The Boys

The Boys

When I was twelve years old I was totally uncool.  Painfully thin, crooked teeth, bad skin, and an old lady hairstyle.  I had convinced my mom to give me the cute Cissy from Family Affair shag. I ended up with something that needed a wash and set, which my mother was often too tired to do so my hair was frequently dirty.  Shy and awkward but at the same time loud and inappropriate.  And to top all that off, I was in the orchestra playing the nerdy viola.  I was a mess.  But because hormones don’t care what you look like I was also boy crazy and desperate for attention.

Because I was fairly good on the viola I had been chosen to be in a string ensemble at the high school.  A real privilege.   This was how I happened to be walking in the swampy marsh on a cold March day, with one of the coolest boys in my class, and another boy I had a love/hate relationship with.   Their jerky names don’t matter as you will soon see. 

The three of us were on our way to the high school for ensemble and the boys suggested we take the short cut through the marsh behind the Catholic school.   We had been sternly warned by our parents and our teachers to avoid the marsh as it was dangerous.   No one ever said why.  I suggested that wouldn’t be a good idea but being called a “girl” and “chicken” soon changed my mind.  I was eager to prove I was one of the boys so I went along with them.   Big mistake.   The ground was thick with mud that clung to our boots.  There were bushes that tore our coats and grabbed our hair by the roots. Carrying our instruments and shoes (there were no plastic bags in those days) added to our misery.  The boys were arguing over which way to go and I was pretty sure we were lost. I was feeling panicky.   The cool guy looked at me at one point and said I looked like I had been mugged.   I was crushed.   I had been feeling so important to be in his company and I was sure I was impressing him with my toughness as we struggled through the bush.  But there he was, mocking me.

Finally, we emerged on the other side of the bush exactly where we needed to be.  We just had to cross the culvert and climb the hill before we crossed the road to the high school.    My boots were heavy with mud and walking was difficult.  I noticed there was ice in the culvert with a bit of water on top.  Perfect for washing my boots.  The boys had jumped over the culvert and were halfway up the hill.  I ventured on to the ice feeling like a genius for coming up with a solution to my boot problem.  Suddenly I was up to my waist in ice cold water.  I screamed in shock and scrambled out of the ditch.  The boys, seeing my predicament, began laughing hysterically and pointing at me before running away, leaving me there wet, frozen and traumatized. 

I climbed up the hill and went into the high school.  I couldn’t go home, it was too far away and I knew my mother would be furious with me for going through the marsh.   In the bathroom, shaking and crying, I took off my boots and wet leotards and cleaned the mud off myself as best I could.  The shoes I had been carrying were soaked but I had no choice but to put them on my bare feet.  I went into the music room and everyone stared at me and started laughing.   The teacher put his coat around me because I was shivering.   And rehearsal went on as though nothing had happened. I choked back tears as I played my instrument.

After rehearsal, I called my mom and asked her to come and get me.   She refused for reasons I have forgotten.   I had to ask my teacher to take me home.  I remember he was not at all happy about it, but he was a kind man and he helped me.   It was a quiet ride home and I was grateful for that.

That day was one of the most humiliating of my life and there were those who witnessed it and never let me live it down.   For years.  I never spoke to those boys again.   I could have hated all boys from that moment on and wrote them off as beasts.  But I didn’t. 

In hindsight, I never should have gone into that marsh. I wanted to be cool and ended up being the exact opposite of cool.  I should have known better than to walk on the ice like that.  I had a long history of soakers from doing that exact same thing.  I was irresistibly drawn to puddles, especially the ones covered in ice.  Clearly, I had not learned from my mistakes.  What did I learn?   Well, I never went near a puddle again and I stayed away from that marsh.  But it wasn’t the last time I would ever let a boy lead me astray.