Wet Willy's

I have been writing about the friendship that is at the heart of my solo show, The Big Secret, and I had this distinct memory of telling Jessica about something humiliating that had happened to me at school. It involved a popular girl named Amanda who had tried the whole, "pick a nerd and make him think you like him" thing on me. What was tragic was that I didn't actually fall for it. I was already so beaten down that I didn't even have the capacity for hope that such a ploy requires its victim to have in order to be successful.

It was a big leap of trust for me to talk to Jessica about this. I was so nervous to talk about how humiliating my school hours felt that when I think about it to this day, the moment remains remarkably vivid. I can still remember Jessica sitting behind the wheel of her car as she rolled down our darkened, suburban streets, glancing from the road to me with this pinched look on her face. That gave way to an open mouthed astonishment that anyone could be such a “B-word!” Jessica whispered “B-word.”

We were on the service road next to the highway, rolling past the car lot that sold used industrial vehicles (years later when I was 18, I would give serious consideration to buying an old mail jeep, but my girlfriend objected to the fact that it only had a single seat. I offered to put a bean bag in there for her.) Just beyond that was Wet Willy’s Water Park.

Wet Willy’s was a series of curving trenches that someone had dug into the side of a hill, covered in concrete, coated the concrete in latex paint and then pumped water over the whole maze. At the top of the hill your were issued a foam mat and shoved into one of the streaming ditches. If you strayed off that mat, you left skin behind. And the mats were never big enough to fit your whole body on. The Youth Group made a number of outings to Wet Willy’s. We would spend a full summer day trying not to look too long at one another in our bathing suits and bleeding. And smiling and laughing. We were basically flinging ourselves down a cheese grater with just a wet paper towel for protection and I cannot tell you how much fun that was. I remember losing my grip on my mat some twelve feet from the landing pool and tumbling over the nubs of paint covered cement until I flopped painfully into the water. When I came up, there was Jessica, with another redhead named Michelle, both in green one pieces clutching each other and laughing. To their credit, when I popped up, their faces instantly shifted to sympathy and I remember Jessica sitting on her heals next to the edge to ask if I was ok. I said I was, and laughed at myself for a bit, which was a big leap for me. Then I held up my arm to check if I was telling the truth. Like most fat kids, I wore oversized t-shirts to any water-based event, and when the sleeve of my shirt slid back from my upper arm, I revealed a long raspberry from shoulder to elbow and Jessica and Michelle both sucked air through their teeth.

Jessica said, “Are you sure you’re ok?”

I said I was and forced a smile, although the burning was just then hitting the road rash. Jessica was my friend, but she was also a pretty girl and no fourteen-year-old boy wants to show pain around a pretty girl. Which is why it still strikes me as amazing that I told her about Amanda. The fact that I remember having that conversation at all speaks to how close we became.

When Jessica whispered “B-word” we were alone together in her car, and the used car lot and Wet Willy’s were closed. It was nighttime and we were coming from a Wednesday night Youth Group meeting. Jessica had started offering me rides home from Youth Group functions, she had a car and I didn’t. It was more time to hang out. But we were alone in the car on a street full of darkened businesses and there was no one to hear Jessica say the word “bitch” but me and the Holy Spirit and I don’t think she was whispering for my benefit.

Then she tried to pivot to what I guess in a teenage girl’s mind, feels like a solution to the kind of social torture I had described – she asked me if I had a crush on anyone at church. It kind of missed the point, but it was an effort, and that meant the world. The fact that she had listened and tried to find some avenue where I would feel better, feel accepted, feel like I had a part in all the things that I was shut out of, the fact that she saw in me the potential to be normal and loved when I couldn't was life saving in that moment.