Shorty & Me
Short Story by Christie Walker Bos
Christie Walker Bos crafts a heartfelt and witty story about growing up short in a world that towers above. Faced with teasing and labels, the narrator learns to navigate life’s challenges—sometimes with humor, sometimes with a well-timed punch. If you enjoy this feature and would like to see more, let me know with a comment, 💌 share, ♥️ like, or better yet, a 🔄 restack!
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At four feet, eleven inches, I’m an inch too tall to be considered a dwarf … the first and only time I’ve been too tall to qualify for something.
As a kid, everyone was short. Then, in sixth grade, friends started shooting up like stocks of corn while I stayed down with the cabbages. That’s when the teasing started. Being different means you have a target on your back, sometimes literally, like the time a “friend” taped a sign to my shirt saying, “Go back to Hobbiton.” After that, kids called me “Hobbit.” Since Frodo and Samwise Ganges were my heroes—short fellas save the day—I didn’t mind. Then, kids switched to names like Shrimp, Tiny, Oompa Lumpa, and the ever-popular Shorty.
Complaining about the name-calling to my five-foot-two Italian father elicited this advice. “If you’re gonna fight, make sure you take the first punch and punch ‘em in the balls. Otherwise, say something funny then while they’re laughing, walk away.” After receiving detention and a black eye for punching a bully in the nuts—to which my father said, “Good for you.”—I changed strategies, using humor to deflect the insults.
My high school plan was to lay low. But lying low wasn’t an option for my polar opposite, Connor Clark. While I prayed for a massive growth spurt, Connor viewed the world from a different altitude. At six-foot-six, not only was he the tallest guy in our class, but the tallest guy in the school, including teachers and coaches.
The first time I saw him amble down the hall, I thought, “Wow!” I must have spoken aloud because he responded with an easy “Hey.”
“You’re so tall.” Statement of the obvious.
“You’re so short,” he shot back with a lopsided grin, never breaking his stride.
I caught up with him at the Freshman lockers where he was doubled over working the combination on a bottom locker. My locker—two over, on the top row—had me stretching on tiptoes, arms over my head.
“Life is cruel, right?”
Connor turned, assessed the situation with his puppy dog eyes, and agreed.
“We should switch lockers,” I suggested.
Connor straightened, now towering over me. I felt like an ant being examined by a giraffe. Intimidating.
A crease appeared across his brow. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I tried.
I watched as he considered the pros and cons. Con … if I hid contraband in my locker, the one assigned to Connor, he would be blamed. Pro … he wouldn’t have to bend over for an entire year. Ready to shrug off my suggestion and continue my struggle, he surprised me by holding out his hand.
“Deal.” My hand disappeared in his for a quick shake, a pact of trust between two misfits. “I’m Connor.”
“Leo,” I said, sporting a stupid grin.
We fumbled around switching lockers before the warning bell rang. “See you at lunch?” Connor asked.
“Sure.” Had I really made a friend on day one? “I bring a sack lunch,” I blurted out, raising my defenses to fend off the condescending attitude sure to come my way like I’d experienced in middle school.
“Me, too. Cafeteria food is gross.”
A sigh of relief. “Exactly.” I’d found a kindred soul trapped in a body as different from mine as corn and cabbage.
Throughout high school, we only shared a couple of classes since he was super smart, and me not so much. I had a brilliant idea. The two of us should try out for the volleyball team. Connor, perfect for obvious reasons, could spike the ball straight down and put up an impenetrable wall at the net. And me? There’s a position for someone of my stature … libero, a defensive back row specialist tasked with digging the ball. Practically on the floor already, I was made for this position.
At tryouts, the coaches wanted to bump Conor up to JV, even though he’d never played volleyball. Here we go, I thought. The end of our friendship. Connor will be a superstar and I’ll be left behind.
Connor looked at me and then at the other freshman. “This is my team,” he said, and that was that.
Our promise to stick together had survived its first challenge. I learned that not only was Conor a loyal, gentle giant, but we shared a common concern, which we bemoaned while sitting in the bleachers at the freshman dance … would we ever find a girl who didn’t freak out about our height?
After winning our first match, two guys from the other team snarked, “Way to go, Stretch,” and to me, “Nice job, Shorty.” Not very original, but what do you expect from pubescent high school boys? As a joke, I started calling Connor “Shorty,” and he reciprocated by calling me “Stretch,” preempting the insults and based on the puzzled looks, creating confusion among the haters. While the basketball coaches pulled out their hair wondering why Connor "wasted" his time with volleyball, we kept winning, and with Connor as my wingman, I never got roughed up again.
After graduation, we went our separate ways, Connor to UCLA on a volleyball AND scholastic scholarship and me to Columbia College in Chicago where I enrolled in the Comedy Writing and Performance program. It turned out that my self-deprecating humor could be turned into a career. We kept in touch through the years, starting every communication with, “Hey, Shorty. Hey Stretch.”
Today, I’m married to a woman a foot taller than me, and together, we’ve managed to create a couple of kids of average height. The day my daughter was born, Connor showed up at the hospital with a sign that read, “Way to go, Stretch!”
This summer, Connor will be playing two-man beach volleyball for Team USA at the Summer Olympics. I plan to be there with a sign that reads, “Way to go, Shorty.”
No one will have a clue except Shorty and me.
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Christie Walker Bos, a journalist with over 20 years of experience, has transitioned to fiction, where she delights in crafting dialogue and creating vibrant characters. Her novels and short stories tackle serious themes but are always infused with a generous dose of humor, offering readers a perfect balance of depth and wit.
Lovely
You of a different gender than your protagonist seeing into the world of boys and men in this delightful take on physical characteristics. Perfect the way you bring it full circle in the ending.