Elevating Overman. Bruce Ferber

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      There are certain individuals for whom high school is a Defining Moment. On some level that could be said of Overman, for it was in the halls of Long Island’s Lakeview South (there was no lake anywhere and the only view was of a shopping center) that young Ira perfected the art of blending into the woodwork, thereby avoiding blame or arousing ire. While his neighborhood friend Jake Rosenfarb was an inferior student with no discernable talent, he made the most of his subpar skill set. Rosenfarb was unafraid of talking to girls, something Overman was never able to master, even into adulthood.

      Jake had a simple opening line that seemed to work every time.

      “You nervous about the test?” he’d inquire of Sharon Kramer, the pouty brunette from World History class with the best rack in Lakeview North or South. She would confide that although she knew the material, she worried that it wouldn’t translate to the testing environment. Rosenfarb would then admit his own academic insecurities, suggest studying together, and three chapters later would be exploring globes Vasco Da Gama only dreamed of.

      In the fall of their senior year, Rosenfarb claimed to have gone around the world quite a few times with Nancy Morrison, a spirited redhead from his economics class, who, according to Lakeview legend, had an insatiable sexual appetite. Many years later, by the time she became Nancy Overman, she had had her fill of fleshly pleasures and considered any sort of physical contact an unnecessary annoyance. The fact that his best friend had deflowered his wife was not a pleasant thought for Overman, yet it seemed right in keeping with the path his entire life had taken. After all, he didn’t have to pursue Nancy. He made his move knowing full well that a bothersome past would inform a troubled future. This was to be cemented when the Overmans and Rosenfarb ended up in Los Angeles together.

      Ultimately things evened out, which is not to say that life got better for Overman, but worse for Rosenfarb and Nancy. Jake wound up marrying a gold-digging interior decorator and Nancy became stepmother to the spoiled, druggy kids of her new internist husband. And Overman was free. Alone and miserable, but free.

      Back in high school, Rosenfarb was a decent athlete, better than Overman of course, but not varsity material in any sport. Still, the jocks liked his vapid affability and always invited him to parties. Occasionally he would drag Overman along – never a problem because rarely did anyone notice Ira skulking in the corner. There was one particular soirée where the guys on the basketball team had some girl all tanked up in a bedroom. Rosenfarb had taken off early to console Sharon Kramer on her recent B minus, leaving Overman alone to pick through the Fritos and onion dip. Suddenly, someone was elbowing him, directing him upstairs.

      He walked into a bedroom and discerned what seemed like a bizarre tribal ritual, but was, in fact, a contemporary adaptation being performed by plastered suburban high school kids. Overman knew Janie Sweeney from English class. Amiable and shy with a solid grasp of English literature and zero self-esteem, she was sprawled on her back in a semi-conscious haze. What Overman witnessed before him was nothing like the anonymous, mass-marketed porn he had come to know and love. These were his frothing classmates, pounding the poor drunken girl who had written that brilliant paper on the Brontë sisters. Overman started to panic. What would happen when the other guys finished and they turned to him? If he didn’t participate he would be branded as weak, gay, or a potential snitch.

      He tried to tiptoe out of the room when a huge hand slammed the door shut. The next thing he knew all eyes were on him. Overman was on deck, a late-inning addition to the lineup in a new sport the Lakeview boys had created for their own amusement.

      “You know, I’m not feeling that well,” Overman managed to squeak out.

      “That’s ‘cause you’ve never seen a pussy before,” countered Marty Merkowitz, the point guard and ringleader of the party. “Unzip your pants and get over here.”

      Merkowitz had been in his Bar Mitzvah class. How does a person go from the bima to orchestrating a gang rape? Overman wondered. There was no time to ponder the hows and whys. They were all waiting for him. It was Overman’s move.