Short Stories


THE NORMAL ERIC JENKINS by Xavier Toby

Eric knocked on the door and entered the classroom.
‘What’s wrong with his face?’ asked a student.
‘Sir, I’ve got a message from Ms Price,’ said Eric.
Mr Young nodded. Eric crossed the room and gave him the note.

Another student said, ‘It looks like it’s glowing.’
Mr Jones asked with a grin, ‘Did you get some sun on the weekend?’
‘No sir.’
‘Oh.’ Mr Jones paused, mouth open. ‘You better get back to class,’ he said.

Eric shut the door behind him.
‘See his face?’ said a student. ‘I thought it was going to explode!’
Laughter from the classroom reverberated off the tiled floor and high ceilings of the corridor, hitting his ears like a string of punches.

On the train after school Eric was pelted with food and spitballs. He didn’t change seats or brush away the debris since that just encouraged them, the same way a freshly painted wall attracted graffiti.

He smelt burning and turned to find two seniors using lighters to singe his hair. He ran a hand over the back of his head and the crusty, burnt hair turned to ash.

Eric had been successfully hiding in the front carriage for weeks, until one afternoon he was joined by four students from his homeroom.

They chatted with him about Mr Young’s weird penchant for tight 70’s suits, who’d still do Ms Price despite her age and fat Richard. Eric smiled. They estimated how many pies Richard had for lunch, speculated that his shirts could double as parachutes, and laughed about his tits, much larger than girl’s the same age. Eric suggested that Tony probably hadn’t seen his feet or his penis for years, and probably had to get his Mum to wash both. Everyone laughed.

‘Well I suppose you’d know,’ said Adam, smiling like a predator. ‘You’re fatter.’
Adam was fourteen like the rest of them, but already had a man’s body.
‘I’m not,’ said Eric.
‘Oh, I think you are,’ said Adam.
He grabbed Eric’s stomach. ‘What’s this? Your winter coat?’

The four of them started chanting, ‘Fat. Tomato. Head.’
‘I’m not even that fat,’ repeated Eric.
Adam leaned back. The chanting stopped.
‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not fat. Look at your red face. Maybe it’s just too much blood!’
They laughed.
‘Without all that blood, you’d probably be anorexic!’

Adam flicked open a knife and crouched down in front of Eric.
‘I could help out with that.’
Eric felt his face burning, turning crimson.
‘Just a few quick,’ he jabbed at Eric’s face.
The train braked. Adam lurched forward and Eric swayed to the side. The knife stabbed into Eric’s seat. Everyone stared at it.

Adam retrieved the knife, snapped it closed and shoved it in his pocket.
The train continued to slow, more evenly as it drew into a station.
Adam moved to the doors between carriages and the rest followed.
‘Now don’t you feel better?’ he said to Eric.
More laughter.

Eric wanted them expelled, but really, nothing had happened. If he told a teacher, everyone would just hate him even more. He wished he hadn’t moved. Nobody could ignore a stabbing and then, if he lived, how could they pick on someone with a huge scar?

Several times he had considered going to a teacher. They must know what was happening but couldn’t be around all the time and as soon as they asked the kids to stop, Eric knew it would only get worse. It was like asking a gambler who keeps winning to stop betting.

Changing schools would be similarly as pointless. The kids might be different but his face would be just as red.

At home that night, Eric saw a segment on a current affairs show about an operation that corrected ‘over flushed features’. One woman resumed going to bars with her friends, a man was able to join a gym and another man took an acting class. The operation cost ten thousand dollars.

The next day Eric dropped his resume into local businesses. He got a few interviews but as soon as a comment was made on his flustered features he stuttered and stumbled through the rest of his responses. No-one was being mean, his red face was just impossible to ignore. After two weeks he stopped looking.

At the school swimming carnival Eric waited until the last possible moment before changing. Then he walked briskly towards the pool. Jeremy, who could vomit at will, stepped in front of him.
‘Tomato head, you’re so disgusting you make me want to spew,’ he said, then threw up two small globs onto Eric’s feet.
He was fatter than Eric and although he had already been kept back one year, was still struggling. Eric had realized long ago that the meanest kids were also the one’s most likely to be picked on.
‘I can’t help it,’ Eric mumbled.
‘Try eating less, you fat bastard!’ yelled Jeremy’s friend.
Everyone laughed much harder than the joke deserved, and Eric knew it was because they were laughing at him.

According to sitcoms, it was the kids with acne, glasses or speech impediments who were supposed to be teased, Eric reflected as he climbed the ladder to the five-metre diving platform. Victimizing those easy targets, however, had become socially unacceptable. He moved to the far corner of the platform, his intention to land next to the edge of the pool. The fat kids will always be ridiculed, he decided, because their disability is seen as self-inflicted. And his glowing face? Well that was just bad luck.

He jumped and stuck out his leg. There was a dull thud as it ricocheted off the tiled concrete, then a loud slap as his body hit the water. Everyone laughed until Eric surfaced and started screaming.

Eric had broken his shin and would be in a cast for three months. He regretted that it wasn’t longer.

He used to be part of the swimming, football and basketball teams. Whenever he exercised though, his face got even redder. At high the taunting was worse than it ever had been during primary. He got used to it, but when team-mates refused to pass him the ball because they, ‘didn’t want tomato sauce all over it,’ were worried, ‘he’d explode from the excitement,’ or simply ignored him, he gave up. That was two years ago and since then Eric had put on weight, which made his face even redder.

The next morning, after limping out of the shower, Eric was repulsed by the sight in the mirror. He had forgotten to turn off the fan on and the mirror had not become fogged. His glowing red face and the splotches of crimson on his neck and chest made him look like he had a terrible disease. He cupped his small, flabby breasts then grabbed at his stomach, squeezing the rolls. He took his father’s razor from the toiletries cabinet.

He examined his chest for the most vibrant patch of red, then put the razor against it and pressed until blood started to ooze down his body. He wanted to make another incision but the first cut had begun to sting. ‘I’m so disgusting. I can’t do anything right. I wish I was dead,’ he muttered.

The following week, on the same current affairs program, was an interview with a young, anorexic girl. Eric was repulsed by how thin and pale she was. Then they showed her ‘before’ photograph. She had been only slightly overweight, but what struck Eric was her bright red face. He listened intently to every word.

‘Lunch was easy. I just threw it in a bin on my way to the station.
‘With three brothers that ate so much, missing breakfast was simple as well. Every few days I just put some milk in a bowl and left it in the sink.
‘When the stomach pains got too much I drank water. It made me feel like I was achieving something. The pain was like a reward.
‘Dinner was hard. Mum always cooked and if I didn’t eat, she’d notice. So I had to throw it up. After the first few times it was easy.
‘I kept falling asleep at school, but nobody said anything until they couldn’t wake me up.
‘At hospital I had them believing it was just a stomach bug. But they couldn’t find anything wrong with me, and noticed I was still throwing up after every meal.
‘I know I could lose more, but they won’t let me off this drip.’

Eric stopped eating lunch the next day and was groggy and short tempered until he ate dinner. It was going to be the only meal he missed. He didn’t want to end up like the girl on television and didn’t think he could ever make himself vomit. He only wanted to look normal.

A few weeks later he had only lost a couple of kilos and his face was still red, so he cut out breakfast. When the dizziness and hunger pains started, he relished them. Every day there seemed less fat to grab.

On his way out, his mother stopped him. Eric felt some of the old colour in his face.
‘Have you been exercising?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he lied.
‘Well keep it up, you’re looking much healthier.’

The next day Eric considered breakfast for the first time in two months. He resisted. He had been feeling breathless lately, but if he wanted to kill tomato head, he had to keep losing weight.

Travelling to school that day on the train, someone padlocked his bag to a pole. At the last stop he found a tradesman doing some remedial work on the station. While the train waited to return, the tradesman cut through the handle of the bag with a hacksaw, as the guard and station manager watched. They were all polite enough not to say anything, but Eric knew it was the type of anecdote, about the poor kid with the face glowing with embarrassment, that would keep friends and family entertained for weeks.

He arrived just after his second class was due to start but before the teacher, so there was no need to explain.
‘You’re late tomato head.’
‘Leave him alone,’ said someone else. ‘Tomato’s are out of season.’
He felt the heat in his cheeks and walked quickly towards his chair. He tripped over an outstretched leg.
‘Wow, feel the earth move!’

His parents had to see him eating dinner but he needed to lose more weight. Later that night he locked himself in the toilet and knelt down in front of the bowl, shoving his fingers down his throat until he thought he would touch his tonsils. Then he vomited.

By Xavier Toby, Copyright 2008. All rights reserved.





Short Stories