Stepping out of my Mother’s beamer, I walked to the school in all glory my painted nails and lips could provide me. I, the brave fellow who in his haste to break a gender rule, to leave his mark on a myopic community, to challenge people to throw down their preconceived notions of “man” or “woman,” created the convoluted combination of color on my nails and lips to appear a burlesque freak, opened the schools doors and walked in. What met me shouldn’t have been surprising, but it was. Ascending the stairs to the hallowed ground that is AP Language and Composition I was met with a deluge of remarks that could serve as testament to the class and dignity with which the denizens of the stairway would most aptly be held, the most eloquent of which is:

“Look at that *** [bundle of sticks], he’s wearing ******* [intercourse] lipstick.”

Undeterred, I marched into English class wherein I received commendations for my obvious choice of “rule breaking”. The class passed with little commotion except for a semi-humorous point in time in which Mrs. Robinson mused on the purpose of lipstick, finally deciding that its primary purpose was to call attention to oneself, and indeed it does. For men.

Fast forward to lunch, I’m eating lunch, talking to my friends. And one particular goon saunters up and, in a moment that so poignantly defines parochial society, says:

“Hey *** [bundle of sticks], I’m pretty impressed with how good your lipstick is given all the **** [phallus] you must’ve been sucking.”


Having gone through lunch and Anatomy I swiftly departed for the Track Meet I was to attend at South Lenoir Highschool – a local nexus of narrow mindedness. Minus the lipstick, which had come off at lunch— victim of some enlightened individual’s water bottle spilled out into my face like some sort of icy anointment, I departed to “ruralandia.” Upon arriving in the nucleus of liberal acceptance and tolerance I was met throughout the day with comments like:

“Hey look at that guy, he’s super gay with his ******** [adjectival form of slang regarding the mentally handicapped] painted nails”

“Dude, that guy has his nails painted, he’s a ******* [intercourse] ****** [rude word for homosexuals].”

And at the end of the Track Meet, and we get home and I ride home in my mom’s car, sporting my newly acquired injures from a slip and fall; I got time to reflect on the day and come up with the proper description for it:
Absolutely horrible, tremendously miserable. For me it was over; however, for many, it will never end.