42 - A Wounded Pride

Relations with girls, despite the deep yearnings of adolescence and the burning desires that days with young female bodies in swimsuits on the beach or minidresses over smooth and sun-toned skins in the evenings in the square stimulating the imagination, despite opportunities for encounters, which Billy’s broad circle of female friends enabled, despite all of the above, a casual holiday friendship, let alone a more intimate relationship with a girl remained wishful thinking. The boat of longing for a maiden touch and a kiss was crushed on the rocks of shyness and timidity, on the one hand, and, on the other, the self-confidence and arrogant charm Billy was exuding, a friend who harboured similar yearnings but had the agility and zeal in seeking and fighting for his share in all this. There was strong competition in that arena – where the battles amongst adolescent boys for girls’ attention were fought and where, no doubt, Billy with the opportunistic friendships he formed with him positioned at the centre, had a major advantage.

One morning, whilst splashing water in the shallow foreshore and chatting with Billy and a couple of mutual acquaintances, he said to me behind his lop-sided ironic smile: "Tina was talking to us about you yesterday evening..." Tina was the beautiful daughter of a Greek-American couple, with straight long hair, shiny black, parted in half. My heart naturally leaped. "She likes you, it seems..." One of his friends nodded in confirmation, also with a suspect smile. “Oh yeah, really?" I queried sincerely, having fallen into the trap of their pun. After a pause, a meaningful glance and a wink to his friend, Billy added: "We're just kidding! She told us that she dislikes you. You come across as too cold a person." My heart sank in bleak disappointment. It was not just the crushing of yet another faint hope that I could exert some attraction—if not charm, to a good-looking girl. I felt even uglier than the skinny and short boy I was to others, with a conspicuous and repulsive hair growth under the nostrils, like a fake moustache, an unattractively breaking voice which sounded like a bray when I shouted, the pimples -oh those pimples! that kept spreading on my face. It was not just the mocking declaration by a friend in front of others of a brutal dismissal by a girl in my absence that was humiliating enough. It was yet another heavy blow to my self-esteem and self-confidence. It was also an anger overflowing within from that unsavoury teasing, an unnecessary insult by Billy and his accomplice mate. I felt more alienated and placed another buffer zone between myself and Billy and his circle of friends.

With him and the others in his company days passed before we talked again. It eventually happened in one corner of the paved square with the amenities of the resort: the self-service restaurant, the café tables under wicker parasols, the small grocery store and the first-aid station, cubic structures painted in red that occupied most of the space. At the far distant corner an enclosed area, hidden by a reeds fence, was allocated for the entertainment of the camping youth· with ping-pong and foosball tables and a makeshift disco. In one of the leisurely evenings, after a few hours of basketball games at the courts, and having not much else to do, I was strolling aimlessly towards that youth club area, when a stunning Yugoslav teenage girl in a tight and short white dress, with short straight golden blonde hair around a supple and delicate neck, caught my attention. Shortly after, Billy approached out of nowhere and stood next to me, with the aim -I believe- of talking to me and making amends, if not apologising. My anger from the beach incident had not been yet abated and I ignored his presence and, so, we were standing speechless a few paces from this Slavic beauty, staring at her. With his lopsided smile I always found annoying, and nodding his chin in the direction of the blonde Yugoslav girl he said to me: “Sound face, don't you think?” I couldn't help but agree and retorted: "Yes, indeed… But 'sound face' for such a delicate creature? It’s blunt and does not do her beauty justice. It’s barbaric." My comments seemed to have made some kind of impression; he saw it as a witticism, made him laugh. He even conveyed our brief conversation that same night to others, although what I said was done on the spur of the moment, without pondering and intent to sound funny or witty. Besides, my sense of humour, which in any case always required courage and familiarity with the human environment around me, was generally much better in the chats I had with Kostakis, the children of our neighborhood, and some of my schoolmates.

Of course, neither myself, nor Billy -that giant of confidence and assertiveness, dared to approach and talk to the beautiful Yugoslavian: she was above our station, notwithstanding the fact that she was surrounded by athletic and handsome Slavic boys. Clearly self-assured of the beauty she radiated and enveloped by an air of haughtiness she was placed in a league of her own, out of the reach of Billy or any of his entourage. Later, during the disco hours, we resigned ourselves to ogling her dancing with no much less good-looking friends.

My relations with Billy thawed after that evening. A part of my ego was restored and reappeared in his company, albeit tangentially to the circle of his friends, a circle which was expanding as our vacation approached the peak of the holiday season, placing me further away from its centre -Billy, that is. He went to organize gatherings to show off playing his guitar and charm his audiences outside his tent on the grass under the poplars or in the courtyards of the bungalow complex, where Tina was also staying, or in a remote corner of the beach. Since I lacked the interpersonal communication and social interaction skills, I either opted not to participate to these parties, or, as always timid and taciturn or “cold” one, I was watching from the margins. My facial muscles often tired from trying to wear a cheerful expression, whilst the conversations about girls, music, excursions and the next party came and bypassed me indifferently without leaving any lasting impression, or arousing an interest or emotions, barring perhaps that of envy and frustration. At least participating in the other activities that the camping offered made me feel better: in basketball, in chess, even in the tennis games that I occasionally played with clumsy Billy whom I easily thumped. My above-average sports skills, despite my skinny physique and low-to-moderate stature, despite the acne pimples that started appearing here and there, despite the homeliness and unloveliness of many teenagers like me, generated some tailwinds that were at least temporarily boosting my ego and confidence, far from Billy and some of his retinue.