Here we observe an oblivious perv, with whom none would share as much as a greeting. His name is Eugene…yeah…the poor soul was doomed from the start. Now, not all the blame for the state of things can be attributed to the boy, and the label of ‘perv’ is one given based on action, regardless of reason. Nevertheless, peers look at him as though they might be blinded at the sight of him. That is to say, he may as well not even exist.

            Standing at an absolutely insignificant five feet and nine inches tall and weighing in at a movable but inconvenient one hundred and forty-ish pounds…Eugene is astoundingly average, perhaps a bit on the slim side. The round frames of convex lensed glasses hug his head tight. The bridge of his rather large, angular nose won’t seem to let them shake loose of their hold to his bulbous noggin. Green eyes, pale skin, and curly brown hair do their best to compliment his freckled face, but his isolation seems indicative of their failed effort. Alas, it wouldn’t matter much regardless, for Eugene lacks any sense of social awareness as well.

            In short, Eugene is a bona fide loser. At least that’s what one could gather upon prolonged study of his interactions at school, or rather lack thereof. Other students tease him. They point and laugh at his understandably mockable attire, any sense of taste or fashion suppressed, lost to all but whatever god one calls theirs. It truly is as though he chose his shoes, shirt, and pants at random, yet the shoes don’t vary much. It’s fairly apparent that Eugene doesn’t come from wealth. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say he does not come from fortune. He certainly comes from some sort of wealth. After all, it was a wealth of ineptitude that must have shaped him so kindly into the Eugene we now have the pleasure of observing. And what is it that Eugene is doing here that enthralls us so? For what reason is he known to all as a perv? These questions are one and the same, for here we observe Eugene taking a bit too close of a look into the girls’ locker room from just behind the rounded corner leading in.  

            Not doing himself any favors in the eyes of those around him: Eugene’s trademark. Let us not forget; Eugene is 16. As a sophomore in high school, it seems only natural that a young man’s sexual curiosity should begin to manifest in some way, albeit a rather creepy, unhealthy way in this case. Not only that, Eugene isn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the gymnasium, so to speak, nor is he sly, cunning, sneaky, what have you. Indeed, there is reason to believe he may be in over his head in this, his most recent endeavor to establish himself as irredeemable.

            In all fairness, the origin of his title was little more than an accident. Due to his aforementioned poor vision and general lack of awareness, Eugene stumbled into the wrong bathroom at just the most inconvenient of times, as there happened to be a few young ladies changing therein. This time, however, no mistakes are being made, and poor vision is an excuse only for his need to peer so intently into the garden of forbidden fruit that is half-naked, similarly aged females. Oh, to be young again…what I would give…

            Anyway, here we are about 40 seconds or so into peeping Tom’s crusade, and holy shit; he just got caught by one of the females in question! Of course, we knew this was coming. The clumsy lad can hardly find his way out of bed in the morning, and I only imagine it’s quite difficult to hide that voluptuous mane of frizzy curls he’s rocking up top. Screams and shouts echo throughout the gym as Eugene flees in terror, only to be met at the exit by curious boys coming from some classroom or other down the hall. The panic on his face nearly makes him seem to be the victim, but his peers won’t have that, nor will the faculty.

            “What the fuck, Eugene, you perv!?” one girl shouts from amongst what has become a swarm of spectators to investigate the commotion. Screaming teenage girls have a funny way of drawing a crowd, don’t they? Parting the sea of hormonal adolescents like Moses himself comes…who we can only assume is the gym teacher. Not a particularly tall fellow, we see a stocky, thick necked meatball storming up like he’s ready to break up the heavy weight championship in the first round or maybe object at Mike Tyson’s wedding. Unfortunately, he only sees a cowering Eugene, desperate for a savior though he was, in the middle of a crowd consisting solely of fierce tormentors, and together they take a stroll to the disciplinary office.

            All things considered, I think Eugene made out all right. One week of detention for what could have been considered sexual harassment sounds like one hell of a deal. In fact, he seems perfectly content sitting in room seventeen, staring at nothing, no one, as though this is vacation for him. It’s made clear by the sleeping supervisor that this school takes disciplinary action very seriously in the hopes of reforming offenders. Funnily enough, there was not even so much as a sign in sheet, and two of the seven students given detention on this day simply walked out as soon as Ms. Snores-quite-loudly lost consciousness. Eugene was not one of the two, though. No…Eugene stayed for the full three hours, the duration of the supervisory nap, leaving only when told he was permitted to do so on this, the first day of his punishment. He rises, unaffected, unbothered, emotionless, and he walks toward the exit, following the four other students who had stayed from a fair distance. We observe Eugene as he walks through the doors leading out of the building, and…and it seems someone is waiting for him: a girl. Her eyes are fixed on him as he exits. She must have a score to settle, given his prior transgression. She’s approaching, confident, but not with obvious aggression, and she says the following words:

            “Eugene, right?”

            Eugene looks up at the girl briefly, clearly terrified by her swift approach, before his eyes fall again to his feet. He nods a subtle, quick nod.

            “I thought so. I’m Hansel. It’s nice to meet you.”

            His eyes shoot back up to her face, relieved to have made it this far into a conversation without being assaulted, both physically and verbally.

            “You can talk, yes?”

            “Yeah, I can talk.” His glance falls again as he lets the first sentence he’s said in a full two days slide out. It’s not that he’s nervous. The words come out rather effortlessly, though his voice is still his voice. Even that lacks any sort of charisma or humble charm. Regardless, he turns and begins to walk away, seeming to have already lost all interest in this person, the only person who has shown any interest in him, save for us, of course. Interestingly, she seems unphased by his decision. She just walks alongside him for several seconds, maybe a dozen or so, before continuing with her line of questioning.

            “And you don’t have a ride, I take it?”

            “No.” He doesn’t even glance up at her as he says it, but he doesn’t say it harshly or dismissively. He simply walks, staring at the ground just in front of his feet. He seems to be stepping over each crack with his right foot first as he walks, so maybe ‘simply’ isn’t exactly the right word to describe his method of walking.

            “Where are you headed now, then?”

            “I don’t live too far from school. I just walk home.” There is a pause after he says this, maybe close to ten seconds in duration.

            “Why don’t I ever see you talk to anyone? I’ve never seen anyone talk to you at lunch or in class or anywhere.”

            For whatever reason, Eugene doesn’t immediately answer, but he doesn’t appear to be offended by the question. He has the same emotionless stare at the ground just in front of his feet he’s had for the duration of the conversation.

            “You must have at least one friend at school, no?”

            “I don’t know. I never thought about it. I just like school.” Okay, so this is a strange response, even for Eugene, and Hansel’s face seems to reflect that sentiment. We know Eugene isn’t very smart. He most definitely isn’t popular, and by the looks and sounds of it, he has no friends.

            “You just like school…well, what do you like about it?”

            “I guess it’s just nice not to be at home,” he says calmly, but his tone drops at the end, as though he is sad at the thought.

            “What’s so bad about being at home?”

            Eugene doesn’t answer this, once again. He’s still looking down, no apparent emotion on his face. Instead, he asks “Why do you want to know things about me?” He asks this out of genuine curiosity, it seems, rather than out of frustration or discomfort. After a short but telling pause, Hansel prods further.

            “Are you close with your parents?”

            At this point, Eugene tilts his head, not in confusion, but almost involuntarily, like a twitch. He also takes a slightly exaggerated breath before responding. “They don’t pay much attention to me most of the time.”

            “Do you have any siblings?”

            Eugene pauses if only the slightest pause before responding. “I have a little sister.”

            “Where is she? Does she not go with you to and from school?”

            “My parents took her out of school.”

            “Do your parents pay attention to her?”

            He pauses again, longer this time. “Yes.” His tone shifts downward again. His stare has become empty, no longer focused on the ground just in front of his feet. In fact his stare is not focused on anything at all, as though he might be peering well beyond this plane of existence.

            “Are your parents kind to her?”

            “No.” Eugene answers sharply, swiftly, but not in anger. It’s as if he has just had to remind himself of the answer. It leaves little doubt regarding the state of his household.

            “…Do they abuse her?”

            Eugene stops walking now. Hansel stops alongside him. There is a moment of silence, and with quiet resolve, Eugene utters a strange sentence in an apathetic tone, a dramatic difference when compared to his prior response. “I am going home now, and I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” He continues alone.

            Talk about overstepping…Jesus. I will say, Eugene handled himself well for an antisocial creep with very few social instincts. Looking at him now, he’s gone right back to staring at the ground just in front of his feet, walking with that emotionless yet content expression that seems to be his go-to.

            About seven miles later, Eugene finally either gives up at a random mobile home or has made it home safely. Seeing as he is able to walk right in without raising any alarms, I’d say he’s home. He doesn’t say anything as he walks through the trailer. It’s dark and somewhat musty. There’s trash scattered about the place, mostly in the form of empty cans and bottles. There is a couch against the wall to the left of the entrance, but it’s not obvious what material covers the surface. It seems to be the crustiest, most cracked leather upholstery manageable, and there’s a chair just adjacent on the same wall. It’s in similar condition, though the upholstery is more well-kept and differently colored. It isn’t exactly the most welcoming environment, needless to say, and I certainly wouldn’t be super excited to return to this most humble abode either. Eugene moves with direction toward the back left corner of the residence to a bedroom. It’s his bedroom, made clear by the clothing set about the room and by his waywardness when tossing his school bag aside, as though he doesn’t have to worry where it lands. The space is clearly his to do with as he pleases. Now, he sits. He sits on his bed, and for a long time, he doesn’t do much of anything at all. He fiddles with this and that, fidgeting around as though he is uncomfortable existing even in his own space, and he eventually sits still. Someone has just arrived at the residence, and Eugene heard this. The footsteps of a heavy individual can be heard moving through the house. The door opens and the voices of two men are heard exchanging hushed words, not quite whispers.

The two men speak presumably of money and time. The conversation is nearly inaudible, but Eugene hears the phrase “…hundred for two hours…” Two sets of footsteps make their way to the opposite end of the house to another room, and for a moment, there is only silence. Eugene appears to be either unable or unwilling to make any sound. He lies in his bed looking at nothing, no one. He stares blankly ahead, eyes wide open, breath steady, unphased, as though he is unable to hear the muffled cries of a young girl breaking the silence from the other room…

            It truly is unfortunate that a weird looking fellow with strange tendencies inspires such cruelty as Eugene. It’s unfortunate that no one can care about everyone, and it’s unfortunate that outsiders, weirdo’s, creeps, what have you, are the first to be discarded, unfortunate for them, that is. It’s unfortunate that even I couldn’t help but point out how perfectly flawed Eugene undoubtedly is…because I now see just how much blame for the state of things could not be attributed to the boy. I see that it is easy to sit back and laugh at the weirdo, silently mocking, for it is easier to mock than to wonder. It is easier for me to observe Eugene simply for his strangeness than it is to extend to him an olive branch, to bridge the gap between us. In fact, I am even able to admit that my transgressional fixation on the strange boy left me unable to recall the face of the seemingly normal girl who was brave enough to attempt to do what I wouldn’t…or couldn’t. I see now that all Eugene needed to be reached, to be saved…Hell, all anyone needs…is the help of an inquisitive, caring soul like that forgettable, selfless young lady.