The Friend That Nobody Liked

            by Dane Silva

 

             Tim Turner was the one person in my group of friends that nobody liked. Every group, clique, and gang has one of these people. When this person is not around he or she is the major topic of your conversations. Basically, you keep this person around for the soul purpose of making fun of him behind his back. Everywhere you go he would show up. Even if you didn’t tell him where you were going. He would try to pull that “I just found you” gag.

            Tim Turner had always been around. Since I was a kid he had followed my friends and I aimlessly trying to fit in. Tim was just awkward to be around. It was embarrassing, especially because he wore really ancient clothes that were way beyond their life expectancy. His pants were two sizes too short, leaving his pale white legs reflecting in the sunlight. Also, they had a large tear in the right pocket. This frayed hole was the centerpiece of his awkwardness. Sometimes, when he was walking, his keys would slip through the hole. Every step he took the keys would jingle and bring some unsuspecting pedestrians eyes to the growing hole. Everybody told him it was time for a new pair, but he would always come up with a horrible excuse like “ I have to find a pair of jeans that fit me right.” A week later the tear was covered in a small strip of reflective duct tape.

            The beginning of the end of our relationship all boils down to one single day. This event, comprised of several incidents, began on one overcast day last spring. The day was an odd sort of spring day. Grey clouds filled the sky and every so often a gust of wind brought a faint smell of rain.  My friends and I, Tim not included, had been planning a trip to the city. We would catch the train to the beach, drink some brews, and possible cause some havoc in golden gate park.

            After a feeble attempt to get clean I ran out of my house to BART station to meet up with my friends. I arrived a few minutes late and my friends were all there, huddled in a small circle at the entrance to the terminal.

            “ Sorry I am late. Let me just get my ticket and we can get off,” I told my friends while quickly jogging to the ticket window. I paid as fast as I could. My hands jittered awaiting the fresh ticket. I cocked my head around as soon as my ticket ejected and guess whom I saw. Tim Turner was briskly walking towards us.

            “How could this happen,” my best friend Phil said indignantly. His eyes grew a deep red and he almost looked like he wanted to choke a puppy.    

            “Hi guys. Ready for a day of fun and adventure,” Tim excitedly interrupted our closely nit circle of friends. He blankly stared straight into my eyes. He must have been wearing an old pair of glasses because he leaned within two inches of my face when he began talking again. I could count the dirt filled pores on his face and I even spotted bits of food between his plaque-encrusted braces. It wasn’t just a small piece of spinach or something. It was a whole leaf.

            “ I’m glad I caught you guys I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it on time. Lets go. The next train comes in less than two minutes,” Tim said with a very enthusiastic smile.

            We headed to the train where there were quite a few crowds of people. Groups of college students, a few thugs, and one cold-faced woman lined the edge of the tracks like ants. This woman continually glanced at our group. She was old and possible homeless, the type of old that you would hope to be hooked up to a ventilator or at least six feet under. She had a wrinkled face and her hair kind of resembled the disregarded web of a spider.

            “ Hey Tim. Your moms looking over this way,” Phil spat out trying to cut down the moral of Tim.

            “What? Shut up you asshole,” Tim’s face went red as the capillaries in his cheeks began to fill with an onslaught of blood. He didn’t sound mad. He couldn’t really express any emotion without sounding like he was trying.
            Tim always took us seriously. My friends and I constantly took advantage of this. This one time, I hid his backpack and convinced him that a rabid dog ran by and took it. He even believed me when I told him the dog was four feet tall, had no tail, and was dripping green saliva from its mouth. I had him going for a half an hour until he noticed that I was sitting on his backpack. Tim was the most gullible person that I ever knew.

            The train approached minutes later. The glare of its florescent lights blinded me while the screeching of its breaks rang throughout my eardrums. A throng crowded in front of the doors expecting the oncoming train. As the doors opened, the mob rushed through the gates like cattle including the peculiar homeless woman who had some odd obsession of starring at our group. Tim of course was the last one to enter and there were no seats left, so he ended up awkardly standing next to the doors of the train, adjusting his glasses as he picked his nose. The doors closed with a quick swoosh and moment later the train jolted forward throwing Tim off balance. His feet stumbled and he began to fall to the dank and dingy floor of the Bart train. Unlucky for Tim, his shirt had become stuck in-between the train doors. As he fell the buttons on his shirt popped off. When he reached for the floor to catch him the bright yellow button-up was left hanging behind him. One by one the whole train became fixed in awe on Tim’s pale chest. There were a hundred staring eyes watching him that moment. I tried not to pay attention as he yanked the shirt from the grips of the doors. Tim swiftly put his shirt back on, jerked his head around to see all the eyes of the train goers quickly looking away. All was fine except that there was now a lightning bolt shaped rip down the backside of his shirt. This was one more hole in his outfit. I continued to disregard him as being part of our group. His face was pale with embarrassment and he tried to cut off all eye contact with anyone.

`           The train continued through a dark tunnel in depths below San Francisco bay until it finally arrived to the Embarcadero. We all left the station in a huge mob, one by one letting the machine snatch our tickets and grant us passage. Everybody was ready to escape the tyranny of Tim and begin our adventure in the big city.

            When I reached the top of the escalator a gust of wind almost blew me over. No quicker than we all reached the top, the pitter-patter of rain commenced. It’s pace quickened and rapidly soaked my clothes to the point where they would not dry on their own. We ran to a near by Denny’s to seek shelter and maybe acquire some grub at the same time.

            “ Thank you for joining us today. How many is in your party,” a short fat woman asked us who kind of resembled a female Oompa-Lumpa.

            “ Three. I mean four,” I answered forgetting about that Tim was a friend. We sat at a four-person booth nestled into the far corner of the small dinner. I hastily glanced at the menu, but I knew what I wanted. The smell of salted meats and sweet aroma of pancakes and syrup always tempted my stomach. I ordered the meat lovers combo and everybody else got burgers except for Tim who Insisted on ordering Fiesta Nachos, a strawberry milkshake, and the Barbados Buffalo chicken sandwich.

            “ Are you going to be able to eat all that food? The servings here are pretty big,” Phil interjected in the middle of Tim’s order.

            “ Oh fo’ sho’,” he said trying to use slang that did not fit him at all. Fifteen minutes later, after a boring conversation on alligator matting habits and the breeding patterns of the great white sharks, our food arrived. I began eating my food. First with the pancakes smothered in bittersweet syrup, then the sausage, then the golden hash browns, then two scrambled eggs, and finally three strips of crispy bacon.

             I glanced away from my food for a swift moment to see how the others were doing. Phil and his brother’s burgers were half eaten. But when my eyes met Tim plate it was empty. The platter of food was empty and Tim was left covered in melted cheese and BBQ sauce. Tim was left slurping the final remains of his milkshake threw a pinstriped straw that had been chewed on the end.

            “ You eat more than my aunt Starr’s trash masher. And she eats more than a starving pig,” exclaimed Tim’s brother. Tim looked a little queasy. His face went from a pale pimply white to a vivid greenish hue. I said nothing and we made are way back to the BART station. It was now dark and the rain had worsened. Mini streams trickled down the sides of buildings and a few little kids were chasing hand made boats down the sides of streets.

            The BART station was packed. We crammed into the first east-bay bound train and headed back to seek the warmth of our homes. Tim was becoming sicklier as the ride went on. He managed to get seat next to me. His skinny skeleton swayed back and forth with the train’s motion and he made several moaning noises like a whimpering dog.

            “Next stop, DOWN TOWN BERKELEY,” crackled the voice of the train conductor yelled over the intercom.

            “ Come on Tim. This is our stop,” I gently nudged him in the ribs. This was probably not the best thing to do. He looked up to me. His eyes were crossed and his mouth was shut closed. OH NO. Before I could get away, he opened his mouth and his whole meal was let out onto chest. Chunks of chicken and a smell of nacho cheese covered me from head to toe. The smell penetrated my nostrils. I couldn’t help it. The acrid smell of strawberry milkshake and sour cream started the gagging. I tried to hold it down, but the muscles in my throat acted on their own. Maintaining the contents of my stomach I walked outside, but it was still raining. The vomit ran down my front and soaked into my socks. I couldn’t handle it. I gagged once more than gave up. The projectile vomit went everywhere. My pulse raced. I had never been so anger. Tim ruined my day of fun. My clothes were soaked with vomit. I had not thrown up since my first birthday when my parents found out I was allergic to whole milk the hard way. My fists clenched and my palms began to sweat. I walked briskly over to Tim, punched him in the face, and left all my anger towards him just below his right eye. Tim fell backwards in shock. I really didn’t have control over what I did. The aggravation towards him had been building up over years. I finally realized that the friend I didn’t like was not really a friend but a leech.

            After that night, I only really said one thing to him. I told him I was sorry once in the hallways of school, but that’s it. His right eye was swollen and black for over a month. He couldn’t open it for weeks. To this day there is a small fist shaped scar below his right eye.