Man Up (short story)
Adam awoke to his screeching alarm at four in the morning. He flicked on the light (with only one functioning bulb) and exchanged his plaid pajamas for a pair of crisp khakis and a buttoned down shirt. With lead in his feet, he dragged himself to the desk crammed into the corner of his room. Then the writing commenced, marching out of the tip of his pencil line by line like tired soldiers.
Finally, by seven sharp, his essay was finished. Three pages of slanted words with loops and tails that blended together sat triumphantly on the faux-wood of his desk. Paper in hand, Adam burst out of his room and took the stairs two at a time, skidding to a stop in front of the dining room table. His father sat in his usual morning chair, slurping coffee, black, under a bristled mustache.
“I did it!” Adam declared, waving the papers around before shoving them into his backpack. “I finished my essay!”
His father appraised him steadily. “Good. But you shouldn’t have procrastinated. Next time, do it when it’s assigned. Not the morning of.”
He continued scrolling through the news on his phone. Adam’s face fell.
Suddenly, his sister, Lena, barged into the dining room. She traipsed right over to their father and stuck out her hand.
“Keys?”
He nodded in the direction of the kitchen counter.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said, and, after scooping up the car keys, she left through the garage door.
Adam gaped at his father. “She gets Mom’s car today? I thought she was grounded!”
“She is,” he replied, without looking up. “But you know how it is. Girls will be girls. Lena just wants to have a little fun. She’s been working hard on her grades lately, so your Mom and I decided that she could have the car to go out with her friends tonight.”
“But my grades are better than hers! You didn’t let me have the car,” Adam protested. He couldn’t believe his ears.
His father sighed. “We’ve discussed this. It’s not safe for young men like you to go out with your friends alone. Who knows what kind of women are out there, trying to get into your pants. We’re just trying to protect you.”
“But—”
“Adam.” His dad’s eyes held a warning. “Watch your temper. It’s not very manly of you to lose it so often. Young men shouldn’t be so emotional all the time. Besides, you’re going to be late for school. Go get ready.”
With clenched teeth, Adam trudged back up the stairs. He threw open his closet, scanning its floor for stray dress shoes, then paused. What to wear?
Adam assessed himself carefully in the mirror. He had a big presentation in English today, and his grade was floating between a B- and a C+. Everything had to be perfect—his parents would kill him if his grade dropped. He twisted around, eyes dropping to his legs.
Were his pants too tight? He didn’t want to look like a slut like that guy Ethan in his bio class. He tore off the khakis, slipping into a pair of old dress slacks. They were too short around his ankles, and the rumpled fabric hung boxily over his gangly legs. Frowning, Adam tried to smooth out the wrinkles. Were these too unprofessional? Mrs. Burgess would surely judge him for them, whether she meant to or not. With an exaggerated groan, Adam shimmied back into the khakis.
“Adam!” His dad’s voice floated up the stairs and under the door. “What’s taking so long? Are you trying on your whole closet again? You’re gonna be late for school!”
“Coming!” Adam yelled, and darted into the bathroom. He froze, eyes locked on an obnoxious tin of hair product. Gel? No gel? If he put it on, it might look like he was trying too hard. Then again, without it his hair would probably flop into his eyes in its usual, meddlesome swoop, and he would spend the whole speech trying to push it up. Spurred by another call from his dad, he combed a small glob of gel into his unruly hair and lashed a toothbrush frantically across his teeth.
He barreled down the spongy carpet stairs into the kitchen and paused to sling his backpack over his shoulder, hand flashing into the cabinet for a protein bar. He almost stopped for cereal, but another “Adam!” coming from the garage sent him flying into the passenger seat of his dad’s beloved CRV. He was in no mood for another Adam, you are almost out of high school, you have to be responsible kind of lecture.
After English (and many judgmental stares from the other dudes in his class), Adam rushed anxiously to his locker. He was short on time to get to statistics, but this trip was essential—Yesterday, Mr. Bentley had sent him to the dean. “For violating the dress code,” Mr. Bentley had trumpeted, handing Adam a pink slip. When Adam asked his dean what exactly he had done wrong, the woman explained: “Sorry hon, but you can’t expose that much collarbone. It distracts the girlies in class, you know?”
Adam didn’t know. He didn’t see what was so irresistible about a few exposed inches of collarbone. Or why the sidetracked minds of teenage girls were his fault.
Regardless, he grabbed his jacket from the top shelf and pulled it on, zipping it from waist to neck. No exposed skin, no reason to get kicked out of class.
Adam bounced his leg through an hour of tedious statistics and managed to screw up at least two questions on the pop quiz in bio. By the time he trudged into his world history classroom, the only thing keeping him going was the prospect of having lunch with his girlfriend. His teacher, Ms. Hamil, sported her usual half-baked smile as she passed out today’s reading assignment. Adam read the title at the exact same time that Ms. Hamil said it:
“Men’s History Day,” she chirped. She propped a fist on her hip and pointed to the projection of the article on the white board. “Isn’t it wonderful? Today we are going to talk about many of the influential men throughout history who have helped make our world what it is today— arguably even as much as their female counterparts. Because behind every successful woman, remember, is a supportive and powerful man! Now, who can give me an example of a powerful male figure?”
“Mark Curie,” one student said, and another shouted out, “Roland Parks—the man who refused to give up his seat!”
Adam scanned the article, and along with Curie and Parks, it contained the usual suspects: Jay Austen, Malalo Yousafzai, Amelio Earhart.
“Very good,” sang Ms. Hamil.
Adam raised his hand.
“Yes, Adam?”
“Well… I was just wondering. Why do we need a Men’s History Day?”
Two lined, sky-blue eyes blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Um…”
Adam fidgeted, uncomfortable under all of the stares. “I just mean, well, why do we need a specific day for men? Like why don’t we learn about men in history everyday? I just think it’s kinda weird. It should be normal for us to talk about influential men, you know?”
Ms. Hamil pursed her lips. “That’s an… interesting point. Would anyone like to answer Adam’s question?”
“I can.” A girl to Adam’s right, Lilly, raised her hand. “There have been lots of important men in history. But, like, the problem is that most of them aren’t really mentioned in texts, so there aren’t very many to talk about. That’s why we have just a day. There’s not enough for the whole year, so we just cram them all into today. It’s more efficient.”
Finally, it was time for lunch. With the spring in his step renewed, Adam practically skipped through the parking lot and over to the crosswalk. He was meeting his girlfriend, Elle, off campus today—it was their four-month anniversary, and they were treating themselves to the India’s Clay Oven lunch special. It was a short walk, so he told Elle that he would meet her there.
The traffic light was taking a ridiculously long time, so Adam decided to take a shortcut through the nearby neighborhood. He wove between chain-linked fences and rugged front yards, trying to go as fast as possible without running and drawing attention. There was just one more street left for Adam to cross in order to escape the increasingly shadowed neighborhood when a small, sleek car streaked directly into his path. Adam considered making a run for it, but uncertainty held his feet to the cement. Was this car actually out to get him?
The passenger side window rolled down slowly, menacingly. Adam’s heart iced over.
Two pairs of eyes stared at him from behind arched sunglasses. Hair pulled back. Lips painted and smiling. Their faces were stretched taut, but subtle creases revealed their age.
“What’s a sweet boy like you doing on a street like this?” the first one asked. “You wanna ride with us?”
Adam still wasn’t completely sure of their intention, until the brunette one chimed in:
“And with an ass like that, boy, damn!”
He mumbled something caught between an “excuse me” and “I’m sorry” and rushed across the street, hands shoved deep into his pockets. A low whirring sound told him that the other window was rolling down.
“Aw, don’t be like that, sugar!”
“Come on now, don’t leave! We were only playing fun.”
“A pretty boy like you doesn’t need to be in school!”
Their voices chased him all the way to the restaurant.
Adam and Elle ordered a coke each with their lunch specials. Over full mouths and warm smiles, they chatted about usual high-school-couple things: grades, gossip, the game that Friday. That boy—what was his name? Jimmy?—whose parents had caught him smoking a blunt with his friends. The freshman who got suspended for some obscenity scrawled over the bathroom stalls. The dance next month (what would they wear? Who would they go with?). And, of course, Adam’s hatred of his statistics teacher, Mr. Bentley. Oh the humiliation, to get called out in front of the entire class and sent to the dean.
“Do you think that it was fair?” Adam asked. “Just for showing some of my collarbone?”
Elle shrugged. “I don’t know… But if I was in your stats class, I certainly would have been distracted.”
She sipped at her drink and looked away shyly. Adam smirked, but the smirk soon faded. He couldn’t get all of those small things off his mind, the mounting feeling of minor injustice. Elle brought up the new Joker movie, but the conversation quickly flatlined.
“Elle…”
She looked up from her food. “Hm?”
“Do you think—what do you think about Men’s History Day?”
“Well…”
Adam could tell by her eyes that she was gauging his expression, trying to fish out the answer he was looking for.
“I think that it’s a great way to give men the credit that they deserve. It’s good for us to finally recognize them.”
She looked pleased with her answer. Relieved, like she had just sidestepped a landmine. Adam cleared his throat.
“Yeah, but why do we need it? Like why does it have to be something special?”
Elle frowned. “Do you really have to get so political on me? It’s our anniversary, Adam. Can’t we save this for later?”
“I guess,” he sighed. “Wait, but can I ask just one more thing? For, I don’t know, peace of mind?”
“Fine, go ahead.”
He inhaled nervously. “Do you think that girls are better than guys?”
“Of course not!” she assured him, almost too readily. “We’re equally good, just in different ways. But…”
“What?”
Her lip pouted at him. “I don’t want to offend you.”
“You won’t, don’t worry. Go on.”
She regarded him apprehensively but proceeded. “Well I just think that there are certain things that make us… distinct. Women and men are just biologically different, you know? It’s a fact. Women live longer and are more flexible. We literally create life. Men can’t do that. But it’s like comparing, like, a lion and a lamb. One obviously has more advantages from a science standpoint, but that doesn’t mean that like… one is better than the other. Do you get what I’m saying?”
Adam nodded, smiling slightly. “Of course, thanks. I guess I’m less confused now.”
But that was a lie. Behind the smile lurked even more confusion. Everything Elle said was true. But why, then, did it sit so poorly in his stomach? Why did it settle uncomfortably in his ears?
The waiter came by with the check. He turned to Elle.
“Are you ready to pay?” He started sliding it across the table toward her.
“Oh, actually I’m buying today,” Adam inserted.
The waiter, with raised eyebrows, handed him the bill. He took away their plates and said no more.
“Thanks for lunch,” Elle chimed. “I’ll see you after school?”
Adam nodded, the smile still on his lips.
In his last few classes, and even after school, all Adam wanted to do was ask questions. Why did they need a Men’s History Day? Why did women have “obvious biological advantages” over men? And what about the clear physical strength of men? Did that count for nothing?
But no one seemed to want to give him a straightforward reply. Everyone danced around the truth, their words wrapped up in apologies or accusations.
Adam, watch your temper. It’s not very manly of you to lose it so often.
A pretty boy like you doesn’t need to be in school!
Women and men are just biologically different, you know? It’s a fact.
Adam supposed that, like Mark Curie and Roland Parks, he would just have to wait for his History Day. When that day came, maybe, just maybe, he would get the answers he needed.