It was Ice Cream Day and everyone in the high school cafeteria had been treated to delicious ice cream, and this warmed Donnie’s heart so much that he secretly cried in front of the lunch lady as she ladled it to him. But his tears quickly turned to dismay as he realized that he only had one scoop.
He was a big guy and for his tremendous gut to be taken care of, he would need two scoops. But he didn’t want to say anything and make a scene, so he shuffled along with the other students.
Five minutes into lunch, Donnie forgot about his quarrel with the cafeteria staff, partially because he was dimwitted and forgetful, and partially because he was incredibly out of touch with his feelings.
Donnie liked lunchtime because he didn’t really have to talk or think or do anything really. He could just shovel food into his face and not even care. Because when he was with the boys, he was the King of the Cafeteria.
He just had to make sure he joined along in the symphony of brouhahas whenever required. Stevie always got moody when someone didn’t laugh at one of his jokes, and sometimes Mikey would slip gags in with such slurred speech that it didn’t sound like anything. It was at those moments that everyone really needed to bond together and give him that desired chorus of chuckles and Seth Rogen-esque huhuhus.
If the joke didn’t make sense, that was okay. In due time it would. For the moment, just reel back, clutch your tummy, and guffaw so loudly that it threatened to scramble the lunch meat sloshing in your mouth into powder that would stick to your tongue like sand.
Who cared if bits of brown flew from your mouth as you laughed stupidly at another joke about a girl with a big ass, it was funny looking.
Donnie would wipe a tear from his eye but then he would seem too committed to his group of friends.
His group of friends that he could never spend a second without. Donnie didn’t spend much time with his parents anymore. He woke up late and was almost always tardy, but everyone laughed it off because you know, it’s Donnie. It’s funny. After school, he would go to Football practice, and then hang out with the boys until dark. They would eat out somewhere and then he’d go home. Over the weekend, they all worked together, bussing tables and smoking blunts out back in the same restaurant.
His beady eyes greedily watched his boys laugh and contort at the dumbest things imaginable.
One of the nerds came up to their table the other day and stood awkwardly distant from them, T-shirt tucked into his sweat pants, and said that their behavior was the equivalent of Cheeto dust covered fingers pawing for the remote. Which made no sense to him because Cheetos were delicious.
It wasn’t until he observed a viewing of Toy Story 2 that he understood what the issue with Cheeto dust was.
And yes he did watch it
But he would never tell anyone that
Because it was such a gay movie
And he wasn’t
Thus he could only scream internally
When the nerd repeated the joke every day
His hot red face
While the other guys scratched their noggins
These fucking nerds. He hated them. He hated how they flaunted their craftsmanship of witticisms against them. But whatever. No one liked them anyways, and their dumb brains weren’t going to be the thing that would save them. Let them have their moment. One day, they will understand.
In the awkward moments that passed often between the boys where the vibe was that it was acceptable to not listen to each other, Donnie would scroll endlessly through his FaceBook feed, visibly sneering at each status he saw.
So many of those quiet losers who perpetually slouched with hands dug into their pockets complaining. Clamoring for equality, writing eloquent speeches about social issues in a beautiful voice that he had never expected, and discussing their ten million genders.
There were boys and their were girls. Anyone who said they weren’t one or the other just wanted attention.
Now, before you thought anything bad about Donnie, he was no bigot. He just didn’t like stupid people. Obviously, it wasn’t fair for those fags and trannies to get assaulted as it often did. He heard that happened sometimes and it felt strange because somehow — it felt like eyes gazed at him from the shadows, wondering if he was part of it.
This made Donnie nervous which was odd for him.
Mikey had made Donnie nervous a few months ago. They were driving around town when all of a sudden, Mikey pulled alongside the curb with a manic energy, cackling, teeth smashing into each other, bony hands clutching the wheel.
“Faaaaaaaaaaggooooooooooot!” he yelped in a ghostly tone like Jacob Marley coming to Scrooge. The kid was only ten years old.
Donnie laughed despite the air pocket building in his throat, and ever since then, Mikey pulled up along more and more alongside children to designate them as faggots, and each time, Donnie laughed along, eventually forgetting his previous hangups with it.
It was just funny. You know.
But Donnie knew better than them. He chuckled as he jabbed a spoonful of pudding into the roof of his mouth. Mouth curling around the metal, eyebrows twisting, he imagined himself laughing in the future, dressed in a bulky suit that made his rotund shoulders into a quarterback’s, with an overly long tie that dangled between his knees.
He would let them bust the heads while he settled the business.
One day, he’d be in charge.
One day, he’d be the guy.
“Hey Donnie,” Stevie said drunkenly over a can of Pepsi he had stolen from the teacher’s lounge, can tipped dangerously against his pinky.
Donnie looked at Stevey dumb struck because his friends by this point in their haphazardly assembled friendship had accepted by this point that Donnie was a dumb lummox not worth talking to, and for him to be addressed so pointedly was an anomaly.
“You should go tell that loser over there that he’s a faggot,” Stevie smirked, winking while taking an abrupt sip from the can that spilled into his upper lip.
Donnie smiled, saying “Yeah” weakly, and took a bite from his hamburger while launching into the usual set of chuckles, what with the chest thumping and barks.
But the other boys did not do as he did. Nay, they looked at Donnie, suddenly scary and imposing, like a conference of evil businessmen. As their shadows scrawled over Donnie’s face, he frowned and gulped down the rest of the burger.
“I’m serious,” Stevie said in an alter tone with scary bloodshot eyes, cheeks paling and quivering. “He’s totally gay, you should call him out on it.”
The only sounds now were gentle chewing and the restless shifting of baggy gym shorts.
Donnie’s jaw hung open like a broken puppet.
“I’ll give you my scoop of ice cream,” Stevey smiled sagely.
Bloodshot eyes flicked downward to his plastic bowl of vanilla ice cream and back up to Donnie, a look of utmost seriousness that Donnie would hand his car keys over to.
Donnie’s fingers drummed against his own bowl of ice cream, licking thin lips that were barely concealing the food he had forgotten to continue consuming.
One and one made two.
Fifteen seconds of bliss for the brute.
A dessert no longer an afterthought but a blueprint — nay, a tower — erected for him, a tower that stood taller than any of his compatriot’s.
Him, the Master at the table. At long last.
But then he remembered Mikey decreeing the faggots that flanked his car. This made Donnie sweat. This was not the way.
“Two scoops, Donnie.”
Donnie licked his lips and pictured red-nosed Stevey sitting, chin to his chest, with an empty bowl in front of him, only a puddle of melted cream for him to lap up.
“Okay,” Donnie choked, and took a moment to swallow the food, an enormous bulge stretching his cheeks and slowly cascading down his throat, like some demented bullfrog, pink skin stretched to the limit.
Donnie pushed the seat back, knees bending awkwardly under the sudden weight as he got to his feet, hands falling to his sides, oddly straight and rigid.
Silence swept across the general rambunctious good fellas as they eagerly watched Donnie stomp across the cafeteria, practically frothing at the mouth.
Donnie’s yellow eyes narrowed as he strolled past the turning heads, sweat building up on his forehead quickly, a sweat that he didn’t understand. A nervousness jittered him that he hoped no one would see.
He was worried that when he called that loser out on — um, being a homo — that he might falter to that thin voice he used the day after he accidentally got too excited and brought a touch down in for the opposing team.
Shaking and tearing up, tiny hands trying to pull the tufts of hair from his own scalp, naked on the toilet, his spindly appendages scaly and raw from the beating he had gotten.
His legs curled around the toilet, thighs hugging the porcelain, a small hand towel laid out over his penis.
That couldn’t be him right now.
That wasn’t the boy who would get the much sought after second scoop. He had to be more like Mikey right now, else the aforementioned faggot would turn on him and roast him.
That pipsqueak was too smart for his own good and it made him angry. He would make these jokes that would get his friends rolling, and all he could do was blink stupidly in response to such nonsense.
That — fucking — loser — homosexual —
“What the Hell do you want Donnie?” that nasally voice spat at him. Stifled giggles scattered throughout the cafeteria, and Donnie realized that he was staring at bare tiled wall.
Clamped jaw shifted into a malicious smirk, his eyebrows arched upwards, shooting into his forehead wrinkles, and he looked around the cafeteria, jerking a thumb at the homo as his mouth clanked open.
The homo frowned and gripped his chair tighter because he could already see what was to be.
“So I heard you like boys,” Donnie announced in a snide voice, smiling as if everyone was already on his side. Which effectively turned his audience over to him.
If that loser tried to say anything, it would be a doth protest too much situation. Donnie knew that made no sense and was stupid, but it made it easier to call people out on their shit.
“You should just come out already,” Donnie sneered, hands flat against his side, oddly stooped forward with his nose in the air, shadow eclipsing the child three years his junior.
No one was talking in the cafeteria anymore.
“But you’re just a fucking loser, huh?” Donnie hissed as the kid looked around the cafeteria warily, his face beet red. “You’re a scared little shit who will never do anything. I bet you want to fuck me.”
“Leave me alone,” that fucking homo sneered. He turned away briskly and tried to plough his sandwich into his mouth, but his hands were shaking too much.
Donnie stood there like a statue, eying him like a frog caught up in the fantasy of finally having found the fly.
That kid had to be gay. That bright polo, his thin arms, the way his twig arms struggled to wrap around his ugly girlfriend — he had to save her and get him away from this freak.
“Admit it, admit that you’re gay.”
No one in the cafeteria was eating but the homo. His girlfriend rested her hand on his and she glared up at him with this animosity that threatened him for maybe a moment — but she was probably a fucking dyke. Her dust laden sweater and heavy glasses that drooped down her nose, he wanted to spit on her.
That homo refused to look at him and continued trying to eat, quietly enjoying his sandwich.
This wasn’t working. Donnie felt himself becoming smaller, his clothes eclipsing him and eventually falling off and covering his tiny, wet body on the floor as he wailed for Stevey to pick him up. He wiped a hammy hand to his eyes and brushed off the sweat.
Red crept up his cheeks.
“Woooooooow,” Donnie drawled, digging tiny hands into his pockets, “Way to be, huh?”
Many of the children who were laughing privately among their friends now shared their guffaws with the whole cafeteria, and the kids who were previously too scared to laugh then let themselves blend in with the cacophony of hate.
He could taste that vanilla ice cream sliding into his tongue over and over and over again and he cracked another smile, raising his portly nose even higher.
“I’ve seen the way you look at other guys in the locker room,” and he squinted, because that was a tall claim. And easy to disprove, so he had to think fast. Scrambling, yet poised, he chuckled. “I saw you looking at my dick the other day.”
Okay, maybe a little gross and an imagery he didn’t quite want to push to — were they laughing? Laughing with him? Yes. Of course they were. The skinny loser trembling before the magnificent Donnie.
A chill ran through Donnie’s nether regions, and his leg instinctively jerked inward at the sudden jolt, thumping against his junk.
Whatever this power was, he needed it.
But this quarrel had to be the end of it. He had already brought up the dreaded phallus ex machine and the best he could do was wait for that loser to eventually break down and run away crying.
Run and cry in a bathroom stall alone and strip off all his clothing and jerk off to a version of himself that was happy.
Tears built up in Donnie’s eyes as he leered down at the homo and his gay fucking dyke girlfriend who were so brave to be themselves so openly — but — wait — no — he made them gay, he created this faggot for the world to — to — no — he was just telling it like it is — he would never — why would he lie?
Stevey just wanted him to do the right thing.
No one saw his tears for all eyes, even the friendly ones, watched the homo twist and turn in his chair, veins pumping in his wrist.
It had been too long. Too long waiting for this spineless twerp to come up with something to shoot back, too long waiting around for his second scoop. Lunch time was almost over.
“Say something!” Donnie bellowed and his voice rose to a shriek that scared even him, that made his own skin crawl. “Say something you fucking — ”
Donnie gulped, trying to collect himself, not sure what he was trying to say. Then it struck him like thunder, the path to victory.
Smiling despite his rage, he screamed, “YOU FUCKING FAGGOT—”
An empty worthless carcass
At the peak of its privilege
With nothing to say or do
Wasting away, laughing at the same slurs
You see us rising, you see us filled with hope
You see me happy with a baby in my arms
Tender lips to mine, my fingers intertwined
And you remember how empty you are
So you killed me
You wrapped your hands around my throat
And you called me a tranny
In court you say you panicked
And they let you get away with it
Because you are privileged
And you were given the world
And wasted it of course
So you decided to take it away from us
Now no one has the world
Because you are too stupid to use it
And we are too dead to help
They used to joke, they said uptight people were Nazis
Because we thought we had moved past it
But now you march down the streets
And Tweet your hate
I look into your beady eyes
You are scared shitless of us
And you will never be happy
Donnie lumbered proudly back to his lunch table and seated himself among the jocks who looked up to him like a proud father, a reflective tear hung in each watery eye, the chins bunched up with a lean smirk.
Grabbing the ice cream dish from Mikey, nearly tipping it over with excitement, he dragged it over to the table and crashed it into his own ice cream, the two blobs of dairy crushing into each other to form a masterpiece.
If only he had delicious chocolate syrup to smother it with, a cherry to push into the top with his pudgy finger. He smiled at the other guys as they leered at him greedily; they would give him more as the years went on.
He was brave and would do the things they were too afraid to do. Those fucking cowards. And he would eat their ice cream too. He was better than them, better than anyone else in the room. He was God.
His smile split into an ugly grin as he felt all eyes fall on his back. Quietly, he slid the end of the spoon into the ice cream, pulling out the sweet nectar bit by bit, dropping each piece onto his tongue. A performance to let them all know who was in charge now.
But no one looked to him, everyone resumed their conversations, those people that laughed with Donnie quietly slunk back into the chatter.
Meanwhile, Mikey, Stevey, and Rex exchanged a look, their bloodshot eyes suddenly wide and clear.
They found their boy.