Tiny Tim

After his birthday, he suddenly accompanied them when they went out with Mom’s brother, John, his wife, Danielle, and our cousin, Maggie, who was about Logan’s age. I also started catching him in whispered discussions with Ava that stopped when they noticed me being around. It was then I also started noticing him looking at me in a different way, especially when I was spending time with Ava or Mom (which, by that time, I was already trying to keep to a minimum. Simply to avoid hearing them address me as “Tiny Tim” again). Even when I needed some help with homework, he would show up and make sure I wouldn’t get too much of their attention.

My way of dealing with the alienation and sadness was to stuff myself with sweets and junk food. I put on more weight than the growth spurts could compensate for, and thereby provided even more ammunition to the family criticizing my body. I spent more and more time in my room, playing around with my computer and reading fantasy novels. But it was then I discovered my real talent for programming, and had, after a few months of self-study, reached the point where I could do small jobs I found on Craigslist and fiverr.

What I hadn’t realized at that time was that I had effectively turned into the fat geek in a family of athletic achievers. And athletic achievements were all they cared about. I once saw a rerun of that old 80s show “Married with Children”. Al Bundy reminisced about that one time in high school, when he scored four touchdowns in a single game. That is basically the best way to describe my father, Aaron. For him, talent in sports is what gets you a scholarship for college and dates with cheerleaders. With that, he was talking about my mother, Claire, who was captain of the cheer-squad at his high school.

Ava had, in every aspect, inherited our mother’s beauty and was at fifteen already almost a carbon copy of her. Roughly 5’3’’ at about 125 pounds, with long golden blond hair and green-blue eyes. The only real difference between the two, apart from Ava’s more youthful skin and Mom’s few extra pounds that three back-to-back pregnancies bestow upon a woman, were their cup-sizes. If Ava had a B-Cup, Mom must have had a D-Cup. Logan and I were more like our father, though. We had his dark-brown hair, brown eyes, and our height would hopefully also top out at his 5’11’’, though at that time I was more around 5’3’’.

So, while Logan and Ava followed in our parents’ footsteps, I was the fat geek my father couldn’t relate to. And, no, that wasn’t just my impression. He straight up told me one day how he still remembered all the beatings he handed out to the nerds in his schooldays, and simply couldn’t fathom “how my own son could turn out to be one of those losers”.

When I started my first year at the same high school Ava and Logan went to, my personal hell was complete. My loving siblings had made their way to the top of the popular crowd. Logan, becoming the star football player our father once was, and Ava, achieving the position of captain of the JV-Cheerleaders our mother once held. Following our father’s example, they despised me for now soiling their image, simply by being their fat geeky brother.

Ava wasted no time telling all of her friends why they only called me “Tiny Tim”, and, of course, all of her friends took a liking to that genius choice of a nickname. All the while Logan made sure all of his friends knew how much he wanted me nowhere near them.

Now, when the cheerleaders make fun of someone, it doesn’t take long for the jocks to join as well, simply to try and please the hot girls. Especially since Logan, the head-jock, even encouraged them. I was a free-for-all within a few mere days. It started out small; being tripped and pushed around in the hallways and constantly called names. Then the thefts started, when I went into the locker room after gym classes to find my wallet and/or phone missing. And then it evolved into full blown beatings.

Two guys caught me on my way home and wanted to teach me a lasting lesson, simply because I apparently had looked at a girl they were interested in. They came up from behind me and had me knocked to the ground before I even knew they were coming. As one of them gave me a final kick in the ribs, I noticed Logan’s car standing right next to us, with Logan in it. He was watching the whole thing, smiling. I fucking hated the bastard.

Needless to say, my pool of friends was rapidly diminishing as the whole thing turned physical, because nobody wanted to become a target by association. My parents noticed the bruises, of course, and Mom was alarmed for a while. She wanted to raise hell at school, but Aaron and Logan were both convinced I needed to simply learn to stand up for myself. They assured her, that’s just how boys are and something they needed to go through to “grow a pair”.