EPTI've been an on and off bed wetter from the time I was born until my early teens. Despite the fact that it didn't happen very often, it was always a Biblical deluge when it did. Underwear, bottom half of the shirt, sheets, blanket, all of it soaked with salty, sodium waste from the McNuggets and soda I had probably eaten that day. My mother was always at work and I slept in the same bed with my dad and sister, so I was flooding out two other innocent souls who weren't able to make it on Noah's ark. My father didn't give a fuck, he would just lift me up, take my shirt and underwear off, take me to the bathroom to wash up, give me fresh clothing and then he would carry me to the couch and then he would pass out in his chair. My sister would remain oblivious, sleeping next to my hideous murder scene until daylight. I remember the few times I pissed the bed because my sister would always come to eat breakfast and say "YOU WET THE BED!" to which my father would reply "GODDAMN IT!" which was her cue to shut her mouth lest any other emotion be expressed towards the incident. He was so protective of me.
During grade school, I had resigned myself from any sort of social interaction. I was a fat, funny-sounding immigrant. My German fought with my English on every third or fourth word, thus I sounded like I was having a stroke whenever I tried to speak English. Insecurity ate me alive because of my accent, but it was certainly indulged beyond an abusive measure by my weight. And I also sometimes wet the bed. To this day, I thank God almighty that no one knew that, but still I HATED those fucking kids and those fucking teachers and those fucking schools. This undying, merited hatred lasted until 4th grade when I met Justin. He was from the deep south of Alabama and had a thicker accent than anyone in my class, including myself. Raising his hand to innocently give his input on the topic "Should we judge people based on how they look?" (which was the topic of the day, written out on the dry-erase board in purple Sharpie), he said "Well, if I meet a guy in a t-shirt and he's nice, I'm gonna like him. If I meet a guy in a tuxedo and he's mean, I'm not gonna like him."
The way he pronounced "tuxedo" made the entire class erupt into laughter. I could see the look on his face: The look of humiliation. I knew that look. I WAS that LOOK. This was a guy with whom I could connect. During recess, I saw him and just went about my way, but he tapped me on my back and said "Hey! What are we gonna do?"
Obviously, he knew we were two fish out of water.
We went and played on an empty tether-ball court and just talked about what we liked. He was a video game fanatic and I told him that I only had Super Nintendo and he told me that he had a Nintendo 64. He invited me to his house that weekend and asked that I bring my Pokemon cards. I told him I wasn't really interested in Pokemon and he was not phased. Pokemon was a wildfire at our school at that time. But he didn't care. We were two fish out of water.
I went to his house that weekend, my father dropped me off. From then on, we were eating Lunchables and playing Nintendo 64. Like every kind of bliss, it had to end before it even started. His parents came into his room and told both of us to take a bath and then report back to the two beds so that we can say our prayers.
I whispered to Justin: "Hey, I'm fine with taking a bath and going to bed, but .... prayers? I don't know anything about prayers. I'm German Lutheran, we don't pray, we just try to work hard."
Justin whispered back: "You talk German, we talk English. This is an English prayer. Just try to follow, alright?"
After my bath, I was awkwardly positioned next to Justin in our beds, his mother sat next to him and then his father sat next to me and then the creepiest, most death-inducing performance commenced: The prayer.
"If I should die before I wake, I pray to God my soul shall take."
My mind was racing. This is the creepiest, weirdest fucking thing I ever experienced.
I said nothing. Then his father looked at me in my eyes and said "AMEN?"
Alright, he gave me a threatening glance, so I said "Amen" to him. I never told Justin what I really wanted to say. What I really wanted to say was "Amen ... you fucking freak."
The next day, I called my father on our home phone number and he came immediately to pick me up. His father walked out while I was getting situated in the passenger seat. My daddy was having NONE of it. His father said "Well, I was gonna take the kids out for breakfast ..." to which my daddy replied "He's spent his time here and he DOESN'T LIKE IT. If your son ever wants to come to my house, he is more than welcomed." Then my daddy and me just drove home... he asked me about what made me so uncomfortable and I eventually broke down and told him the prayer made me sick.
He pulled that Astro-Van over and yelled at me: "GOD DOESN'T LISTEN TO YOU! GOD WANTS TO SEE YOU! THEY TELL YOU PRAYER? GOD DOES NOT LISTEN, GOD SEES. WE DO OUR GOOD WORK AND THEN WE ARE FINE! DON'T YOU EVER FEEL BAD!"
That explanation, from that angry German man who was also the greatest father in the entire world made me content. The next weekend, Justin came to spend the weekend with me and my father. My sister was gone with her friends for a sleepover, my mother was working at the hospital all weekend, it was just Justin, me, and my daddy. Since I didn't have a Nintendo 64, I asked my dad to take us to Blockbuster to rent a movie. I wanted to rent I Know What You Did Last Summer and my dad rented that for us. My god, when we watched that movie together in the living room, it was like a forbidden ritual.
Jennifer Love Hewitt was such a woman. To my young, male, heterosexual eyes, she looked like a goddamn Mesopotamian fertility figurine. Her thighs, her breasts, her face ... I was so enchanted by her. Justin seemed to be completely oblivious. During the climax, Jennifer Love Hewitt discovers the killer wasn't actually the person they ran over that night. The feelings, the hormones, the raw, animal sexuality ....
Justin slept on my couch that night and I slept in bed with my dad. I also wet the bed. It was the cleanest bed-wetting I've ever experienced. It was completely horizontal, thigh to thigh, the shirt was dry, the sheets and blankets were dry. Holy shit, I had the cleanest bed-wetting ever! The next day, I told Justin "You know, I pissed the bed after watching that movie."
"Really? It wasn't scary at all. It was surprising at some parts, but it didn't scare me."
We were friends all throughout middle school and high school, but then he went into the military. I still remember him telling me after our graduation ceremony "I would come to your house, but I have military stuff to take care of."
I didn't say anything. We were free! Two fish out of water and we were free! But, his path was different from mine. On October 23rd, 2009, he came back to visit. Since I had just turned 21 and he wouldn't turn 21 until December 31st, I drove him out to the lodge for $1 Ziegenbocks. I gave the miserable divorcee a 20 dollar bill and told her to keep them coming. The conversation was stilted and stunted at first because we had become so estranged from each other, but I finally realized that we shared the same precious memories.
Feeling brave, I asked "Remember the first weekend you spent at my house? And we watched I Know What You Did Last Summer?"
"HAH! And you pissed your pants!"
"I realized something after all these years ... I didn't piss the bed."
"Do what?"
"I didn't piss the bed .... that wasn't urine."
"You ... what?"
"Remember how I was IN LOVE with Jennifer Love Hewitt? I didn't wet the bed."
"What!"
"That wasn't urine ...."
Neither one of us could stop laughing.
