The screech of the well-worn tires signaled the end of the line for everyone on the bus. The driver opened the door and we piled out onto the sidewalk like livestock moving from one pen to another. The scene was epic: thick fog rolled past us while the upperclassmen disappeared into the distance as if called off towards some higher purpose.
"Where are we?" I asked to anyone within earshot.
A voice from beyond the billowing fog yelled back, "This is the end of the line, Freshmen! You walk from here."
Our backs together like soldiers in a battlefield, we moved cautiously towards the sound of the voices in the distance. No one told us that high school was going to be like this.
***
Growing up in San Diego, California, I had always been "Jonathan." It was the name that was printed on my birth certificate and as far as my parents were concerned, that meant that it was the only name people could call me.
"But, Mom!" I would plead, "Joshua's mom calls him 'Josh' and even calls his little brother 'Nicky!'"
"What did we name you?" she would ask.
I knew there was no point in trying.
My parents had become deeply involved in their church before I was born and had decided to name me after a biblical character as a result. They chose "Jonathan" because the name means "Given from God." My mother chose Jacob as my middle name because she has a penchant for alliteration. Neither one of them paused to consider what could happen should people begin to call me "John" for short until the papers had already been signed.
I finally understood why my mother tried so hard to keep others from abbreviated my name when I entered my first day of kindergarten. It didn't take long for the other kids to realize that they were classmates with a "John Jacob"; it didn't even take all of roll call before everyone had noticed it. Recess simply could not come soon enough for them because that's when it would inevitably begin.
"John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt! His name is my name..."
"That's my name, too! Whenever we go out..."
"The people always shout!"
"There goes JOHN JACOB JINGLE HEIMER SCHMIDT"
"Na na na NA na na NA!"
What was so special about a nickname, anyway? It wasn't as if getting a new nickname would have prevented the other kids from picking on me. I tried to convince them to call me Jonathan but that just turned into "Yawn-athan," Jacob became "Gay-Cub" and Gomez became "Blowmez." I learned that simply changing my name couldn't change other people's opinions about me, that sometimes "people are going to be the way they're going to be," or so my dad always told me.
***
The light from the stoplight refracted through the fog and formed a massive red blot on the other side of the street. As I stood there waiting for the light to change, knowing that my future lay beyond this final crosswalk, a fleeting memory of my first day of kindergarten flashed through my head. My eyes grew ever wider as I stared across the street. John Jacob goes to high school, I thought to myself.
"Hey move it, asshole! It's green!" some kid yelled from behind me.
Later that morning as I sat in my first period English class, I started to think about my friends from junior high. We had all gone off to different high schools, which was fairly common for private school kids in the area, and only three people from my middle school had gone onto Palos Verdes Peninsula High School: two girls whom I hardly knew, and myself.
"Gomez? Jonathan Gomez?" the teacher asked the occupants of the room as she checked names off a list.
People began to glance around the room; most people assuming this "Jonathan Gomez" person had not shown up to the first day of class. I was lost in thought and staring absentmindedly at an Elvis poster on the wall when I heard, "No Jonathan Gomez? No Jonathan Jac--"
"Huh-um-what?" I blurted out. "I'm sorry. Here. Present."
"Okay." She checked a box on her attendance sheet. "Do you prefer being called Jonathan or something else?"
"No. Just Jonath-- uh--"
I still don't know what made me say what I said next. I had never been spontaneous before but I suddenly felt as if this were my only opportunity to change my life for the better. No one knew who I was at this school, no one had any preconceived knowledge of who I was supposed to be.
"I'm sorry?" the teacher asked.
"Jonny. People call me Jonny Gomez."
"Nice to meet you, Jonny."
It worked; but one answer to a simple question couldn't possibly erase years of being made fun of. I suppose at that point it didn't matter -- I had a new name: a name that I had chosen for myself. Whether or not I could build a new reputation around the name remained to be seen. I knew that changing my name couldn't make me a different person, but I felt that if it was a name that I picked for myself then I could build a new life around it.
After first grade, I moved from San Diego to Los Angeles. I was home schooled in second grade, beaten up regularly in third grade at a new school, and then teased relentlessly up through the eighth grade at yet another school. There was nothing about me that deserved to be treated as I was, indeed I cannot imagine anyone deserving that kind of treatment. Yet I lacked the confidence to ever stand up for myself, to push the bullies back, or stop them from being mean to other kids. No. John Gomez lacked the confidence. Yawnathan was unable to stand up to the bullies. Jonny Gomez could do anything. He was a kid that no one knew, arriving at a high school with over three thousand students from an intermediate school of less than a hundred and twenty.
Jonny Gomez was ready for high school.
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