Personal Account #3

The following narrative is recounted by: ISAAK KUTTNER

You know, I never thought I'd end up writing about myself after college. I figured all that was a thing of the past since I never had to fill out a resume for a job or anything like that. Interviews were what all the cool kids were trying nowadays. Fortunately, I'm still hip because, being the founder and CEO of my own beverage company – Kuttner's Drinkers, Inc., since I knew you were wondering – I give those out like candy.

And just because I wised up and made something of myself doesn't mean I've stripped myself of Drinker – yeah, that's what they called me. I'm still trying to get one over you, lil' bro!

But anyway, my name is Isaak Kuttner, born September 7th, 1991 to Sofia and Friedrich Kuttner IV as their first child. Turns out they didn't think I was as handsome and beautiful as I know I was – still am, by the way – so they had other kids. I don't remember their names. My dad almost passed his first name off to me, but luckily, my mom wanted to give me her grandfather's name. So, I dodged a bullet there.

I grew up pretty normal. Well, my childhood was, at least. Being the son of a famous basketball player handed me over quick friendship, girls, and an extravagant lifestyle in a white handbasket with a bow around the handle. I was always the loud one. The attention-seeker. The shit-starter. The class clown. The one to take initiative and invite others over.

And because of that, I was pretty well-loved.

That doesn't mean I haven't had my fair share of trials and tribulations. I can just admit I got better than most, and I'm glad I did. Even when I got thrown off the basketball team, I wouldn't really change a thing about my experience. But before I'm forced to broadcast that secret by my own flesh and blood, I think I should tell you more about my college.

Trust me, there's a connection to that and me being ousted, so bear with me.

As I told you before, I was loud and boisterous. Parties were my niche, and it was a given that I was at every one of them. It was like attending church. I was on the basketball team, too – a power forward, since you wanted to know – so if that wasn't extra incentive to go hard every weekend, then I might as well have been like Vanessa, a librarian. Of course, I'd go overboard and black out until the next sunrise, but it was all in good fun. Nobody got hurt. Well, not so much that it was life-threatening.

But it was a breeding ground for stupid mistakes. And my vices seemed to have caught up with me.

As I known party animal, I did the usual. I smoked, I drank – nickname, remember? – and I definitely fucked. I'm no novice when it comes to that shit, but I've never really been a fan of the hard stuff. Heroin, bath salts, meth… Nah. That was a hard line even for me. Sure, I've been offered, and they've been passed around like Velcro at my parties, but anything that would put my basketball career on the line was a no-go.

I'm positive you noticed I haven't mention another obvious hard drug. Yeah. Cocaine. Micro-sized specks of white powder got me in deep, deep shit. No, it was the fact that it was recorded that fucked up my life. My parents wondered where they went wrong, my siblings were confused as hell, and my friends were just as in the dark. There was one unspoken rule when we planned these things.

No videos. At least, no physical evidence of incrimination. I didn't want anything to fall back on me. Only, that time, it did, and I had nobody else to blame but myself. Me, and the guy recording me.

But to be honest, I don't remember anything from that night. It was a Valentine's day party and I had just drunkenly stumbled into the guest room after some rounds of serious lovemaking. God, it's just gonna be a whole series of "I think," and explaining it over and over to my folks and the coach was more than enough for me in one lifetime, so I'll make this quick.

I'm drunk. I walk into the guest room. I sit down and realize a little too late that maybe I walked in on a couple. I'm not sure. It all gets blurry from there. The next day, while nursing a hangover, everyone's got a video of me crouched and doing lines of crack on a toppled wardrobe cabinet with an older woman I've never seen or met before in my life.

Either congratulatory pats on the back or frustrated lectures came my way until I was booted from the team. It was a night that set my life off course, and one I don't even remember. Headlines and everything had more information than I did. All I know is that I was, without question, taken advantage of. Coerced my drunken mind or something because I definitely know I wouldn't even touch the stuff in the right state. I'm a bit proud of myself for sticking to my guns, adamant that I was most likely drugged, and I'm grateful for my teammates, my brothers from other mothers who stood beside and behind me when trying to convince everyone else of my innocence.

I never got the position back, being the offspring of a well-known but foreign basketball player can only give you so much and get you so far, but the gesture got me through the rest of my senior year with my mind, body, and soul intact.

I still went to parties – I'd never give that up – but I went at them a bit more mellow as to not arouse suspicion.

Now, fast forward, to Anninberg College.

The first thing I learned over my first year there was that Humberston College, the prestigious institution a town over, was to be hated. They were the enemy, and the battleground was the football field. In actuality, it was a part of any sport they held, but football was the main cause just like it was for Patriot High and Wildwood. Some things were never left behind in high school, and I guess bitter rivalry was one of them. It was okay, though. Being a former athlete, it clicked in my head almost immediately.

And my attitude toward that school was cemented when one of Humberston's football coaches…

Javier Rabellino.

That guy is a certified creep. Even back when I met him, there was something off about him. He knew about me because who didn't, but he acted like he knew me personally. Which he didn't. Never in my life have I ever heard about this guy. Jorge "Hangman" Rabellino, I had been a big fan, but Javier was only ever mentioned as "his sibling" or "family."

He spat out all this crap of being busted for a DUI, which got him kicked off the basketball team, showed me footage of his plays, blah blah blah.

What had him pegged as a weirdo was when he asked me if I was doing alright after being booted. Said some things about not believing in staying behind the divide between the two colleges and that if I needed anything, I could go to him. Gave me his phone number and address. To this day, I still think the address was fake. Just as fake as his b-ball name – Hawkeye.

The thing is, I was completely okay with my life at that point. I already had people looking out for me, checking up on my welfare and everything and this guy acts like all of that drama occurred yesterday. I thought he was a fan trying to look for an in with my dad, but not once did he utter my father's name.

I never spoke to him after that. It was a one-and-gone interaction. I deleted his number and threw the paper with his "address" in the trash an hour later. I've told my friends about it, and every football game we went to, we searched him out only to throw daggers with our eyes.

But what does this have anything to do with you being kicked off the team, oh great and wise Isaak?

Well, I'm glad you asked.

You see, I would have forgotten about the whole incident sooner if a few of my buddies playing on the football team hadn't mentioned being approached by the guy at random points during my freshmen and sophomore year. They didn't have famous family members, so he knew less, but they still called him creepy. The girls, especially. To know he was hanging around high schools, Patriot High in particular, at the time does not surprise me in the least.

I think he was targeting certain people. Athletes, specifically. Both male and female. And I have no doubt he went after my brother and his friends. And maybe, just maybe, it was him that night. The one who was recording. He thought if he could get me if my mind was in a dark place, I'd be too desperate to resist. It happens to athletes all the time. They want to be the best or get back on the team somehow. That's where snakes like him strike.

Luckily, I didn't like basketball that much. I just liked what it brought. Yes, the parties and the girls. Sue me.

But if you do, just make sure you're not drinking my "Kool-Aid" while you're at it.

You probably already did. Sucker. 😉