To Live Well Is The Best Revenge.

Rob F. threatened to throw me from the top of a building.
That might seem excessive, but then again, Rob was Newton High School's Star Student, and it's just that kind of above-average, over-achieving one would expect from such a luminary.
Rob was the Sports Editor for the RamPage, the high school newspaper -- guess what our mascot was? -- when I came in as a News staff writer that spring semester of 1997.
The RamPage and yearbook staffs attended a journalism conference at Columbia University, New York City that year, and, to avoid any John Hughes-high school-clique issue, roommates for the hotel rooms were drawn at random.
Apparently, weeks in advance of the trip and of the roommate drawing, Rob had said he would throw me from the top of our hotel building if he had to room with me.

It was never so much the threat of violence that bothered me. I guess I never really took it that seriously. But it seemed so extreme a reaction. You're going to throw me off the building? Me? Certainly, I was a sophomore, and sometimes I wonder if even I would like 16-year-old Will. But still. Me over Bryan? Me over the girl on the yearbook staff who once asked our AP English teacher, "Whose autobiography did he write?"

Since Rob's last name is the same one as a famous author, I would sometimes slip up and say "Rob F." instead of "William F." But then I would remember, "No no. Say what you will about the author -- his black characters are mammyish; he could be a jerk sometimes -- but he never threatened to throw me off a building. That's why I like him."

I don't know if there are a lot of these, but Newton High School has these myspace pages for various graduating classes. I've found mine, and I'm also a few links away from Rob's class and his own profile page, and it turns out we both live in Atlanta. How about that, huh? What a small, dangerous, life-threatening world it is!
Ever since I found his profile, I've become a little paranoid, mentally brought back to my sophomore year when pretty much the entire newspaper staff, and especially Rob, disliked me. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but then again, Rob felt confident enough to boast of his plans in front of everyone else -- as a joke?
Now, I look over my shoulder in case Rob's trying to sneak up on me and spirit me away to a tall building. And we both live in Atlanta. There are tons of tall buildings. He could have his pick.
I called Bryan, who graduated with Rob and who was the News Editor back then, and told him about it.
"Why did Rob want to throw you off a building?"
"I don't know. That's what I was about to ask you. I mean, was it because I'm gay?"
That seems a small thing to elicit such a silent-movie-villain reaction.
On the other hand, when we made it to New York, Rob just ingratiated himself into another room, and we sort of unofficially traded him for Brian G., making the final tally for my room three closeted gay men and the newspaper cartoonist, who wasn't all that popular either. I think the cartoonist opted to sleep on the floor.
But then why single me out? I wasn't even the most obviously gay. At best, Brian G. and I tied for that distinction.
Oh well. Who knows?

Things weren't any better once we came back from the conference. I made a concerted effort to avoid Rob if I could and to be as unobtrusive as possible if I couldn't.
Because Bryan and Mrs. Willard, our journalism advisor, are both horrible people, I was assigned to write about the Star Student that year, who happened to be Rob.
"I have his parents' number. You should really call his mom, and interview her for the article," Mrs. Willard said between giggles. "I'm sure she has some choice stories that Rob would just love to see in the paper."
oh hahahaha.
Rob hates me; it's hilarious.

I opted for a more subtle approach. Having read an unhealthy amount of Encyclopedia Brown books when I was in middle school and being devoted to the spy column in A Boy's Life, I was decently-versed in codes. Come to think of it, Rob is sort of like my Bugs Meaney. Anyway.
I arranged the text so that the first word of each line spelled out a plea for help.
Unfortunately, it proved rather difficult to work in the words I wanted. "Blood-thirsty maniac" or any of its more colorful synonyms would not fit in seamlessly, but a good writer always works within his limitations. I settled for "Rob intends to be just as vicious when he enrolls at [whatever unwitting school Rob had applied to] where he will murder tests with the same impunity he showed at our own Newton High School." Bryan and Mrs. Willard both struck through my contorting sentences and insisted I rewrite it, outing themselves as conspirators with Rob. We may not have been in New York City anymore, but there were plenty of tall buildings around. I glad they could sleep at night knowing the part they played.

Miraculously, I made it through high school without so much as one-storey fall. Rob and I didn't have much to do with each other the rest of that year, but I did see him again -- years later at a field party someone was hosting for my graduating class. I saw him from across the bonfire and thought there was no way it could be whom I thought it was.
Then, he motioned me over.
"Do you know who I am?" he slurred.
Oh shit. Didn't he graduate five years ago? What's he doing at a high school party? And why did there have to be a bonfire? "Yes. You're Rob __."
"No no no," he said, getting my hopes up. "I'm the Coolest Guy in Newton County. Say it."
Am in Dazed and Confused? Where's Parker Posey? What the hell's going on here?
"How are you, Rob?" Maybe I can just change the subject.
"Say it."
.... "You're the coolest person..."
"In Newton county."
"In Newton county."
"Tell me. Did you have. Any. Position of power on the RamPage?"
"Well, I was Editor-in-Chief this past year."
"Oh," his face fell. "You couldn't possibly have been as cool as I was as Sports Editor."
"Ok," I wandered off and spent the rest of the party making sure my friend Joe Lewis didn't try to jump over the bonfire.
I saw Rob one more time as I was leaving.
"Hey, who am I?" he called out to me.
".... You're Rob," I said.
"Man," he said. "Fuck you."
"The biggest loser in Newton County," I muttered under my breath.