Crossing the Line
TRAVIS
I hate people who insist on telling you how magic tricks are done. I don’t want to know. These are the same people who tell you how a movie ends or give away the secret in a book you are reading. But I’m not really talking about all those people. I’m thinking about one in particular. His name was Paul Unger.
If you Googled “awkward teenager”, I’m pretty sure a picture of Paul Unger would appear. He was slightly overweight, his skin was oily and broken out and his glasses were thick and unfashionable. He wore plaid shirts, usually missing a button, always wrinkled, and pants that showed a gap of white socks at the bottom like a toothy grin. He wasn’t terribly bright or clever and spent most of his time alone.
Paul’s dad was killed in a freak household accident when Paul was ten. His father, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, was trying to figure out what was wrong with the light fixture in the dining room. He forgot to turn off the power first. Paul found him on the floor of the dining room with his hands clenched and his hair singed. He stared at his father’s lifeless form and then backed out of the room. He went to his room and waited for his mother to get home from the store. When he heard her car drive up, he ran to her and told her that Dad had tried to fix the light and now he was lying down. His mother thought that was peculiar, so she pushed past Paul and when she got to the entry to the dining room, she screamed and screamed and screamed. Paul was puzzled. He thought he had explained it to her, so he didn’t understand why she was upset.
Paul and his mom went on with their lives, but Paul had no guidance in social skills. His dad had been strange and a loner when he was alive and now his dad was gone and his mom was slightly unhinged. Paul frequently found her dressed up, sitting in the dining room with candles lit and the table set for two. He heard her talking as if she was having a conversation with someone. When she was like that, he just went to his room and watched TV. When he heard her go into her bedroom, he would sneak downstairs and make himself something to eat. She never came out of her room once she had gone to bed, so sometimes he stayed up very late watching TV and had trouble getting up for school in the morning.
When Paul was a junior in high school, his mother decided she’d better get him some tutoring in English or he wouldn’t graduate. He was squeaking by in his other subjects, but failing English. And that’s where I came in. I’m Travis Hopkins. I was a senior at the time and trying to earn money for a trip to Europe after graduation, so I signed up to be a tutor in English and Math.
Tutoring Paul wasn’t my favorite assignment. He had a greasy smell to him and he picked at his pimples when he was thinking about something. He hardly said anything during our sessions, but something must have gotten through because he actually passed English, if only with a C-. It wasn’t my greatest tutoring triumph, but we reached our goal and that was good enough for Paul’s mom. She paid me an extra $50 when the grades came out. It was an awkward meeting. I had gone to their house to collect payment for his tutoring and she hugged me when I came through the door. She was a large woman and I felt suffocated by her perfume and enveloping flesh. When she finally let go, I backed up a few steps and saw tears in her eyes. She turned and picked up an envelope with my name on it. She told me tearfully how grateful she was for my help and then she handed me the envelope. Before I could escape, she grabbed my head with her meaty hands and pulled my face to her and kissed me on the lips. Her grip was strong and I couldn’t move. Just as I felt her tongue prodding at my lips, the door opened behind me and Paul stepped in. When she let go, I took the opportunity to leave.
When I saw Paul around campus, he looked like he wanted to say something to me, but since I was always surrounded by friends and we were seniors, we took no notice of any lower classmen unless they were cute girls. We probably even made fun of him on occasion. Boys of that age can be cruel and I was probably no better or worse than the rest of them. I guess after awhile he realized that I was not going to acknowledge that I knew him in front of my friends, so he started to look away when we passed, as if he didn’t notice us.
Graduation came and went and I forgot about Paul. I tramped around Europe along with two of my baseball buddies and had a great time staying in youth hostels, partying all night and drinking until we puked. Oddly, that behavior was good preparation for college.
I was invited to join a fraternity right away when I got to college and we had our share of drunken parties. My first year was academically weak and I woke up many mornings with my face smashed on the linoleum next to the toilet, head throbbing and a taste in my mouth that made me think of the inside of a garbage can. When I was put on academic probation, I realized that I was blowing it, so I settled down and worked extra hard the next three years. Before I knew it, I had graduated and had been offered a job at a bank in San Francisco.
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