When I was about ten years old, I lived a few houses from a boy named Jeffery. He was different than most of the other boys as his idea of fun was a little off beat.
I remember the first time we went into the basement of his house, he was eager to show me this fun game he enjoyed. He went to a hiding spot and retrieved his sisters Barbie dolls, then produced a steak knife and stabbed the knife in Barbie’s breasts and privates all the while laughing fiendishly just like a villain on one of my TV cartoon shows.
“Here you try,” he urged, but I declined wondering why he thought that was fun. Then after the torture he tore off the legs and arms just for good measure.
Another time he urged my sister and I into the woods with a promise of playing a fun new game. We naively followed and when we were secluded, he urged us to undress so we could all touch the others private parts. We declined and left him standing there as we went to play with the regular kids. Still another time I caught him pulling the legs off of grasshoppers. He watched on gleefully as they floundered around legless on the ground, all the while laughing in delight. To my credit I did make him stop, but I’m sure he continued on after I left.
I remember the time he offered me candy from a small sack and as I put one in my mouth he broke out in glee as he confessed they were rabbit poop. I will never forget that fiendish laugh of his.
Then there were the times, amazingly at ten years old, he was able to produce cigarettes and liquor and urged me to experience these fun new pastimes. I remember a lit cigarette in his mouth as he took a sip of some booze. “C’mon, try it. Don’t be a baby. It’s fun.” But I didn’t.
Now, I am much older and in retrospect, I realize that Jeffery was a bit troubled, but as a kid I did not see him as anything but odd. I hope he got therapy and never went on to hurt anyone, but I guess I’ll never know.
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