Kevin liked to dress sharp. He spent his limited funds on fine, handsomely tailored suits, silk ties, pocket swatches, and only the finest shoes, belts and undergarments. Still in high school he found most of his clothes at thrift stores, able to scour the racks for quality and occasional hand-made finery. He developed a skill for determining the quality of fabrics by running his hand lightly over the clothes on the hangers or simply assessing the sheen of the weave. Over time his collection could have ranked with that of corporate attorneys in New York or San Francisco. Kevin was often ridiculed for his taste, taking abuse from the cargo-panted and hooded roughs that attended his high school. “Faggot” was the most common slur, since they reasoned that only a man that loved other men could dress any way other than slovenly.
“If you want to attract a man or a woman, shouldn’t you try to look good?” Kevin asked his friend Carol as they sat in his car. They had put duct tape over all the internal and external lights.
“Exactly. When girls dress up nobody assumes they’re lesbians. The opposite in fact,” Carol said.
“So maybe dressing nice is only a tool for attracting men? Whether you’re a man or a woman,” Kevin postulated. “And why is it the more a man dresses like a slob, the more girls he draws to his cruddy flame?”
“It’s a mystery, for sure. Maybe it’s just people our age. You know, the guys are rebelling against the establishment they’ll eventually run. And as rebels they have the patina of an alpha male, which girls like. Also, if they resist dressing nicely, they get to be boys for longer and forestall becoming men,” Carol offered.
“Forestall? Jeez, listen to you,” Kevin replied, “must have been working on your college essays. But I see what you’re saying. They’ll go to college, and eventually get jobs, and to make a lot of money they’ll have to dress up in nice suits and look like me.” Kevin smoothed his lapels and straightened his jacket as he slipped on a black hoodie. “Why are men such assholes? How does my hobby even affect them?”
“You remind them of death,” Carol said.
“What?” Kevin said flatly.
“Well, they don’t know it really, but that’s what’s happening on a subconscious level. Right now they’re boys in high school. They have some independence, but they’re parents still pay for everything. Then they go to college, which prolongs their childhood but with more beer, drugs and sex. Then maybe grad school, which carries it out even further. All the while they bump up against adulthood more and more, but they’re only responsibility is still the same as it was when they were in first grade: go to school,” Carol said.
Kevin was getting a little exasperated. “So why do they keep fucking with me?”
“When they see you dressed up in your thrift store duds they see the death of their childhood. You’re putting it right up in their face. They don’t know that’s why they don’t like you, and they call you faggot because they have a vague notion that gay men are better groomed. They know, or at least are pretty sure, they’re not gay so to accuse you of it sets you apart, and takes away the threat. That isolates you makes you an easy target. But ultimately, they see you and know that childhood doesn’t last forever, which means they’re going to die,” Carol said. “Is that him?” she asked, noticing a boy in shorts leaving the gymnasium.
“No, that’s not him. Does that mean I’m not afraid to die?” Kevin asked, suddenly feeling like a bit of a hero.
“Maybe,” Carol said, “no way to tell. At the very least you’re true to yourself because you pursue a hobby despite the abuse it brings. If you were less sure of yourself, you wouldn’t do it. Some of those boys have unconventional interests too, but are afraid to be singled out for liking something weird. They want to stay within their pack where they more or less know what to expect and how to behave. That’s why most of them will follow a very predictable path in life and wind up content, but unhappy.”
“How do you know all this stuff? When did you become the all-knowing Carol?” Kevin asked.
“Girls mature earlier than boys, plus it’s way harder to be a girl than a boy. You can’t trust anyone, not your friends, not boys, not adult women who hate our youth or adult men who want to screw us to recapture theirs. Boys just bumble around, hoping to get laid. But girls have to develop a larger perspective about their life or wind up pregnant, crying themselves to sleep every night or working in a strip club. I was lucky, my grandmother brought me up to speed. No flowers, bows or Barbies. Just the straight skinny about being a woman in a world where you’re judged as a mom or a piece of ass. If you want anything else you have fight and claw, and other women will hate you for it.” Carol saw another boy exit the gymnasium, a heavy gym bag hanging off his shoulder. “Is that him?”
“No,” Kevin replied. “How did my bow tie collection lead to this? It seemed so harmless,” Kevin asked.
“You’re messing with the normals. They live in a bubble. Granted, a dark one that keeps out all light and original thought, but a bubble that protects them. You come along with your hounds-tooth jacket and wingtip shoes which threatens to burst the bubble.”
“Should I just put everything in a box until I get to college? Get myself some cargo shorts and sloppy t-shirts and stay under the radar?” Keven asked.
“More than that. You should burn everything. You can’t have any of that stuff lying around once you get to college. Your roommate will find it and your social life will be over,” Carol said.
“What? Are you out of your mind? It took me years to build up this collection! Everything fits! It all goes together! I have some suits that would cost nearly a thousand dollars if I bought them at a store! No way! No way! I’ll take the abuse!” Kevin protested.
“Good,” Carol said slyly, “I’m glad to see that you actually love your children. Of course you should keep wearing the clothes, you idiot,” Carol made a face of mock disgust. “The point is that you can do anything you want. There may be some consequences, but hey, sticks and stones, right?” Another boy left the gymnasium, “That has to be him,” Carol said.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Kevin said.
“Okay, wait until he gets to this side of the parking lot so he’s out of view of the security cameras,” Carol said.
“Got it,” Kevin replied.
Kevin and Carol were wearing black sweat pants, hoodies, black running shoes and black latex gloves. They also wore matching V for Vendetta masks. The car was in blackout mode, and they kept it running as they waited. Once the boy leaving the gymnasium cleared the security cameras Kevin and Carol grabbed their aluminum baseball bats and rushed him. Carol hit high and Keven hit low, hoping to hear the satisfying crack of the young man’s smartphone. Once he was down they pounded his legs and body but avoided his head so he’d remain conscious. Ten blows each, as hard as they could swing. Then they dropped the bats, ran back to the car, and drove to an out-of-the way dumpster. Removing the crime clothes to reveal their normal clothing underneath, they untaped the car lights and tossed everything in the dumpster. Kevin quietly parked the car in front of his house, they climbed back into his room where as far as anyone knew they had been studying all night. They left their phones in Kevin’s room, having programmed them to periodically post to Facebook and Instagram to help their alibi.
“Did we forget anything?” Kevin asked.
Carol looked over the checklist on her phone, then immediately returned it to its encrypted home. “We’re good. We covered everything.”
“Glad to get out of that hoodie. How do they see in those things?” Kevin asked.
“Seeing things clearly isn’t really on their list of priorities,” Carol smirked.
They were both quiet, reflecting on what they’d just done. The adrenaline starting to drain out of their systems.
Carol finally spoke, “have you given any thought to what you’d like to try next?”
“I’m thinking of wearing a fedora with that double-breasted suit I found last week. It’s a little over-the-top, but it would really look sharp,” Kevin said.
“Would you wear the hat all day, or just outside?” Carol asked.
“Outside,” Kevin said as he donned the hat and looked in the mirror, “I’m not an animal.”