Choosing Sides

CHOOSING SIDES

One of the things about children’s games was that they usually called for two team captains who would choose sides to make up the teams.

The best athletes were always the first to be chosen. Then, there was that one guy who was always chosen last. He wasn’t very good at any of the games, and usually wasn’t very popular, either.

Bill never was that guy. He was always a good athlete and was often the first one chosen for the games. It was secretly a source of pride for him. As a matter of fact, he was often hurt when he wasn’t the first to be chosen.

It wasn’t until years later that he would think much about the kid who was always the last one picked. Oh, he always had felt bad for the kid, but then, someone had to be last. He never realized that it might have contributed to something that would become much larger later in life.

Of course, as the years pass, athletic talents eventually lose their importance. It had, at some point, changed into a popularity thing. Aside from his ability to do well at almost any sport, Bill was never much more than what he would later refer to as a “fringe-type of friend.” He seemed to be called by a friend, only when no one else was available - as a last resort.

That’s how he more often began to see himself. It was about then that he began to think about that kid who had always been chosen last for those childhood games. Bill was beginning to find himself chosen last for the “adult games” of friendship. He didn’t have his first date until long past high school years. Since he didn’t have one of the coolest cars in school, he usually wasn’t one of the “cool bunch.”

As it usually happens, people scatter upon graduation. Bill seemed to be lost in that shuffle. He was included less and less in invitations to movies and parties. Although he didn’t let on that he noticed, Bill was secretly aware of the different kinds of looks he was starting to get from his old friends. An occasional smirk between passersby told Bill he was becoming the source of jokes inside those circles in which he was no longer welcome.

He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter. Work was good to him for a long time. He climbed the corporate ladder and was married. Things were looking up. But, those things too, crumbled and faded.

A second marriage and a succession of other jobs all came apart. And with them, Bill began to withdraw from all he’d once held as important. He became cynical and thought more often of that kid who was always chosen last for the games.

Bill didn’t like, or even understand, the way things were going in his life no more than he did about the course of mankind in the world.  He wondered what he had done wrong. What had he done to deserve being ignored and excluded? 

He began to tell himself it didn’t matter and soon didn’t care to be included in any of the things that were now the “in-thing” to be doing. These things all seemed to go against every fiber of what Bill saw as right. Still, he resented being an outcast in the eyes of the world.

After a continued progression of this trend, Bill found it more to his liking to be the one to include people in the things he was doing. If he wasn’t good enough for their world, he would build his own. That seemed to work well, outside of the occasional loneliness.

For a time, he still “looked in” on old friends’ lives, but always from a distance. He was always creative and was able to create businesses in which he could move about while restricting himself to his own world; sometimes moving parallel with the world, but never merging.

Soon, he found that he’d rather live entirely in his self-imposed isolation. This too, seemed to work for a time. He no longer saw any of his old acquaintances, and he didn’t miss them. He became an accomplished writer and enjoyed some success with his hobby of photography’ mostly of nature and wildlife. He had a few stories published, but always kept his photography for himself. He never shared things with those beyond the walls he had built around himself. Reading filled his void with characters he came to think of as friends. 

It was never clear what finally caused the snap to occur. Maybe it was a book he read, or maybe he’d just lost his last shred of restraint. He just didn’t care anymore.

It had been years since Bill had been to see a movie in public. He hadn’t wanted to. But this year, on December 23rd, during the peak of the Christmas Season, when he chose to go to a theater. He scoffed at the way people were hurrying around to buy presents that would soon mean nothing.

Bill had never taken any interest in hunting. He had never owned a gun and hadn’t done any shooting since the years of his youth. Last week, he had gone to a pawn shop and bought two handguns. It was so easy. No questions asked.

On the night of the movie Bill chose to attend, it didn’t matter what was playing. Movies were all trash since Bogey anyway.

There was room in the back row, although the theater was fairly crowded. Bill tried to follow the movie’s plot until it was clear that there was none.

Quietly, Bill stood and reached inside his coat. The first five shots were easy marks. The sixth was also surprisingly easy. It was the one he had turned on his own temple. 

Bill had never really fit in. Tonight, once again, he was the last one chosen.