When I was six years old, my only friend was a boy named Matthew. Physically, he was my opposite: his blonde hair was the same shade as his pale skin and his eyes were faint and blue. My eyes were so dark they looked more black than brown. My hair was the same color. Maybe that’s why no one else wanted to be friends with us; I’m still not sure. In Matt’s case, it could also have been the fact that he was the only student in our grade who had a single mother. It’s possible that he could’ve been the only kid in the whole school with a single, but I’m not sure. It was a small town and privacy was a rare commodity.
On Halloween, we would all come to school in costume. Halfway through the day, classes let out and there would be a fair on the playground where we could bob for apples or play carnival games where candy or toys were given out as prizes. Mom never made me a costume like the other kids. Instead she’d buy me a plastic costume in a bag from Thrifty. Matt showed up in a metallic gold jumpsuit with big fake gold chains around his neck and sunglasses. I asked what he was supposed to be and he answered, “Elvis Presley.” It was impossible to make the connection but it seemed like a good-natured tribute since the King had just died the year before. I felt bad for Matt since he had to explain to everyone that he was, in fact, Elvis Presley. I had no such problems because the plastic apron I was wearing had “Casper the Friendly Ghost” emblazoned across the chest.
We were walking home when we passed Speedy Gourmet, a hamburger stand a couple blocks from school. There were four kids in front. I didn’t know how old they were…I would’ve only described them as “big.”
“Hey what are you supposed to be?” one of them asked Matt.
“Elvis Presley.” he answered, smiling.
He looked at Matt and then at me.
“No you’re not. You’re Captain Faggot. And that’s Casper the Homo Jap! Now give us your fucking candy!”
We started running and they took off after us. Matt’s house was only a block away but there was no way we were going to make it inside. I couldn’t run as quickly as Matt could and I wasn’t used to the angry burning feeling in my stomach and chest. I wanted to either cry or vomit. Instead, I focused on Matt’s glittery gold back and pumped my feet. Suddenly, Matt was standing in front of a tall figure.
It was Matt’s half-brother, Jesse. He was older and bigger than any of the kids chasing us and was wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off. Unlike Matt, his hair was a perfectly round helmet of dark curls. He was smoking a cigarette that he threw on the ground angrily. The burning ash blew up in front of the big kids.
“Leave them alone.”
The big kids stopped and looked at him, puzzled. Jesse lunged towards them and they scurried off while he snickered and led us inside.
“You guys okay?”
I couldn’t answer. I just looked at him. He smiled and then looked at Matt.
“Yeah we’re okay.”
“Why don’t you guys come in and settle down a little.”
In retrospect, Jesse was a pretty serious burnout. He was about sixteen but didn’t go to school or have a job. It didn’t matter because he was always nice to us. When we were home, he’d watch cartoons with us and would let us hang out in his room and listen to records while he just sat and smoked cigarette after cigarette. He’d pour us Shasta in plastic cups and fix us plates of salami, cheese, and Ritz Crackers. It didn’t seem odd to me that he seemed to have no friends besides two six year olds. I realized some years later that he was so mellow because he was probably bombed out of his mind. This was apparent when I would later read about him getting arrested in a huge pot bust in some barn outside of Santa Maria.
But when I was sitting with Matt and Jesse and looking at the album covers while the music played on his hi-fi, it was safe. And the music was magic. We’d listen to the Sweet, Mott the Hoople, KISS, Black Sabbath, Queen, the Beatles, or the Stones. The music was loud and catchy and flashy. The covers were magic. I’d open gatefolds and look at the pictures inside. They were like National Geographic to me only instead of showing you wildlife in Borneo, they would show pictures of rock stars and the world they lived in. I wondered about the robot on the cover of Queen’s “News of the World” and wondered why he picked up the members of Queen and why did he pierce Freddie Mercury’s belly with his metal finger? Was that a demon watching the party in the gatefold of “Hotel California?”
The songs were larger than life and far more colorful, like cartoons compared to silent, black and white reels. There was no one to take away our Halloween candy and it didn’t matter that we didn’t have friends because we had all the friends we needed in those four walls, covered as they were with velvet black light posters of Bruce Lee and odd colored castles and horses.
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