It’s the perfect family. The mother was just announced as the newest Justice in the state Supreme Court. The father had started his religious path of becoming an ordained deacon of the Church. Three of their children (a son and two daughters) had graduated with bachelors from their respective universities. Their eldest son went on to marry his high school friend; the elder daughter, to medical school; the younger daughter (who went to high school with me), to work at her alma mater; and the youngest son is a student in the local Catholic middle school. Sounds perfect — like a Lifetime TV film before the heinous murder, right? And honestly, it does sound like a family that’s got everything going for it. But for me, there’ll always be that one awkward time…
I was in the school’s library. It was May 2006 and I was a sophomore in high school. I was sent to the library with a senior because we both had taken the chemistry final already– I, because my family was going to Cancun during finals week and he, because seniors got to skip finals week. We sat at a table with a girl who was taking remedial class that period, taking out our own work and minding our own business. I might’ve been more conversational if my company weren’t so dim. (Skip the block quote for continuation of the story)
The remedial girl was the ugly
whoreslut of the class (she didn’t get paid for her services). She was president of the Pro-Life Club (despite her many abortions), cheer captain (which is as bad as JV band in our school), and was kicked out of her adoptive parents’ house, which resulted in her having to live with a classmate and her tuition being paid for by a charity that obviously don’t do background checks. Her sad stories consisted of her ‘Dr. Phil’-worthy biological parentage and her nights with college boys, stating, “I passed out drunk and when I woke up, my pants were pulled down! Haha.” Boo-Fucking-Hoo.
The senior was equally unblessed in the physical appearance department. He had small squinty eyes, large forehead, very large nose and quite overweight. Picture a fatter Glen from The Ringer (pictured).
Also adopted, he had won the adoption lottery when his parents turned out to be the local juvenile judge and an administrative at a local medical supply company. We’re somewhat acquainted, having been 2 of the 3 guys that went on an Italy trip through the previous summer, which his mother supervised. He was always associated with these 3 obese mean girls in his class, but he was nice, even if he was overly flamboyant.
Three of us, sitting around the table, quite bored with nothing to do since it was the end of the school year. All of the sudden, the senior passes me a note. I had no idea why he was passing a note. Nobody was there, we could speak aloud and I honestly had nothing to say to him since he wasn’t a friend of mine. I could see he was anxious for me the read the note. I opened it and read,
“Do you want a blowjob in the bathroom?”
Obviously, I wasn’t expecting it. Given, I knew he was a big ol’ flamer, but I didn’t expect to open a note with such a proposal. It didn’t take me long to hastily write back, “No, thank you” before passing it back to him. I mean, he was my friend’s brother and I wasn’t that secure about myself yet back then, especially not enough to receive a blowjob in my high school bathroom that consisted of 2 stalls, 3 urinals and no door. It had
everything nothing to do with him being physically trollish.
He read the note and looked sad, but wrote down how it’s okay and to not tell anyone about it, which I agreed to in writing. The period ended and I immediately went to my best friend and told her all about it, cracking jokes about whether he would’ve used his mouth or his nose to do the job.
Fast forward 7 years. I was at my sister’s best friend’s rehearsal dinner, which included the friends and families of high school acquaintances. I hung around those that were close to my age, which meant the siblings from the Smith family. As famous for such a small school, we were sharing out gossips and we got on topic of the judge-now-Justice’s son getting married to one of the 3 obese mean girls he was friends with during high school. And of course, I had to share my little tale about the son, which I didn’t think really came of surprise to anyone because of his flaming personality, but soon after I told the Smith children the tale, their mother came over to ask to hear it again. I was more reluctant on sharing the story with her, being a “Mrs.” and a parent (it’s so much easier to talk to your peers), but I told her. She expressed how she felt that she should tell her friend, the Justice, about the incident. I had to calm her down, telling her that maybe it was just a phase and maybe he’s changed since then. She nodded along, agreed with me and acted as if to shrug it off.
I saw the Justice and her son at Church a few weeks later. I went up to tell her congratulations on her son’s marriage and her new position, as well as her husband’s new religious devotion. She accepted my congratulations, but practically shooed me away in a shove-offish manner. I thought maybe she knew about the incident. But Mrs. Smith told me she wouldn’t tell. I think the bitch lied.
Was I in the wrong to tell people about the past incident? Was it not my place to share the awkward moment I had with the Justice’s son? I was merely telling the truth about the past. Was it the wrong time, place, or just merely told to the wrong audience? Truthfully, it depends on which perspective you look at it.
From a sassy bitch perspective, I did everything perfectly. I told it to people who knew the guy intimately. I let my story simmer and cure and waited for the right moment to tell — after the engagement and before his marriage. The Justice’s family was not present at the rehearsal dinner, but their minions were, assuring the information to pass only one degree to reach the Justice’s ears. A perfect bitch move.
But from a ‘nice Christian’ perspective, I could’ve held my tongue. I could’ve just told (because it’s a story to be told) to people who didn’t know the guy or the family, during a lunch or dinner when I wanted to amuse and entertain them, but what fun would that be? Aren’t stories like these more appreciated when you know the people in the story? As the storyteller, I want more of a reaction to the story! I want an effect to my cause!
And so a state Supreme Court (Chief) Justice now resents me for outing her son as once wanting to give me a blowjob. So sue me.