Adam Levin - The Instructions

By the time we were out in the field, I was ready to laugh with you about pulling the alarm, how I knew I’d get away with it (I went straight to Miss Pinge and said “Is this a drill?” and Pinge said it wasn’t, and I said, “Miss Pinge. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna !”). But then you were in the air, in the hands of my arch-enemy. And I did nothing to help you. And in a certain light — certainly a very certain light (I’m not trying to get off the hook on a technicality) — I betrayed you.

I need to explain about Bam now, my original best friend Bam, my first friend ever, the one who claims, though never out loud, my third-oldest loyalty (apart from my parents, I can’t remember anyone before kindergarten, which is when Bam and I became friends), the one who held you helpless in the air.

I am loyal to Bam Slokum because at the age of five I claimed to be, and if I were to now side against him with anyone other than my own parents, it seems to me that all other loyalties I have ever claimed would become dubious. Dubious in FACT, even if not in my heart. I would be no better than that kid who says he’s fallen out of love. And I would be the snake variety of that kid, because I would know what I was doing. To side with anyone other than my parents against Bam Slokum would make me a worthless snake, Gurion.

And let me be clear on this: I’m not scared of Bam. He knows it, too. SLOKUM DIES FRIDAY — on his locker, on the walls, the floor, desks. I write it and everyone sees it, and they know it’s me who wrote it because Bam tells them. But THEY don’t matter to me. What matters to me is that BAM sees it, SLOKUM DIES FRIDAY, and when he sees it, he knows how I despise him, but he also knows that I’m loyal despite his betrayal, that his betrayal lost him the friendship of a truly loyal human being; a guy whose loyalty is able to tolerate his own hatred of its very object. Or maybe not. Maybe he doesn’t see that. I don’t know. That all seems a little crazy when I see it written down, but that’s what I hope, or at least what I’ve hoped.

In either case, SLOKUM DIES FRIDAY is both a provocation to fight and an expression of loyalty. If I weren’t loyal to him, I would write something other than SLOKUM DIES FRIDAY. And he knows exactly what I would write — how easy it would be for me to just add the one word — and he doesn’t want it written, and that is the provocation, that is the threat: that I could write that word if I wanted to. But still I don’t write that word. I don’t write it for the same reason I don’t disclose it here and for the same reason I don’t swing on him when we pass in the hall: because as long as I am not being assaulted by him, I have to protect him — loyalty demands it. I think he knows that, too, although, again, writing it down makes it seem a little crazy——

But that’s not as important, whether he knows I’m loyal. What’s important is I know. What’s important is you know.

And he’s not scared of fighting me, either, Gurion. He should be. I’d tear him down if he attacked me, but he’s not scared of fighting me, I’m not saying he is. And whether or not he’s aware of my loyalty’s resilience, it’s definitely not regret for having betrayed me, much less any feeling of guilt, that keeps him from attacking me. The reason he doesn’t attack me is the same reason he tells everyone it’s me who writes SLOKUM DIES FRIDAY: my public displays of enmity serve him.

He knows I’m a villain in the eyes of all those kids he wants to worship him (there is no denying it; neither of us can deny how little I’m liked, how many kids would love to see me ended), and he knows that if their villain is Bam’s enemy, and Bam’s enemy appears afraid to fight Bam, that makes Bam their hero. Crazy as THAT might look written down, I’m positive I’m right. And he’s right, too — I make him their hero. Or at least I help to. And a hero under threat, Gurion, always appears more heroic than a hero victorious. If he were to beat my ass — and he does believe that would be the outcome (another thing I’m sure of — I know this kid) — they would worship him less, because what enemy of Slokum could take my place? Who do they fear more than Benji Nakamook? Who do they hate more than me? No one. So my hatred of him — no matter its forthright nature, its snow-white purity — it doesn’t hurt his standing; it’s all to his benefit. And so I get to have my cake and eat it too. I get to hate him out loud and protect him all at once. I go forth without compromise, integrity intact, the unbetraying villain.

At least until this afternoon, when I betrayed you, letting him hold you in the air like that. Out of loyalty to my own code of loyalties, I maintained the older of two loyalties. I preserved my own integrity. But it wasn’t pleasant. I didn’t enjoy it. My heart was bucking.

And now you say, “Who cares? Who cares, though?” right? This is the part where you say, “Who cares what your heart did? How about your legs? How about what they DIDN’T? How about your fists? You sound like a bancer, talking fancy betrayal and loyalty bullshit, principled bullshit, self-dramatizing bullshit. You sound like a trailer for an action movie. You should have HIT that kid. You should have HELPED me.”

And you’re right. But so was I, Gurion. And what I’m trying to tell you is I did the harder thing. I didn’t do what I wanted — that would’ve been the easy thing. I hated just standing there, but thought I had to just stand there and so I just stood there. I did what I thought I had to do, and I hated what I thought I had to do, and because I hated it, I knew I was right… or thought I knew I was right. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what to do.

If what I’ve always believed is true — that without our loyalties we’re nothing — then our worth is determined by nothing other than the strength of our loyalties. And if I conclude that what I’ve always believed is false — that our worth is determined by something other or more than the strength of our loyalties — I would, according to my current code of loyalty, be doing so out of worthlessness, or snakiness. So what should I trust? The code I’ve always trusted that now rings false, or the urge to abandon that code, which is an urge I’ve always defied with contempt, but which screamed true in the two-hill field, and has continued its screaming ever since? I have to decide. I’m not saying I don’t. If I don’t, I’m a pussy. And I’m not going to get all purple and sobby about it, but except for in those moments prior to choosing between my parents, I have not felt worse than this. I want you to know that. Juvie was cake compared to this, and Slokum’s betrayal an ice-cream sandwich. I’m all backward, Gurion. Most people, they get fucked up the worst when someone else fucks them up. Not me. The only thing that really fucks me up is when I fuck up. I don’t understand any of us.

And I don’t expect you to understand why I betrayed you, but I’m hoping you won’t MISunderstand. I’m telling you I’m your friend, and if you want to hate me for what I failed to do, okay, I get that. I accept it, even. If you hate me, though, Gurion, you’ll be hating a friend — a lousy friend who betrayed you, that is true, but not an enemy, not by a longshot. I don’t want your hatred. An enemy would. An enemy would court it. What I want is your forgiveness. And I guess that’s how I should have started. That would have been the most honest way, to ask you to forgive me for the way that I am — if not for the way I’ve made myself, then for the way I was made. Whichever way you see it. Any way you can forgive me. I’ve been trying to give you one without telling lies.

I know, at least, that I’ve told you no lies.