So I've always known that I'm not like most guys. I'm not a jock; you see, I'm not exactly exactly the biggest fan of physical activity. Not that I would've ever been able to get involved in any sports, with a mother like mine. Believe you me, when your mother doesn't let you leave for school until you've had your "Flintstone's" vitamins, and doesn't let you go to bed until she's checked your pulse, blood pressure, and temperature, sports are pretty much out of the question entirely. I've not really a nerd either, although Sam and maybe even Carly would disagree. Sure, I may obsess over videogames, but don't all teenage boys, to some degree? And yeah, I know a bit more about computers than the average person, but no were as near as much as Nevel. I'm smarter than Sam, but compared to me, Carly's a genius. I'd like to think I'm attractive. Maybe? In a dorky kind of way? But, at the same time, I know that I'm not really boyfriend material.
Hence my friendship with Carly and Sam. Sam, she's the quirky one in our friendship. The girl guys want to ask out, but hold off because she kind of intimidates them. The comic relief. The main banana's second banana, the main banana being Carly, of course, the girl who could drop me and Sam like flies if she wanted too. I mean, she has it all. She's beautiful, seriously, just really take a good look at her and you'll know what I mean. She's intelligent, intelligent enough to go to Briarwood Prep if she wanted too. And she's funny and popular, or have you not seen iCarly? It's pretty much THE webshow to watch these days. Seriously, we even went to Japan and won a competition for it. But that's beside the point. Where am I left in our friendship?
I'm the guy. You know, like Gordo from Lizzie McGuire or Eddie from That's so Raven. (Shut up. I can watch whatever I want.) The guys that never have girlfriends, or when they do, keep them for like only an episode. Destined, all of them, for lives as third bananas on mediocre Disney sitcomes that no one will remember five years from now, if only because Disney would just perish in flames - terrible, terrible, flames - if they didn't crank out, what? At least one new sitcom a year? I think they have some plans for Demi Lovato and the Jonas Brothers. Because, you know, they're rock stars and deserve their own sitcom. Really, they do.
Sorry for the sarcasm, it's just that some days, I swear my life feels like it's one of those sitcoms. Could you imagine that? Me, Carly, and Sam on some kid's network, in some poor emulation of a teenager's life, because no respectable network would EVER go so far as to properly represent a teenager's life. MTV doesn't count. Why? Because MTV takes everything over the top and...and that's a rant for another time.
Say we actually were a sitcom, though. Several things from our lives would be discreetly ommitted. Like the nights when Sam comes over, because her mom is drunk, too drunk to safely be around. One time, she came in with this nasty cut on her arm, Spencer, Carly's brother, wanted to call the police, but Sam wouldn't let him. Despite all the verbal abuse I get from her, I really don't see how Sam keeps it all together. I know it's one of those nights when I hear my cell ringing (Daft Punk ringtones are my fave) in the middle of the night. I throw on a robe, sneak across the hallway, and the four of us - Carly, Spencer, Sam, and Me - stay up until early morning, watching old movies or playing some cheesy boardgame. That's one thing the network would leave out.
Another thing? Hmm...oh, Carly's brother? Spencer? Yeah, he's bisexual. As in, he likes both men and women. The only ones who really know are me, Sam, and Carly, though. Being from a military family and all, I think that Spencer's afraid to tell his parents. They're really nice people, from what I've seen of them, but...yeah. I guess he's just scared of what they might do if they reacted all scary-like. Disown him maybe. Or even revoke his guradianship of Carly. Yeah, that's one other thing, Spencer is Carly's official guardian (and a pretty decent artist, I might add) since their parents are stationed...hmm. Come to think of it, I have no idea where they're stationed, but stationed they are. Somewhere. Apparently. Hoorah for unconventional families.
As for Carly...well, earlier I was going on and on about how perfect Carly is. But, you know, everyone has a hidden weakness, or a tragic flaw in the case of Shakespeare's tragedies (So maybe I kind of like his stuff...a little bit). Carly's? She has this on and off again relationship with an eating disorder. Bulimia, specifically. Hey, hey, don't get me wrong...it's not an all the time thing, just a "Ahh! My life is crashing, and crashing, and oh, there it went! It crashed and now it's burning!" kind of thing. Between acing all of her AP classes, iCarly, and keeping her figure, Carly's life isn't exactly the easiest. And yeah, I'm a horrible friend for not telling Spencer...but even if I did, could either of us stop her from tip-toeing away to a bathroom after eating? The only reason I even knew her secret was because I'd been awake that night Sam had come over, when we'd pigged out on pizza, ice cream, and pretty much anything else of merit in the Shay family kitchen. She swore me to secrecy, and as much as I want to tell Spencer or Sam, she seems to know every time I even think about telling either of them. All it takes is a look from her, and I'm as good as mute. What can I say? I had a crush on her ever since I met her in kindergarten, up until halfway through freshman year, and even now she still has a way of wrapping me around her finger.
Oh, that would probably be different too, if we were all the main characters of a sitcom - our ages. Sam's actually the oldest, at 16, even though we don't start our junior year for another month. You wouldn't know it from looking at her, but she actually got held back a year. 3rd Grade, I think. Carly's next at 15, although she'll be sixteen before a lot of people in our grade since her birthday is in November. A few months earlier, and she would have been placed in Sam's class, actually. I'm the third banana yet again, because I'm actually the youngest. I, unfortunately, won't be sixteen until February of next year.
Heh, there's that phrase again. Third banana. I termed it myself, I think. It really does apply to me...not that I don't value Carly and Sam's friendship, and I know they both value mine...yeah, even Sam. But those two, Sam and Carly, they're best friends. Lizzie and Miranda. Raven and Chelsea. Lucy and Ethel. Mac and Bloo. Tommy and Chuckie. I'm the "other" best friend. Gordo. Eddie. The nameless ladies that appear every other episode. The bird-plant-airplane thing, the busted basketball player, and the Hispanic fluffball. Susie Carmicheal, or Phil and Lil DeVille.
. . .
So yeah, I'm different than most guys, I think as I lay in my bed, wide awake. The clock reads 3:45 A.M...3:46 A.M. Another minute passes by. I don't really fit into any distinct category, any high school stereotype. My two closest friends were girls. I was friendly with a few guys in my grade, like Gibby, but he, nor even Carly or Sam knew everything about me. Like my somewhat childish habit of watching today's popular sitcomes and cartoons, or at least watching them enough to be familiar with them. Or how I really like internet and videogame humor. You know, as in "All your base are belong to us" and the famous "drama prairie dog"? Ringing any bells? No? Well, I am kind of a dork. No one knows how much I secretly ship the Matt/Mimi pairing in Digimon, the fact that the one thing I want to do in my life before I die is go sky diving, despite the fact that I'm scared to death of heights, or that if Link, from the Legend of Zelda, were real, I would pretty much be gay for him, completely and totally. Me? A blond fetish? Noooo....well, maybe just a little bit. (Hey, I never said that Sam wasn't hot.)
And that's just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. So...you're thinking, maybe I'm being overdramatic? One of your friend's has parental issues, one of them has an eating disorder, and you're whining because you think you're left out. Actually, that sums the situation up quite nicely. I probably am being selfish. But would a best friend be asking so much? Someone who's a friend to me, like how Sam and Carly are friends with each other? Heck, a significant other would be nice too. I'm nearly a high school junior, and I've never even been kissed, family members excluded of course.
4:00 A.M exactly. I shift the comforter off of me as I stand, carefully stepping around anything on the floor that looks pointy as I head towards the full-length mirror attached to the front of my closet door. I stare at myself. Brown hair, brown eyes. My skin is pale, but not unhealthily so. I'd like to think it the shade of a pale pink rose, reflected on the surface of a pearl. But's that just me, I make my words all flowery sometimes, in my head. To most people, I'm just pale. No pimples, at least.
I smile. It's a nice smile, I like to think. My mom's always ensured everything even remotely related to my health, so all of my teeth are perfectly white and perfectly straight. Slowly, I undress. My pyjama top I begin to unbutton, but soon lose my patience and toss is carelessly to the floor. Next comes my pyjama bottom, as I pull down and kick to the side the sky blue, cotton pants.
Now I stand before the mirror, completely unclothed. Hehe, yeah. At night, I usually go commando. If my mom ever found out, she'd probably die right there on the spot. Never you mind if she were to find her son appraising himself in the mirror at 4 in the morning. Again, I'd like to state that I think I'm at least mildy attractive. My body, like my face is a healthy pale, not a healthy tan. I'd lost most of my puppy fat over the course of last year, and had a small growth spurt as well, to come to stand at a decent 5'10" and pretty lean overall.
Decent, I conclude. I'm decent. Suddenly, my stomach growls, and I place both of my hands on either side of my abdomen. I feel the slightest bit of abdominal muscles quiver at my touch.
I'm hungry.
I wander out of my room and down the hallway towards the kitchen, not bothering to dress myself or to lighten my footsteps. I'd learned, through years of sneaking over to Carly's, that past one in the morning, it was nearly impossible to wake my mom up, but that she woke up like clockwork every day at 6:30 A.M. The kitchen was clean, like always, the hum of the refrigerator and my stomach the only sounds to be heard. Hmm....where, where, where to try first? Pantry maybe?
Ahh....success. As I open the pantry, my eyes immediately zoom in on a jar of peanut butter. Chunky style. In an instant, I've a spoon in my right hand as I unscrew the lid with my lift. I dig the spoon deep into the peanut butter, and savor the taste as it hits my tongue, before gulping a large bit down all at once. I go in for another spoonfull, glance quickly at the spoon, then toss it into the sink. Peanut butter tastes so much better, I realize, when licked off one's fingers. A new jar, in a few minutes, I've polished off about half.
Soon, I'm thirsty. Wiping whatever peanut butter remains on my fingers onto my bare chest, I open the refrigerator, the sudden light blinding, but strangely comforting. Grabbing the milk, I drink straight from the jug, shivering as small rivulets dribble from my mouth, down my neck and onto my chest to join the peanut butter. I stop to catch my breath and notice the leftover Chinese that Mom brought home for dinner two nights ago.
Heh. Overprotective she may be, the one area Mom was flawed in was food. The one time she tried cooking, I somehow ended up having an allergic reation. Since then, it's been nothing but pre-made or takeout; really, whatever she could round up after putting in her long day at the hospital.
It's Chicken Lo Mein, and the noodles are still good despite being cold. I'm downing them fast, but manage not to spill anything on myself this time. With the rice, it's barely a box though, and I'm finished quicky. I pause to belch, running my hands over my tight stomach and down onto my hips, and then chuckle. If my mom did walk in, I would have no way of explaining this.
But I'm still hungry. And suddenly craving something sweet, I know just where to go. Ice cream was my mom's only weakness in terms of food, cookie dough ice cream to be exact. The day she didn't have at least two boxes in the freezer was the day Sam joined the cheerleading squad.
AKA, never.
Grabbing a box and the spoon I'd tossed into the sink earlier, I amble into the living room to the couch and turn on the television to find out exactly what does come on at 4:23 A.M. I place the ice cream on a cushion, which I in turn place on my stomach so as to be protected from the cold. I'm careful not to let any melting ice cream stain the couch or the cushion. My chest is already kind of a mess though. So I don't care as a few melted drops of cookie dough ice cream occasionally fall to join the other stains and one stray noodle on my chest.
Whoops. Guess I wasn't as careful with that lo mein as I thought I was.
===
It's a litle after five in the morning when I wander back into my room. I catch my reflection in the mirror. From a distance, you can't make out the ice cream and peanut butter left on my mouth and cheest, but I notice that my stomach is noticeably pooched out. It's tight, and painful to the touch.
But I'm not hungry anymore. And I feel better.
Notes to self: Sam dropped by and polished off the Chinese and made the dent in the peanut butter, as for the ice cream...if it comes down to it, Sam stole that too. Buy Mom a new box before she notices the empty box in the trash can.
I collapsed into my bed, and wrapped myself in the sheets. I was still naked. Oh well. I'll just tell my mom that I got hot last night. Remember to smile and blush, that always gets you off the hook. If all else fails, have Carly run an intervention. As for now, sleep. Before I woke, I dreamt of us - us being me, Carly, Sam, and Spencer. In my dream, there were other people there. I think one of them was dating Spencer, and the other....I think the other one was my best friend.
On the scale the next morning, I'd notice that I'd gained two pounds, bringing me up to 157. But I didn't regret anything...in fact, I kinda wanted to do the same thing that night.
Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Freddie Benson. I think I just became a binge eater.
And I was entering a part of my life that I would NEVER forget.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
