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Social Revolver

Unedited and Unpublished

Due to the world and everything currently going wrong Social Revolver the sequel to If Kisses Were Bullets.. may never be published.

My parents with the very best intentions sent me to catholic school.  The uniform consisted of navy blue corduroys (before corduroy was cool again) and a pin striped polyester shirt.  Everyday I put on that shirt I was terrified that I would catch on fire and the synthetic fibers would melt to my skin.  Aside from a series of insane phobias I learned a lot of other things.
In catholic school I learned to lie.
“…How long has it been since your last confession?”
I don’t know I’m ten.  The most important things on my mind are comic books and Saturday morning cartoons.
“A month…”  I guess.
“What do you have to confess?”
Sometimes when I read my X-men comics I pause over the pages of the women dressed in tight spandex and thongs.  What sin is that?  I don’t know so I don’t say anything.
“Have you taken the lords name in vain?”  The priest prompts.
“Yes,” I tell him although I can’t recall any specific times but I’m pretty sure it happened.  I’m pretty sure I’ve done a lot of things that I can’t remember.  At night I climb out of bed, quiet as a mouse so as not to wake my parents.  I can’t sleep so I turn on a little light and read Choose Your Own Adventure books.  In the morning, though I don’t remember falling asleep, I find myself safe in bed.
“Did you covet your neighbors’ possessions?”  The priest helps me out again.
“Yes.”
Sean has a Wolverine versus The Punisher comics that I desperately want.  I’m thinking of trading him a couple Spidermans for it.
“Have you fought with your brother or sister?”
If I haven’t I will and saying yes is better than sitting in silence.  He expects me to have a list of sins.  He expects it so much he’s written out the list for me.
What I learned in catholic school was that it’s easier to pretend to be what people want you to be even if it puts you in a negative light.  Because seriously who cares what they think about you there are better things to do then prove myself to someone who thinks I’m lying cheating scum.
“Do you have in pure thoughts?”
“No.”
Other than comic book characters, no.  I’d never taken too much interest in girls.  While my friends were ‘dating’ and getting dangerously close to hand holding I was living somewhere inside my skull.  I day dreamt and built stories in my head.  In order to fit in I pretended to have a crush on a girl.  We were ten, we weren’t going to get married or have sex; most of us were terrified by the idea of kissing.  It was a time consuming and pointless process.  There were other things I had to deal with because somewhere burning inside me was a secret rage.
In catholic school I learned how to kick someone when their down.
The kid had moved from New York and had an accent that made him sound retarded.  Although he never said or did a thing to me I saw him as a target.  He didn’t fit in, he had no friends and so no one else would care.  One day we were playing kick ball.  I’m sitting on the bench waiting for my turn and I can feel the rage building in me.  For no reason I get up, cross the field and punch him in the face.  He goes down like a rock and before I know it I’m kicking him in the stomach.  After a few good hits I stop and go back to the bench as if nothing had happened.  On the outside I’m cool as a cucumber but inside it’s all fear and panic.
What did I do?
Why?
I’m in so much trouble.
I have to get out of here.
Run.  Run.  Run.
The recess bell rings and we all line up to go inside.  I’m sweating with fear waiting to get pulled out of line and dragged to the principles office.  Nothing happens.  The kid never says a word.
In catholic school I learned the crazier you seem the more people fear you.
I’d been in a number of fights.  I once held a wooden log in the air and stood over my friend’s brother threatening to hit him.  During a heated game of soccer I thought I heard someone say something about me and punched him in the face.  I slammed a kid in the head and held one of those jack-o-lantern knives to another kid’s throat because they wouldn’t leave me alone.  I was terror.  I was rage.  One of the few times another kid tried to stand up to me I didn’t back down.  When one of my friends pissed me off I chased him across the playground until I back him up against a door.  I punched the metal door behind him so hard that I left a dent.  I almost strangled a kid with his crucifix.  I’ve made people bleed, cry and flee.  Only once did I ever loose a fight even then after I had my face slammed repeatedly into the ground I was more concerned about getting blood on my uniform rather than the pain or fear.
In catholic school I learned how to write my name.
Not my name specifically but I wrote it everywhere, on benches walls, sidewalks with a big black marker.  I did this for no other reason than because no one else was doing it yet.  As leader of the pack I was required to maintain my position through feats of daring.
In catholic school I learned to steal.
Along with a number of other kids I was trapped in after school care and like they say idle hands are the devils playground.  We snuck off school grounds but that wasn’t enough for me.  All these stores and no money to buy things with.  Everything I stole was petty, waters guns, a comb that looked like a switchblade, porn from a video store and comic books.  But on the top of my list of theft was cigarettes.
In catholic school I learned to smoke.
I was thirteen.  It was a long time ago when they stocked cigarettes on shelves next to the cash register instead of behind glass like they do now.  And so my friends and I began to smoke.  We borrowed, stole and pilfered from parents that did smoke.
I can’t help but wonder if I became what the priest said.  The sick irony would be that the point of it all was to make me into a good catholic kid instead they assumed I was a sinner and so I became one.
In catholic school I learned that I didn’t believe in god.