Written in response to the one-word prompt, "Teasing"
I used to get teased all the time about my height. This fact can be surprising for a lot of people, but it's true: tall people can get picked on just the same as short people. I was over six feet tall by the time I was thirteen. In fact, my best friend at school was Simon Taylor, and he had to be the shortest guy in our entire year. He was born pre-term and seems to have spent the rest of his childhood playing catch-up. There must be truth in the adage about opposites attracting, because we hitched up in second grade and stayed together more or less till we went on to high school.
He moved away. I stayed here in Manhattan and he and his family moved out to Iowa or some place, I forget. I expect I went straight to work repressing memories of his move, because I was probably devastated by it.
It took me a long time to realise that my height and my size could be used to my advantage. Teasing can do that to you - it's a type of bullying, after all. My dad teased me because I never wanted to do boxing at high school. Actually, I wanted to learn the piano. Once when I was about 11 or so a teacher said I had beautiful long fingers - she said "You could grow up and be a concert pianist, Robert Goren!" and I honestly believed her - saw myself playing Puccini with the Brooklyn Philharmonic.
Boxing, I figured, would be the worst thing I could do to my hands, and I told my parents so. Dad - and later Frank as well, ripped the shit out of me for this.
Before I joined the Army, I used to walk everywhere with my hands in my pockets the whole time, kind of hunched over; trying to disguise my height.
Teasing Eames is an occupation fraught with hidden dangers and hazards. Sometimes she'll get where I'm going and grace me with a smile; sometimes her eyes are like ice, sometimes she looks at me like she would be happier if I was dead. But sometimes I just can't help myself. She lays herself open to it. But the one thing I never ever tease her about is her height.