Junior High Gym Locker

When I finally got to go to Junior High School, I was so excited. An actual SCHEDULE. I love schedules. It makes you feel like you are part of something important. It was very exciting. It was also a time for smoking all kinds of things, drinking what was available and figuring out, at least somewhat, what sex was all about. Exciting times, being twelve, and getting on that bus to Junior High.

What I did not anticipate, however, was that I was going to have to share a gym locker. I understood that I had to take gym and the army-navy store sold the uniforms. Fine. What I did not know was that my somewhat filthy outfit was going to be hanging right next to someone else’s filthy outfit. Right there, in the locker room, in the basement of the school, stinking to high heaven.

Because I was about three feet tall, weighed six pounds, threw like a mouse girl and loathed playing with balls outdoors, I was not the most desirable companion in gym class. This, of course, landed me being picked second to last for all teams. The guy who was picked dead last? Gerry Schwartz, the very fat kid. The recoiling kind of fat.

When it came time to choose a locker mate, well, Gerry and I became a natural pair. Neither one of us dared to ask someone else to be our locker mate, nor did anyone ask either one of us. Our gym clothes moved in with each other that first week of school.

At first, it really wasn’t a problem. I was barely in puberty but had already sworn to a life of deodorant. I was sitting on the bench one day, in fifth grade, during a basketball game. I guess I had exerted myself during practice and I smelled like an orangutan. I told my father (and very soon after told him I was never playing basketball again) and we got some Tussey.

So, in Seventh Grade, my first week of Junior High, I had a clean gym outfit (blue shorts and white T) and I didn’t really push too hard, didn’t sweat much, and was wearing my anti-smell chemicals.

Gerry was another story. He clearly had not discovered the personally sweetening properties of flecked aluminum in white stick or spray. And let’s all just admit it—Fat people sweat a lot. After jogging around the field, doing some jumping jacks, squat-thrusts, and other things that were actually just fine with me, I’d hang in the field during whatever game we were playing and just stay out of the way. I was dry as a bone upon completion. Gerry, after the calisthenics, tried to play a little in the game. And Gerry sweated like a Sooey-Pig.

Back in the locker room, we were both embarrassed about our bodies. I still looked like I was nine years old. And Gerry was just rotund, with huge, sagging breasts. We’d both undress very slowly and wait for the others to clear out before we put our regular clothes back on. Neither one of us ever showered, though Gerry really could have used many. I’d hang my shorts and T-shirt on one hook and Gerry would hang his dripping, musky, fetid garments on the other.

The next time we would come back to gym class (about every two days), there his stuff would be...dry now...but crusty and sweet.

Over time, I just accepted it. In fact, I played a trick on myself, convincing myself that, “Yeah, it’s just a smell. It’s pretty nice actually. It IS sort of sweet. And I like skunks.” We were supposed to bring our gym clothes home at the end of each week to get them washed. I followed rules and always brought mine home. Gerry, he always watied at least two weeks, sometimes three. It was awful.

For a while, I really liked Gerry. He had a very warm smile. He had nice, straight hair. He probably would have been very cute, now that I think about it, had he lost eighty pounds. He took being made fun of in stride. He smiled, laughed it off.
I figured I was with this smelly fat kid, I might as well like him. And he did have his good smile and hair and a sort of even, good natured temperament. I even thought that it would be kind of cool if we became really good friends.

But it didn’t take long for me to realize he was completely emotionally hiding inside his blubber and I saw that his shame and pain over his size was something he had been dealing with his whole life and so he had developed a way of not really being honest about anything and thus, really couldn’t form friendships. And the dishonesty became troubling to me. If I asked him to bring his stinking gym clothes home to wash them, he’d say, “Sure,” and then he wouldn’t. But I always forgave him in the way you forgive people with great infirmities. I thought—if he’s this fat, there must be other things that are really wrong with his family. Maybe they’re poor and don’t have detergent.

Within a few months, I became friends with the hardened, smoking, cool crowd of the seventh grade. My sister was friends with all their older siblings in the ninth grade, so we younger hippies formed a pack in response. Gerry remained a smiling fat kid, standing at the locker, putting on his filthy clothes week after week. I internally distanced myself from the whole experience, figured out that one day I would not have to take gym any longer, and that this whole thing would pass. After figuring out things like this, I'd rush out to "the shed" to smoke a Parliament.

Eventually, I didn’t leave my gym clothes in the locker with Gerry’s gym clothes. I couldn’t take it. I kept mine in my regular locker in the hall along with my books and lunch and just brought them with me to gym class. When I changed, I didn’t even put my regular clothes in Gerry’s locker. I thought of it as only Gerry's locker since he really chased me out with his stench.

During gym, I'd leave my regular clothes in another empty locker. We didn’t really have to share lockers. What we were sharing was locks, provided by the school. It was back in the day before you even thought about buying your own lock. So, I’d take the chance and leave my clothes unlocked. It was fine.

I wish I could have been friends with Gerry. I really did try to look for things, but he was too hidden and sad and I needed to be free and adventurous. As the year wore on and I would change at the gym locker that I was using, that would never be locked, Gerry would give me a funny look which said, “You abandoned me, just like every other kid who has ever known me has abandoned me, but I'm going to remain smiley and nice and that's how I'm going to survive. You look like you're heading for trouble with that pack of Parliaments. We used to share lockers, but you dumped me, but I’m glad you didn’t try to steal the lock away from me because I like having my own locker and my own lock. I don't mind the smell at all. I don’t get you either and we were never going to be friends anyway.”