Donnie

Donnie

  A Beginning

  There comes a point in almost everyone's life when they feel depressed. Depression, I have found, isn't always a bad thing. Depression can also make you reflect on things in your life, the bad deeds and more importantly, the good.

 

  When you're depressed you see what life truly is, more than a happy person would, in my opinion. Someone content, on top of the world, happy, those sorts of people tend not to be lonely, true... But when you're on top of the world do you really have any friends? Are you truly happy? Can you really trust anyone?

  Happy people seem to be covered in a euphoric cloud of excrement; walking about with their heads held high in the clouds surrounded, by their own ignorance and bliss. True happiness is a rarity and that is a different story altogether.

  By no means have I always been depressed, no. I used to be one of those people who were on top of the world, who had everything within their grasp.

  Coming from a wealthy background, I was no stranger to money, but that was my parents' money, not mine, I was hungry for my own money and to make a kingdom of my own.

  From an early age I was sent to a top private school, money was no object for my parents. I really didn't want to go to this scary new thing called 'private' school, especially being so young, away from all the regular comforts we all take for granted and even away from my parents.

  Bullied

  At school I got bullied, I was different, I had dreams of becoming someone important and worthy of this one shot at what we call life; not a bad thing if you ask me, to dream. I loved all my dreams and even the nightmares, I could not have asked for a better gift, the gift of sight. But, as I became aware later in life, with great talent comes an even greater jealousy.

  I tried to do my best with my studies; work hard, dream harder was my secret motto. I was always getting praised by tutors but I made sure my day dreaming never got in the way of hard studying, because after all, we all need a back-up plan, don't we?

  I remember a particular day that would shape for the rest of my life.

  It started when I was in the rest room taking a leak, when I heard the door open.

  It was the school bullies that I had noticed around the school.

  "Well, well, well, look who it is! It's that weirdo Donnie." They said.

  I zipped my fly up almost trapping myself, my heart was beating hard against my chest, my palms were clammy, I wasn't frightened but I had the good old fight or flight adrenaline rush all the same.

  There were three of them and I was on my own, but never the less, the one important lesson my absent father taught me is to stand up for myself. The three bullies were older than me, not by much but enough to make a difference.

  Avoiding eye contact but always keeping my eyes on them, I walked cautiously over to the hand basin. Looking in the smudged mirror, not taking my eyes off of them once; I could see their impish grins in the somewhat dirty reflection.

  I smiled back, knowing that a beating was coming, but I wouldn't go down without a fight.

  "Give us your money, Donnie!" said the ring leader, who so happened to be the skinniest one of the three, whilst the sizeable ones bumped their fists into their chunky hands; they knew they had the power.

  They took the cowardly option and tackled me from behind; there was no backing out now. I tried to turn around although before I knew it, the gangly one had pushed my fragile head into the smudged mirror. It was as simple as that. The room started to spin and I dropped almost instantly to the floor.

  I had blacked out. What was probably minutes seemed like a lifetime.

  When I came to, I couldn't see straight, couldn't breathe properly. I could hear those bastard bullies around me, laughing, cheering each other on. I lay still for a few minutes, trying to regain my senses. My head hurt and it felt like it was pulsating against the cold tile flooring.

  When I snapped out the dazed state of mind I noticed I was the only one in the rest room. I carefully ran my hand over the back of my delicate head, whilst I tried to get up. I felt warm, sticky blood trickling down the back of my neck and fingers and I almost fainted seeing it ooze down my hand, but I managed to keep some kind of control and breathe out the wooziness.

  Getting to my feet was a slow game nevertheless; I attempted to walk to the door.

  The world span again, I used the door handle as support; my legs like jelly forcing me to wobble all over the place; then the door opened abruptly throwing me off balance.

  For a split second I thought it was the bullies, coming back for more, lucky for me though, it was a prefect.

  She was beautiful, like an angel blessed by the grace of God, perfect in every way, at least in my eyes. Eighteen, long blonde hair, big blue eyes, her name... Christine.

  "What happened?" Christine asked.

  "Slipped" I said.

  I looked to the floor, too shy to look into those big deep blue eyes, especially when I had just lied to her. But I had to lie; I couldn't look like a weakling in front of a girl and certainly not to this new found beauty.

  Christine looked at me with her dainty blue eyes to say that she knew I was lying, but I wasn't going to spill my guts and tell her, it's a secret I've kept hidden from the world until now.

  Christine took me innocently by the arm and forced me to the school nurse, despite my protestations.

  The bony sour faced nurse made a fuss of me; she even forced me to go to hospital for stitches as well as to make sure I wasn't concussed. The doctors at the hospital gave me a sick note for three days to make sure I got the rest I needed. Three days of relaxation at home, bliss I thought, but I soon got restless as most young boys do with too much spare time on their hands. I spent most of my time in the garden, taking refuge from the summer sun under my favourite tree, reading one of my all time favourite books.

  When I arrived back at school, the bullies avoided me for a good while after they heard I went to hospital to get my head stitched up, guess they were shit scared I'd tell on them, they may not have been scared of me, but every boy is afraid of their own father's wrath. But I wouldn't tell, being a snitch is not in my blood.

  I told my parents the same lie that I had told Christine; that I fell. They didn't believe me of course. They decided amongst themselves to hire a private self-defence tutor for me and after months and months of extensive training and vigorous workouts, I felt ready to take on anybody who started on me, my confidence was renewed.

  Four months had now passed since the cowards had attacked me.

  I saw Christine often and whenever possible since the attack, somehow the incident had created a bond between us. I didn't complain once about her talking about shopping and friends; I genuinely enjoyed her company. Christine made me laugh, she made me smile.

  We had deep, lengthy conversations and every time we parted I would be on cloud nine, floating, with butterflies in my adolescent belly. I had a crush and I loved it, but she was eighteen, I unfortunately was only fifteen...

  It came to the end of term. I felt gutted because I knew this was her last year at school and soon she would head off to college. I tried to not think about the negatives though because I knew deep down our paths would one day meet again.

  I bought Christine some chocolates to say thank you for being there for me and for being a good friend, I also attached my address to the box, just in case she ever felt the need to write to me.

  "Why can't every boy be like you? If only you were a few years older Donald Portago." She said.

  Christine planted a smacker of a kiss on my right cheek. I turned redder than a tomato.

  The bell rang for her final class of the day. Christine stood up and swept her long blonde hair out of the way of her face. I walked her to the school entrance where we said our gut wre
nching goodbyes and parted ways.

  I walked a few feet before looking over my shoulder, she was there looking at me smiling with all her beauty. For the first time in my life I felt pure happiness, I felt loved.

  When I got to my dormitory door I heard an all too familiar voice, it was the gangly bully brandishing a rather intimidating looking flick knife.

  "I saw you with her. She kissed you on the cheek, didn't she? Did you like it, you slimy son of a bitch?!" He said.

  "C'mon let's talk about this... I don't want any trouble." I said. Trying to reason with him was pointless, I wasn't scared of him; I was scared of what was in his hand.

  "How about this, do you like this, would you like to kiss this??" He said putting the razor sharp knife edge to my eye trying to intimidate me and he succeeded.

  "I'm gonna stick you like a pig, just because... I don't like you and because I can." He said.

  He moved the knife to my hand, but all that training paid off. Although I was afraid, I saw my chance to strike and took it; so what if he manages to stab or slash my hand, I thought. I'd have a much better chance surviving a wound to the hand then a sliced throat. I grabbed his scrawny wrist with my free right hand, catching him by surprise; I pulled his hand and wrist clockwise, using just enough pressure to break his wrist instantaneously and causing certainly enough pain to make him my puppet. I put the bully out of his misery by kicking him in the balls. He dropped straight to the floor, like a sack of shit, dropping the knife in the process.

  I had suspicions that I would get in trouble for that little incident, but it was in self-defence, right?

  I looked at my hand; it got nicked by the knife, nothing a band aid couldn't handle though.

  That day is one of my fondest memories, not because I inflicted pain on another human being, but because I stood up for myself.

  I recall whispering this sentence in his ear.

  "This will teach you a lesson, you piece of shit. Don't pick on people younger than you, don't ever underestimate people and especially, never fucking mess with me again!"

  I entered my room, my face beaming, never to be physically bullied ever again.

  The three bullies avoided me for the rest of school; I guess the scrawny shit never told what had really happened to him; too ashamed to tell people someone younger had damaged him. I guess we were both alike in that sense.

  The bullying had stopped and I felt secure again but bullying never really stops does it? Bullying just changes into a smarter, slyer form as you get older.

  Graduation Day

  My graduation wasn't special to me; my parents didn't even bother showing, although I hoped at least one of them would.

  Their excuse was that they were busy on a business trip in the Bahamas, never mind, it didn't matter that much to me anymore. I had never really been attached to them; my parents were there for me when I needed them financially but when I needed their love and support they were nowhere to be seen.

  I waited for my diploma anxiously. I didn't know my grades yet, but I had studied hard. I was more anxious about shaking the Principal's hand, rather than standing up there in front of over two-hundred people.

  I sat next to one of my few friends, Jack and his parents. Jack was a pretty cool guy, though I think he just took pity on me because I didn't have many friends. It's a shame I didn't get to ask him what he really thought of me; he moved away with his folks shortly after graduation, we lost touch... It's just one of those things in life, people come people go.

  My name was called, I stood up. Jack and his parents were looking at me smiling, "Good luck," they said to me. I don't know why they said good luck; luck had nothing to do with it.

  My hands were sweaty and I kept rubbing them against my robes. My anxiety levels had raised phenomenally, all those people staring at me. It gave me a big buzz, although I thought they were all secretly laughing at me. I wiped my hands for the last time, shook the Principal's hand, took my diploma and walked off the stage, proud of myself.

  I had received top grades, just as I had presumed.

  The contentment didn't last forever as I now had a dilemma. Should I start working and gain complete independence from my parents? Or, go to college, gain independence but still live off of my parent's wealth?

  I had to weigh up all the pros and cons:

  College: Hot women, alcohol, drugs, better career options and just the experience.

  Career: Money (my own), my own place, parties, my own things, hot women.

  On the top of my list was money and independence; I couldn't live off my parents any longer. We spoke little but every time we did we argued and guess what it came down to? Yes, money, one of the many roots of evil.

  "We gave you such and such, we lent you x amount," they'd say. I was tired of having to rely on them for money, especially when that's the only support they had ever given me and only because they felt obliged to.

  I decided to move to Chicago, Illinois. I secured an apartment and had a bit of money saved up from the years of doing other peoples homework and odd jobs over the summers spent at home. It was enough to get me started, but that was all.

  I checked in a few local shops; some clothes and grocery stores. No jobs going, but one of the guys in the store told me to try at a bar a couple of blocks down, where the scenery seemed to dissipate and turn into slum housing with every stride. In I went and with great success, I had got myself my first job.

  The bar owner Al seemed a decent enough guy, but boy was I about to find out what was in store.

  Working life

  Working behind a bar... What can I say? It sucked big time and that's no word of a lie.

  I had my own place, I was happy as a pig in shit about that, the only trouble was, that job ate me up inside, pure dread filled my body when I knew I had to go do my shift.

  Even now it makes me shudder with anguish.

  Customers often used to say to me I should perhaps try and get another job, the truth was I didn't plan on doing this job for a long time, but plans hardly ever work out the way you want them to, do they?

  When you work behind a bar, every Tom, Dick and Harry seems to have a major problem with you...

  You occasionally get nice people, but in general, people are assholes and every asshole seemed to drink in that godforsaken hellhole; making your life hell with every sip, while you work for peanuts and take it with a smile.

  You had the alcoholics, waiting at the door before we even opened, their hands shaking from the lack of alcohol in their bloodstream.

  Then you had the junkies. They didn't really buy drinks often; they'd use the toilet to shoot themselves up and then leave their dirty, rotten needles on the floor, for some poor fucker to clean up. Guess who that fucker was.

  Then you had the scroungers, begging people to buy them a drink or using other people's loneliness to their advantage. Those types of people rile me up.

  Normally I'd get the early shifts, eight hours with a thirty minute unpaid break. If I was lucky, I'd get my break. Most evenings I would try out at auditions for small parts. I got some parts, un-paid mind you but I didn't mind, I needed the experience. I couldn't help but think I wanted bigger, better parts though. I am only human after all and the human race is never content.

  Two years passed and I was still in the same old drag of a job. I found it very hard to get out, not because I enjoyed it, but because I felt like I owed my soul to Al for giving me the bastard job in the first place. It made me bitter inside, but nothing better had yet come along...

  I had been on nine days straight; four days, five nights. Truth be told, I was exhausted! But finally it was my day off, in fact I had two days off, in a row; heaven!

  I woke up at 11:30 am; lazy some would say but when you're getting home at 3:30 am I would say it's completely acceptable. If anyone told me otherwise I would flip them the bird.

  I rubbed my eyes, still half asleep... I had this reoccurring dream, well... Nightmare.

  In
the nightmare I'm trying to serve a customer, but I can never finish the order. My boss Al is standing over my shoulder, barking at me to hurry up.

  I rise out of bed, still half dead and walk to the kitchen and feel for the kettle. Ah caffeine, that sweet buzz that's kept me conscious many a nights, was slowly working its way into my system, making me feel more human. Between sips of coffee I munched on full grain cereal with freeze dried fruit, thinking about the day ahead in my half-human state.

  Once I had finished my breakfast I switched on my pc to check my emails. I knew there wouldn't be anything of importance, just spam letters telling me how I can enlarge my penis for a one time offer of $14.95 a pop, a good deal but a scam nonetheless.

  I wanted to make the most of my two days off; I had a long refreshing shower then headed directly into the city.

  I walked through the city centre soaking up the culture, the beautiful buildings and also did a bit of window shopping for a few hours. I looked at all the beautiful shiny things like a magpie; I wanted them desperately, I even contemplated stealing them, but stealing is not in my nature. I needed money but I didn't have any, not yet anyway.

  The time had come for another coffee break; a cappuccino, no sugar, plenty of chocolate, just the way I like it. I sat by the window staring at people passing by, observing them and their mannerisms whilst taking slow sips of my steaming coffee. I wandered into a far-away place, evaluating my life so far. Not a lot seemed to have happened, yet so much had; if that makes any sense.

  A well dressed business man on the table next to me left the coffee shop, leaving his paper behind, the waiter approached the table and began to clean, I asked him politely if I could read the paper, he nodded his head and passed it to me with a forged smile.