Erosion of Innocence

When I was about 11 or so I had a friend named Sean. He was a cool guy who was about 3–4 years older than myself. This was the summer before my sixth grade year and Sean was about to be a freshman—heady stuff to a kid not even out of Elementary School.

Ever since I was five years old, unwrapping my NES complete with The Great Unworkable Robot, I’ve been enamored with video games. And through that bond me and Sean spent plenty of afternoons kickin ass in Kid Icarus, Metroid or, my favorite at the time, Mike Tyson’s Punch Out!

One sunny afternoon we went to his deserted house. “Where’s everybody?” I asked him. Truth be told, I’d never seen a parental figure or even an aunt or uncle hanging around his house. This was my first time inside and I was slowly getting used to the smell of the house (each house smells different except your own—of which you’re immune).

“At work,” he said, and we went back to his room. There we played Mike Tyson’s Punch Out! for what seemed like hours. He then said:

“Hey, let’s go into the living room.”

“What for?”

“I wanna show you something.”

After leading me back into the front of the house, he suddenly dropped to the floor, dug out a hidden key, and unlocked the small drawer beneath the television. Inside it were oversized cardboard boxes with bubbly words and women’s faces. Porn.

“Whoa,” I said, trying to get a grasp on the situation here. I had seen a few dirty magazines in my life at that point, but I wasn’t sure what sex was. I had heard the term, but I had never seen it happen, nor did I know the exact mechanics of the act. I knew that the stork didn’t exactly come and drop me off, but I also knew I was better off not knowing the intricacies.

He pulled one out of its box.

“Hey, whoa, what are you doing?” I asked, then instinctively looked outside. Someone could see us in here. We could get in big trouble.

“These are my dad’s,” he said.

And if anything, I felt the invisible hand of conscience press down on me, hard. You shouldn’t be doing this, it said. Ingrained in me from years of parenting and a christian upbringing, my fight or flight response went insanely in the latter direction.

But that didn’t stop him. He put in the tape and hit play. Apparently it had been stopped in the middle of a random scene. I heard the moans, the groans, I saw anatomy in sizes, shapes, and configurations I wasn’t familiar with.

Oh my God. He’s sticking his thing in her…Oh my God!

I was in freakout mode. “Whoa, Sean, whoa!” I looked outside again. There could be people out there. And not just any, there could be Sean’s disappearing parents pulling up in the driveway any second. Any second, my conscience reminded me, as if I didn’t get it the first time.

“Uh…I…” I stared at the images feeling shamed. As if I brought this on myself and watching this movie was some sort of punishment. “I gotta go,” I said, and went for the door.

Sean jumped up. “Hey, hey man, wait a second.” He held me by my arm. “Let’s not talk about this, okay?”

I swallowed. For God’s sake, I thought. I need to get home. I need to go somewhere safe. Safe was defined at that moment as any area not currently showcasing porn.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll see ya later,” I told him, and ran my pudgy ass back to the house.

Later that evening my mother was sleeping on the couch while I watched some sort of Rollerball with women pushing each other around the fenced court in rollerblades. The guilt was the heaviest I’d ever experienced. I had told no one about what happened. I couldn’t live with it for another hour let alone the rest of my life. I swallowed and nudged my mom.

“Mom?” I said, tearing up. I couldn’t help it. I was sure she was going to be amazingly pissed off.

“Hmm?” My mother replied, half asleep.

“I gotta tell you something.”

“What is it honey,” she said, slightly annoyed.

“I saw…” I looked at the TV. Some brunette was smashed into the fence. The crowd went wild. “I watched a porno,” I said, and visibly cringed.

“What?” My mother said, awake now. I explained the situation. She was upset, but not at me, she said.

Suffice to say, she wasn’t pleased. And the next day, when Sean came over to see if I wanted to come out and play, I could barely face him. I had betrayed him, betrayed our trust. I had gotten my mom involved in the proceedings. The person who should have the least amount of knowledge concerning two good friends. And I considered him a good friend, which was the worst part.

I hurridly answered the door. I wanted to get out of there, explain, apologize. It was late, I was tired, I was scared. I was so sorry.

“Let me talk to him,” my mother said with finality. She went to the door, said something about “I know what you did and I’m going to tell your parents” and sent him on his way. I hung my head from behind her, more shamed than a thousand pornos could’ve made me.

I’m so sorry, I told no one but the nagging voice in my head. I didn’t mean to.

My mother finished and shut the door. I saw his face for only a minute. He was angry and surprised. That’s all I made out before the door was shut angrily.

Sean left shortly thereafter, to live with his mom or relative for some reason or other. His visit was only for the summer anyway, it was due to end. But end like that? Never would I have imagined. I never saw Sean again after that. I always wondered if I caused his permanent absence from the neighborhood.

Looking back, that experience taught me a lot about loyalty, conscience, decision making, and telling the truth. I don’t know if I handled it correctly, I seriously doubt such a secret would’ve stayed one for long, but I regret alienating my friend and this is a situation I can look back on and decide that I probably mishandled things. I didn’t adequately explain that a 11 year old kid just wasn’t interested in boobs or dirty talk. I didn’t adequately explain that he didn’t need to show off for me. I didn’t adequately get to say goodbye.

And while I can barely remember what Sean looked like, while I can barely remember being in that house, I’ll never forget the process, I’ll never forget the experience. It was the first time a friend had been forced out of my life from one of my mistakes.

A hard lesson learned, and innocence lost.

Sensitive to fate, not denial
But hey, who’s on trial?