalking him. I was twelve so I didn’t know it was called stalking. That’s what I was doing though. I watched him when he’d stop to eat lunch. I usually knew where he was unless I was off on a mission with Darius that prevented me from watching his every move. When he’d leave his flannel shirts around the house, I’d steal them and wear them as pajamas. They smelled like him. It was all so stalkerish.
“Aren’t you gonna tell me how fucking weird this is?” I asked Darius one night with him saddled up behind me clad in Shane’s giant red and black checkered flannel.
“If I tell you how fucking weird you are then I’m a damn hypocrite because I do my fair share of weird shit.”
“You just called it weird shit.”
“Yeah, but I’m nottellingyou. There’s a difference.”
In other words, he wasn’t judging me.
“People label things weird when they don’t understand. People seldom seek to understand. They only want to be understood.”
“Aren’t there levels?”
“Says who? Be weird and wonderful, Simon. The world’s already filled with mediocre and normal.”
“Where did you learn that word?”
“Mediocre?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s called reading lots of books. Maybe you should try it.”
Darry did like to read. He read things like George Orwell’s1984,Think and Grow Richby Napoleon Hill, but also racy romance novels likeFlowers in The Atticby V.C. Andrews. The Home received books as donations, and no one bothered to go through them and pick out books that might not be suitable for children. In the summer of ’86 we would receive a stack of porn, which was a highlight, and it was a time we were grateful for lack of supervision.
Shane thought he was misplacing his shirts, so he’d head to the room to find new ones. When the scent of him would wear off, I’d toss them back to the pile where I knew he’d pick them up and the cycle repeated.
We never spoke other than when it was necessary for chores and when he’d say anything to me, I’d talk to Darius about it for days. He used it to encourage our make-out practice though he didn’t need to by that point. I loved making out with Darry.
Things weren’t perfect and eighteen—when we’d be considered adult enough to leave on our own—seemed a long time away, but overall, it could have been worse.
The only thing you didn’t do was break one of the ten house rules. Terry and Lars were overly harsh about it. The way they saw it, with so many boys—often delinquents—keeping everyone in line was vital. They would rather discipline less than more so whenever a rule was broken, they made an example of you. There was no leniency because there was no conceivable reason (in their minds) to break a rule.
For example, the number one rule was you didn’t shirk your chores, but if you thought you might not be feeling well, you could seek them out to say so and they’d give you time off until you were well. You’d just better not be lying. Rule two. Lying to them wasn’t tolerated.
Rule three was no stealing and that included resources like food. Some food items were available all the time and those were outlined in a list stuck on the cupboard beside the fridge. But resources were limited and to have enough for everyone, they had to ration.
Rule four was no fighting. Bickering and arguing weren’t necessarily included, it was more fist fights, but if you’d been told to stop it, you did or else because that would have broken rule five, which was to obey Terry, Lars, and Sandy, especially when they gave you a direct order.
Rule six was keeping up after yourself, a rule I used to justify my shirt stealing. Shane would have been in trouble leaving his shirts around like that.
Rule seven was absolutely no horseplay around heavy equipment or animals. They didn’t care if you wanted to wrestle or whatever elsewhere, but they didn’t want you severely damaging yourself, the animals, or the equipment, which was often dangerous and expensive to replace. In a way, rule seven was linked to rule eight: no damaging property. Rule eight was the only one they sometimes let go. Stuff wore out and broke on the farm all the time. If you could prove it was an accident or if it died a natural death due to its life expiry, you weren’t punished.
Rule nine was no drugs. They didn’t care about alcohol or cigarettes—though I couldn’t tell you why because they did cause problems—so long as you didn’t drink during the day. You were allowed short smoke breaks, which only encouraged some of the kids who didn’t smoke to smoke so they could have a break.
Finally, rule ten was to take care of each other and that included helping each other follow the rules. Lots of things could go wrong in a day on the farm, and the adults weren’t always around to stop foolishness or in the case of an accident, get there in time to help. Everyone was expected to remind each other of rules if you saw someone doing something they shouldn’t or get help if someone was hurt or needed assistance with something.
Rule ten meant you could get in trouble as an “accomplice” and that happened a lot because ratting someone out meant you were a snitch, which the kids had their own unwritten rules for. Trying to stop someone’s foolishness wasn’t always possible and it never boded well to beg out of trouble by telling Terry and Lars you tried to stop the perpetrator. Whereas, taking punishment with your foster brothers scored you comrade points.
