Don’t Call Me By My Name

A Short Story

Written By Laura L.

Readying myself for the workday on March 1, 2007 I opened up a voicemail that was left earlier that morning. “Hello Laura ..this is Jackie, Mel’s mother . I just wanted you to know that we lost Mel yesterday… (breaks down and cries; then contains herself). I don’t know the details yet, but uh- give me a call back today. Okay, bye.”  I stopped in my tracks and my heart sank at the loss of my dear friend Mel, whom I had known since eighth grade. Mel, whom in 1968 at 15 was already a ruggedly handsome and irresistible Rhett Butler-type who walked with a Danny Zuko cool ever since he stepped into the heart of our junior high 40 years ago. Mel, whom all the girls imagined being his girl  and with whom all the guys wanted to be a best friend. 

Thinking back I remembered how he stood out from the rest as a new student in our eighth grade class in the Fall of 1968. Dark straight hair, swooped over his forehead, Beach Boy style, tan complexion, about 5’ 8”, tight bell -bottom jeans, leather belt and suede jacket. He was of British and Portuguese descent with intense dark brown eyes which could be warm and welcoming or fierce and strong, depending upon the circumstance in which he found himself.  His smile was bright with perfectly straight white teeth – captivating, electrifying and engaging all at the same time.

I sat a few seats behind him in history and quickly saw the commanding presence he would create and hold until our senior year. From his sexy yet arrogant swagger into the classroom on that memorable first-day-of school and going forward- we  couldn’t help but pay attention. As the roll call came to his name – “Milton?” a muffled laugh came from a boy in the back of the room , and then more laughter “hah hah..Milton?!!” obviously ridiculing Mel’s now-revealed formal name. Mel turned around very slowly, but with great purpose – looking handsome, dangerous and alluring all at once- and, without a spoken word glared at the jokester  with a look that dared him to go any further. I saw in Mel’s dark eyes a fire and statement that would, in a very short time, cement his position as alpha by the entire student body. If looks could have killed, the laughing boy would be dead. Satisfied, Mel proceeded to turn back slowly and cooly. His presence, like the Fonz, was now established at our school. The boy, humbled or probably frightened to his core apologized clumsily.

Mel was a new student in a new school, in a new city, in a new state. A daunting task for any teenager. But it didn’t take him long. By third period he had already made his first-day-of-school impression. Reputation cemented. He may have been the new student but he was nobody’s fool.  He had arrived!

About this Story…

This Story was written by my Beautiful and Talented Wife, Laura. She is a Guest Writer in this week’s Short Story Blog.