If there's one thing this whole experience has taught me, it's that teenagers are incredibly, unbelievably, undeniably stupid. However, that reckless stupidity sends us racing down twisted roads and through dismal valleys straight towards beautifully warped futures.
When you were in high school, you undoubtedly knew at least one kid who was a righteous mess of a man ( or woman) but still managed to pull off straight A's. That wasn't me. I was the guy who always slept through class and never did his homework, but somehow, some way, found himself with a 3.9 GPA. The ones that got into trouble were my friends.
Ultimately, though, I was the one who made the most brilliantly stupid decision- an Internet friend from halfway around the world introduced me to Becie. At last, I could do everything I wanted outside of school while doing perfectly in school. Maintaining my grades wasn't hard, but it was certainly stressful, and I always felt the need to be more active than my schoolwork and physical capabilities (or lack thereof) would allow.
Of course, it was only a fantasy. After weeks of research, I only pulled up one legitimate page, but it was just a small town newspaper article dismissing rumors amongst the people there. Two days after I gave up the search, however, a sign-up form showed up on my computer. I thought it was a fake. Anybody would. So, I jokingly filled out the form as follows:
Name: Bob Bobbington
Age: OVER 9000
Address: 666 F.U. Lane Funtcase, Indiana 90210
Phone Number: 1-800-SAFEAUTO
Email: fuckthefuckoffbastard .org
I clicked "Enter" and went to the bathroom. When I came back, there was a conformation message saying, "Thank you for applying. The information we received is as follows:
Name: John-Michael ****
Address: 15** ****** Road Murfreesboro, Tennessee 37129
Phone Number: 1-615-***-****
Email: nitrogenfumeyahoo .com
We will contact you in person at your next doctor's appointment. This operation is extremely confidential, so do not worry if your parents do not approve. As we are not attributed to any one nation, we are not required to gain the consent of a legal parent/guardian. Thank you."
I couldn't believe it. I was home alone, so the only one who could've entered my info was my cat, who was perfectly content with just lying beside my computer where the heat sink's exhaust blew. These people were clearly a dangerous and powerful group, so I decided to talk it out instead of just running from them. My next doctor's appointment was in two days, anyway.
If you read the intro, you don't need me to explain that they wouldn't take no for an answer. They did, however, explain that it wouldn't alter my life any more than I allowed it to. The operation would take two hours out of any night that I was available, and the sutures would heal completely overnight. As skeptical and unwilling as I was, I had been forced into a corner; the surgery was scheduled for the next Thursday night.
Unlike I always did, I made sure that I didn't forget to pray before bed the night of the surgery. I slept for an hour, then I snuck out through my sister's window and rode my bike to a nearby church, where my escort was waiting.
The men at the doctor's office hadn't lied. From time I left my house to the time I returned, only two and a half hours had passed. When I removed the bandages the next morning, there was no sign of what had occurred only hours before. My arm ached a bit, but no worse than the growing pains that I usually awoke to. I went about my day normally, and then kicked off my weekend by flipping through the BCU operation manual I received post-surgery.