Harold's Clothes

Sophomore Year - September

Harold squatted right on the line with the other blockers. Torvald glared at him from the other side.

Suddenly, and without warning, Torvald started moving. Everyone on both sides of the line were moving. Harold didn't have time to do anything before Torvald knocked him over and went straight for Ludwig.

Harold still hadn't figured out what was going on before someone was yelling at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Lard-boy!?" Wolfgang marched right up to Harold.

"What?" Harold asked while he picked himself up off the grass.

"Wolfgang-" Ludwig started. He was going to address Harold directly, but Wolfgang held him back.

"No! You shouldn't have to deal with this, dude!" Wolfgang insisted. "Rest your arm a sec, I got this, bro."

Wolfgang turned back toward Harold and got right in his face. "Your job-Your only job-is to BLOCK for Ludwig!" Harold could smell Wolfgang's breath on his face, he must have eaten something with onions over lunch. "All you have to do is stand there! And you can't even manage that!"

It wasn't Harold's fault, he wasn't ready. Ludwig hiked the ball too fast. It was his fault Torvald tackled him. And blocking wasn't just "standing there". It was harder than that-

"Bergman! Off the field!" Coach shouted before Harold could even get a word out. He got Harold's last name wrong again. "Take five laps!" He didn't get why Coach was in a bad mood, they had their second game of the season on Friday. They had four whole days to practice until then.

"That fatass must weigh at least 500 pounds!" Ludwig laughed as Harold walked off the field.

"That's not true!" Harold whined. "I'm not 500 pounds." He looked down at his bulging stomach. It had always been like that. His jersey was kinda short, especially in the front. "I'm more like 350." That only made them laugh harder.

"No wonder he barely made the team!" Wolfgang shouted. Harold felt like a piece of meat. The ridicule followed him all the way off the field.

While Harold started running, the rest of the team started the next play with another blocker replacing Harold. The center snapped the ball and Ludwig handed the ball to Wolfgang. Wolfgang cut left around the defense and ran it into the end zone.

"Dude!" Ludwig shouted.

"Dude!" Wolfgang answered.

"Dude!" They said together. They slammed into each other in celebration.

Harold jogged slowly. He huffed and puffed his way around the track. Other guys passed him on his way around. He kept thinking about his girlfriend. They only ever met in secret at school, and they never texted each other, despite the fact that she was always on her phone. They had met earlier that day in the janitor's closet.

The assistant coach caught Harold when he finished the five laps. "Did that make you mad?"

Harold groaned. The feeling he was about to be lectured came over him. "Yeah."

"You want to make running back next year?"

"Yeah."

"Then you need to work hard and prove yourself. You need agility. Its going to take a lot of work."

Adults always had these empty promises, things they would always say that weren't really true. Before his Bar Mitzva, Rabbi Goldberg promised him he would be seen as a man. Everyone at temple still treated him like a dumb kid, even though he was eighteen. His old teacher, Mr. Simmons, told him he could be anything he wanted to be. But that was a lie too. Harold just wasn't any good at science or math or dumb books.

The only thing he was good at was football. Harold had given everything he had during tryouts. All it had earned him was a position on the team as an alternate blocker. He had tried out for running back, but it quickly became clear he couldn't run. In fact, compared to Wolfgang, he could barely move.

"okay..." Harold muttered.

"Alright! Hit the field! Practice isn't over."

It was over, Harold didn't get any more practice in. The starting offensive and defensive teams never left the field. They traded out players here and there, but never called him back. He spent the rest of the afternoon doing push-ups and running laps. The assistant coach asked him to stay after practice to do even more running. Harold couldn't do it, he was way too hungry.

When he got back to the locker room, his normal clothes felt smaller than they had in the morning. The button on his pants wouldn't work. It was probably from them going through the wash too many times. His mom bought him really big shirts, but they always shrunk, riding up his belly

He got into his car. It wasn't a sports car, it didn't have a leather interior, and it didn't impress anyone, but it was one of the few things he was proud of. Harold took good care of it, getting it washed every week. He was the only sophomore in school to have a car. Torvold was old enough, but the guy never passed his license test. Harold had passed, barely, and only after four attempts.

Harold had to get something to eat before his shift at the butcher shop. He went to Slausen's and got a triple fudge sundae with everything on it. After eating the whole thing he was still hungry. So he went to Mickey's Dog Pound down the street and wolfed down four hot dogs with everything.

Finally, with his hunger sated, he pulled up to the butcher shop.

"You're late." Mr. Green gave his usual greeting when Harold walked in.

It was true, Harold was a few minutes late, but it wasn't his fault. He sighed and went to the back to wash up. He put on his apron and went to the front.

"We got a delivery today." Mr. Green said. "Grab a dolly and help unload the truck."

Harold went to the back and started loading boxes into the freezer. When he finished, Mr. Green had left him a list of orders to wrap in the back. He had them all prepared.

When all that was done, Harold got to work the counter. That was his favorite part of his job. Everyone who came in loved meat, just like him. Then, the later it got, the fewer customers were coming in and Harold had to sweep the floor. "I hate sweeping," he grumbled as he did it.

The shop closed at 9:00 and Harold spent a half-hour cleaning up. There were so many rules to cleaning. Mr. Green called them "health codes", but they were just dumb rules designed to make Harold think. Thinking too much hurt his head.

Finally, everything was done at 9:30 and Harold started out the door.

"Not so fast, Harold," Mr. Green said. "We need to talk."

Harold groaned. Mr. Green wanted to "talk" at least once a week. And it was always about the same thing.

"You were late every day last week. You were late Saturday, you were late yesterday, and you were late today." Harold couldn't look Mr. Green In the eye. "What does that say about you, Harold?"

"I was busy."

"Busy? With what?"

"Football practice was really long."

"That's supposed to end at 5:00 and I need you here by 5:30. I'm already giving you Fridays off for your games."

"Coach wants me to stay after practice for extra running." Harold didn't mention his stop for ice cream and the other stop for hot dogs.

"Look, Harold. You have come a long way with being a butcher. You know your meat and you're good with the customers." Mr. Green put his hand on Harold's shoulder. "You need to think about your future, son. If you want to make a career out of this, I need you here on-time and ready to work."

Harold groaned.

"I know you want to do football too. But you don't have time to do both. And football doesn't pay, not until you make it to the major league. And only the best of the best make it there."

Harold didn't want to give up football. The few minutes he spent on the field on game day last week were the best in his life. He had been working at the butcher shop as a paying job for three years. He still liked being around meat, but more and more it just felt like work. He also needed the money, his girlfriend hated cheap things on principle.

"What if I just work the weekends?" Harold pleaded.

"Weekends are fine, but I need help during the week."

"Okay," Harold resigned himself. "I'll be here on-time tomorrow."

Harold threw himself onto his bed when he finally got home. He started falling asleep until he found four little legs poking on his back.

"Hey Cupcake." Harold had inherited the cat from old Mrs. Ryle. He took the cat into his arms and stroked his chin. "Are you hungry?"

The cat looked up at him with big watery eyes and gave a quiet 'meow' as a response.

Harold put Cupcake on the floor near his food bowl and dumped a scoop of cat food into it. Cupcake immediately started purring and ate as if he was as hungry as Harold had been after school.

"That's a good kitty," Harold said, petting his tiny cat. He felt like Cupcake was his only friend in the world. His cat always wanted to see him and be around him and never asked him to do stuff.

Harold's own stomach started rumbling and he went to the fridge to see that his mom left him a big plate of tri-tip and some other stuff. There was a little note on it that said "I love you."

Harold took the food up to his bed to eat. He watched some dumb show that wasn't even funny while he ate. He wasn't listening to it, he was too busy thinking about his girlfriend again. They did normal couple stuff on the weekends, though, it always had to be in another town. She liked him for who he was, but she just wanted to keep their relationship a secret. He understood that. She was a classy girl and man she was beautiful. Sometimes he felt like she was the only good thing in his life... besides his cat of course. He patted Cupcake on the head. Cupcake curled into a ball in Harold's lap, purring loudly.

He rolled over and fell asleep when he finished eating.

After a dreamless night, Harold woke up to Cupcake standing on his belly, yowling.

"Okay! Okay! I'll feed you." Harold fed his cat and put different clothes on. He found a cleanish shirt on his bedroom floor. The collar was all stretched out and it still wasn't long enough. He didn't need to change his jeans, those were fine. All he needed was clean socks. His mom had put those into the top drawer of his dresser.

"Harold!" Harold's mom called. "Breakfast!"

"I'll be right back, Cupcake." And he ran to the table. His mom was already stacking pancakes onto his plate. His father was reading the paper.

"Good morning, Harold," his mom sang. "You came home so late last night, I didn't get to see you. How was your day at school?"

"Fine. I'm doing better in math."

"Aren't you re-taking the class you took last year?" Harold's dad asked.

"Jerry!" Harold's mom stood up for her son.

"I was only clarifying."

"He's doing fine. He knows he needs to keep a C-average to keep playing football."

Harold knew the "C-average" rule was one of those things that only applied to him. Ludwig never did homework and got Ds on all of his tests. But Hillwood High's star quarterback, somehow, always had that "C-average". It was the same with Wolfgang, Torvald, and the rest of the starters.

"How was your football practice? Did the other boys let you play?" Harold's mom asked.

"I ran a lot. I can't wait for the game on Friday."

"I'll do my best to make it, son." Harold's dad said. "I have a lot of work piling up at the office. Do you know if they're going to let you play?"

"Jerry!" Harold's mom said again. "And how was work, honey?"

"It was work," Harold groaned.

"I don't like that my son works at a butcher shop around all that pork all day," Harold's mom complained, just as she did every day. "Jerry, isn't there any way you can get Harold a job at your office?"

"We actually just hired a few temporary workers, but I'll do my best."

"I don't wanna do insurance all day," Harold cried. "I wanna play football!" Why was everyone always telling him what to do? His parents, Mr. Green, his coaches, his teachers, even Wolfgang. He got up from the table, even though he was still hungry, and went back to his room.

Harold looked at himself in the mirror. He was so frustrated about everything. School, football, work, everything was going to suck forever.

His girlfriend always told him he should dress nicer. He couldn't get new clothes right then, but maybe he could get his hair to look good. He tried running his hands through it, flinging it back and forth. After several minutes, he got it to look even worse. It looked like he was going bald. His hair was permanently messed up from wearing a hat all the time, so he resigned himself to wear it like he always did. Nothing was ever going to change no matter how hard he tried.

He petted Cupcake a few more times, put his shoes on, and grabbed his backpack.

"Did you brush your teeth?" His mom asked as he was leaving.

"Ugh, Mom. I'll brush 'em at school."

"Alright then. Have a good day, honey." Harold's mom kissed him on the cheek.

Harold got to school late again. Good thing his teachers didn't care. He couldn't wait for lunch even though he knew it would take forever.

When lunch finally came, he ordered as much food as he could and sat next to his friends, Stinky and Sid. He started eating without saying "hey". He had somewhere he needed to go. He was going to meet his girlfriend.

"Hey Harold," Sid said. "Where have you been?"

"Busy," Harold managed between mouthfuls.

"You must be busy!" Stinky said. "Between football and yer job at the meat shop and..." Stinky looked at him funny. "What was the other thing again?"

"Tutoring," Harold answered.

"Yer tutorin' somebody?" Stinky asked.

"No, Stinky. He's being tutored." Sid answered for Harold. "He has to get good grades or they won't let him play football."

"Oh, that's right!" Stinky said. "Gee! You must be plenty successful doin' all those things."

Harold stopped listening. He was watching Nadine plop down with the girls at the other side of the table.

"Rhonda's not coming," she told the other girls. "Again."

The girls did their thing and none of them talked to him all that much. They would say "hi" in the hall sometimes, but that was pretty much it.

"She had better be at volleyball practice," Helga growled. Why was she always in a bad mood? She wasn't so tough. Everyone was way too afraid of her.

"Hell-Lo, ladies." Gerald and Arnold sat down between the girls and the rest of the guys with Gerald sitting between Arnold and his girlfriend, Phoebe. "And a special 'hello' to you, cute girl."

Phoebe giggled and made those googly eyes at Gerald. It wasn't fair, they didn't have to hide their relationship at all. He was going to bring that up with his own girlfriend.

"I gotta get to tutoring," Harold told Stinky and Sid when he finished eating. He got up from the table and went to the bathroom. He got out his toothbrush and he brushed his teeth like he was told.

Washing his mouth out ten times didn't get the horrible mint taste out. He couldn't taste the food he had eaten anymore. It left him feeling empty.

Harold waited in the hall until he couldn't see anyone. Once it was clear, he went into the janitor's closet and closed the door. The light was off and he couldn't see anything. He could tell she was there with him, the air smelled like her perfume.

"We need to talk, Harold." Rhonda sounded mad.

Harold groaned. He was going to get talked to again. It was never good when someone wanted to talk to him.

Rhonda shuffled a bit and flipped the light switch. She stood there wearing a red shirt, a short black skirt, and those black high-heeled shoes he liked. She was gorgeous among the mops and brooms, a scowl on her face and her arms crossed.

"This needs to stop," Rhonda said. "It isn't easy or fun anymore."

"But, Rhonda, I brushed my teeth like you told me to."

"Things have changed. This..." Rhonda gestured to the janitor's closet they were standing in. "Is no longer working."

"We can make it work!" Harold was panicking. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it," he cried.

"I don't know, Harold... You would need to change everything about yourself. Everything."

"okay... like what?"

"These clothes, they're unacceptable. You're on the football team... as a lineman. Disappointing."

"I have a car."

"Look, maybe a car is good enough for other sophomore girls, but I am Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes," Harold said dejectedly. She had told him a thousand times, and she was going to tell him again.

"It means that only the best is good enough. Are you the best, Harold?"

"No. But I'll get better," Harold started. "I'll dress nicer. I promise. I'll go shopping this weekend." He didn't know how he was going to do that while working his shift at the butcher shop. But he wasn't thinking about that. He needed to do anything he had to do to keep Rhonda.

Rhonda hrumphed. "You clearly aren't even trying. Did you take a shower this morning?"

"I'll try!" He couldn't lose her. Rhonda was the best thing in Harold's life. "I promise!"

Rhonda's face softened. "Look, Harold, I really like you. You're easy to hang out with, you're a surprisingly good kisser, and running around with you, hiding our relationship from everyone, has been thrilling. But I plan on climbing to the top of Hillwood High's social ladder this year. You are only going to hold me back from that goal."

Mr. Green's speech about Harold's future rang in his head.

"So what!? You're going to be popular!? Then what!? Where- Where's that going to get you after high school!?"

"You're asking me what will connections with all of Hillwood's richest and most influential people will get me?" She asked the question like the answer was obvious.

"That's a bunch of dumb high school kids," Harold argued.

"Popular students have influential parents, Harold. And they, themselves, move on, from high school, to Ivy League schools. Princeton is my family's alma mater. I'm going. We donated a building."

She really was breaking up with him. Nothing he could say or do could change her mind. He always knew he was lucky to just be with her, but he thought... well he didn't know what he thought. He had always hoped she saw him better than he was. Apparently, he was wrong.

"I'm having a sudden realization that my feelings for you are just left over from a childhood crush. A warm nostalgia that I should have outgrown long ago." Rhonda put her hand on the doorknob and turned off the light. "One last kiss for old-times sake." She kissed Harold on the cheek. He had a tiny spark of hope that she wouldn't leave.

Rhonda was already gone. As per their agreement, Harold would wait a few minutes before leaving himself. So he just stood there with the lights off. He couldn't even force himself to move. He wanted to die right there in the closet. Even more, he wanted to disappear, to dissolve into a pile of dust. The janitor could just sweep him up and throw him away. Rhonda already had.

Harold didn't dissolve. Time didn't stop. The bell rang like it always did. He wasted all of his lunch period standing in a closet.

Out of habit, Harold emerged from the closet. The bell meant he had to get to class. All he felt was his heart aching for Rhonda and a powerful need to sit down.

The hall was full of other kids running around. Nobody noticed the weird fat guy come out of the closet. They probably all thought he was the janitor anyway. He started making his way across the school.

"Hey Harold." It was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time. He stopped to look at his friend, Patty. She was a senior and had a different lunch period than he did.

"Hey Patty," Harold managed. She hadn't grown at all in the past few years. She was still as short as she was in sixth grade, back when they were the same size. Now he towered more than a foot above her.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No." There was a long pause. Harold wanted her to ask if there really was nothing wrong, but she didn't. He would probably just tell her "no" again anyway.

"I heard you made the football team."

"Yeah, it's no big deal. I'm not a starter or anything."

"No, it's cool. You worked hard and made the team. Good job."

"Thanks."

"I made the wrestling team..."

"Oh yeah? Cool!" Patty was a tough girl, not like Rhonda at all. "So are you going to wrestle guys too?"

Patty chuckled. "Yeah." She smiled at him. Harold suddenly felt better, good even. "Hey, I gotta get to class. Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." Patty walked in the opposite direction Harold was going.

He was late to class, but he didn't care. He couldn't stop thinking about what Patty said. She said him being on the football team was cool. And the assistant coach said he could get a better position if he trained really hard. And Mr. Green said he should think about his future. And Rhonda said he could get her back, he just had to become the best.

Harold didn't know what he wanted to do as a career. He just knew he wanted to play football.

At practice that day, he put all of his focus onto what he was doing. No one got around him and he did his job. He didn't mess up once. Wolfgang didn't even yell at him. Coach did, but he yelled at everyone.

Harold even stayed after practice for extra running. He raced to the butcher shop, only stopping to get a small snack at a convenience store. He went to work hungry.

"You're late, Harold."

"Sorry, Mr. Green." Harold tried to be as enthusiastic as he could. He went to work right after washing his hands. Work was the same as always, it felt like the longest day even though it was only four hours.

"Mr. Green, can I talk to you?" Harold asked when work was over.

Mr. Green stopped what he was doing and looked at Harold. "Yeah, I guess we need to have a talk again."

"I know what I want to do." Harold declared.

"You do, huh?" Mr. Green looked at him expectantly.

"Yeah. I want to focus on football."

Mr. Green shook his head.

"I know you don't agree with that. But it's the right decision for me."

"Don't you want to be a butcher?"

"Yeah, but I've been doing that for three years. I want to do football for now," Harold explained. "The season is over before Thanksgiving. And I don't know if we'll make the playoffs, but even if we win the state championship, I'll be able to come back before New Year's."

Mr. Green sighed. "I understand this is important to you. Believe me. I understand." He stood up and extended his hand. "Good luck, Harold."

Harold shook his mentor's hand. "Thanks, Mr. Green." He left the shop without anything more to say.

Arnold was right across the street when he left. He was looking at his house and not going in.

"Hey Arnold."

"Hey Harold."

"What're you doing?"

"Uhh... nothing." He started walking away. "I was just leaving."

"Oh, right! You moved, huh."

"Yeah..."

"Do you miss your old place or something?"

"Yeah. I really do."

Harold started getting into his car. "Yeah, well... maybe your new place is better."

"Yeah, maybe," Arnold said. "See ya, Harold."

"Later, Arnold."

Harold drove away from Green Meats, but he thought about what he was going to do. He was going to be the best running back Hillwood High had ever seen. He was going to dress better and wear shirts that actually fit. He was going to get Rhonda back.