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Joey Was A Human Bullhorn
On friendship and the profound disgustingness of middle-school lunch spaghetti
I am twelve years old. I am in seventh grade — the first year of middle school. It is 1986.
How can I explain the last century? I guess it’s not that much different than today. It was easier to be invisible. That’s a big difference. There weren’t as many cameras. Being lonely wasn’t the same, either. There were people desperate to be seen and heard — who screamed and raged — but were never heard or seen. There was one screen, and we worshipped it. The evening news was nothing but terrorism, plague, and nuclear war. People were scared. The rich enjoyed themselves a little too much, and the same with the bible thumpers. Things don’t change as much as we think they do.
The 80s were colorful, though. Neon pinks, bright yellows. Turquoise was popular. My Trapper Keeper — a stylish three-hole binder with a velcro latch — was an intense blue. It was my prized possession.
I am twelve years old, and middle school is chaotic, and loud, a pinball machine with too many pinballs. The 8th graders are otherworldly, and I’m afraid I’ll forget my locker combination, so I write it on a scrap of paper. I still do this for my various…
