Short Story Samplings: #4

And the Crowd Goes Wild

It had been a full week since I had stood where I was, staring up at the rotund, faded blue building that read Helen Parkhurst High. The building seemed no different, but I found myself drawn to the hurricane shutters that lined the windows of every classroom. I could see the face of some pussy freshman peering through one of them, looking right at me, and then, knowing that I caught his gaze, jumping back down into his seat to tell the world of my return.

            The week before, I had gotten into a fight. Not a “give me your lunch money” fight, but a real, bare-knuckle brawl. My opponent was Steven Mehler, the kid whose dad suddenly signed up for the military to “finally do something with himself” and then just as suddenly came back in a body bag. Ever since then, he had a nasty streak of aggression. First it was drunkenly taking Rebecca Miller’s virginity in my parent’s bedroom, and then it was leading a school-wide vendetta against Ms. Richards, the English teacher who refused to let him sit in the back corner of the classroom. Recently, his frustration had been manifesting itself in the form of asking anyone, almost everyone, for a fight. When he came to me, I figured why not. If nothing else it would get him to shut up for a while.

            Although his bite certainly did not live up to his bark, he actually gave me a pretty good workout that day by the outdoor basketball courts. For what must have been about three minutes, he used up all his energy, flailing his arms around like someone who knew they couldn’t take a single punch.  He had me jumping around, far too worried about him possibly getting one good shot in to notice that he wasn’t protecting himself at all. When his battery ran out, he held his arms down by his sides and looked me in the eye. I could tell he knew his luck had run out, and he was asking me to show him kindness. I did not. I hit him once, directly in the nose, and he fell. The crowd, which had grown to perhaps even a hundred people, let out a roar and I suddenly missed my days of being a star. On the basketball court, tennis court, in the pool, you name it, I was a champ— until of course everyone went through a little thing called puberty and most of my physical advantages dwindled away. I felt that fan support that had been missing for a few years and went with it. Even though Steven was down, I took no chances that he would forget this moment. I favored the left side of his face, and let loose with a few clean punches to his eye. When I saw blood, I moved to his jaw, hitting him a few more times. I thought I heard him beg, “Please, stop” but by then I was getting pulled off of him by three members of the maintenance staff and dragged to Principal Shearer’s office. When questioned as to why I had fought the “poor boy,” I said all I could think of. “He asked me if I wanted to.”

It was that poor boy whose battered face was the first I saw upon re-entering my domain. Even though he was merely standing at his locker organizing things it seemed as if he was waiting for me. As I heroically flung the double doors of the school open, he looked up, took a deep breath, and slammed the locker shut. I stepped over the threshold and as the doors closed behind me I could feel the breeze from it just barely avoiding knocking me down. I approached Steven with a smile, looking for a truce. “That’s quite the shiner you’ve got there, Steven, but it’s looking better than last time I saw it.” The area under his eye was a dark shade of blue, and under that were undertones of yellow and a lighter blue. His chin just had one bandage across the middle of it.

“Fuck you.”

“Whoa there, no need for that.” I cordially took my hand out of my pocket and offered it to him.

“I apologize.” He quickly slapped my hand away and directed a venomous stare my way. It was difficult to stare back, as his eye was too much for me to handle.

“Fuck. You.” He made sure to hold the pause in between the words in order to properly express his anger.

“Listen, Steve. What happened between us, it was not good. I might even go so far as to say that it was bad. And I’m sorry. But I got my punishment, and clearly you learned your lesson, and we should leave it at that. No?”

Steve did not say word, choosing instead to shake his head as if deciding to not pursue a potentially rewarding business opportunity, and eventually repeated coldly, “No.”

“What do you want, then?” This type of talk was more to his liking.

“A rematch.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Wait, you want to fight me? Again? And you really thought about this?”

“I don’t have to think about it, I just have to want it.”

“Listen, Steve—”

“I wasn’t asking. 3:30— today.”

“Don’t you want to at least give yourself time to heal?”

“I have.” I could tell he wanted this line in particular to resonate with me because after delivering it, he seemed to want to say no more, and a smirk came across his face. He continued staring, thinking he had the upper hand, and frankly, he may have been right. At that moment, I was speechless. Fortunately, the morning bell signaled the conclusion of our mano y mano and Steven quickly turned around and scampered to class. His stare lingered.

“What a Mo-Ron, trying to have at you again. He can’t be serious.”

“He seemed serious.”

“Well I guess you gotta teach him another lesson, huh?” My friend Doug was always there to encourage me, to convince me that I couldn’t take shit from anyone, that I shouldn’t take shit from anyone. Yet not once did he apply that to himself. I did all the intimidating for him, and he got to coast through life like he was entitled to the protection. Including from our chemistry teacher, Mr. Taylor, who was typically late to class.

“I don’t know… it’s a bit too soon, you know?” Like he always did when something rubbed him the wrong way, Doug made a grand gesture, throwing his arms up in the air and rolling his eyes. He took the tone of a trainer pumping up his boxer before a prizefight.

“Fuck that noise! He wants another go at you, show him what you’re made of. What are you gonna do, not show? Then everyone will think you’re some bitch.”

“Hey. I’m not a bitch.”

“Exactly. Thus, you fight.” His business-like hand gestures and adamant fist pounding on the table really stuck the point.

“It’s not that easy, though.”

“Oh but it is, mon frère. You kicked his ass last time, just go do it again! No harm done.”

“But the harm’s already been done. Shearer’s got me on his radar.”

“That old guy? What’s he gonna do, suspend you again? Then you get to miss more school; even better.” I looked up at the clock. It had only been five minutes, which meant I had to endure this conversation for ten more unless Mr. Taylor would come in and just save me.

“I don’t know, he told me if I did it again, it’d be pretty serious.”

“What’d he say?” At this point I would have done anything for Mr. Taylor to come in and start his titration lecture. The attention I always got from Doug suddenly seemed to all be a hoax, a ruse in order for him to project himself onto a part of me. I didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

“He said he’d probably have to suspend me— at least that’s what I think he said. I wasn’t paying full attention to be honest.”

Doug could only muster up a nod to my half-hearted response and the conversation abruptly ended. Just to make sure I got his point, after a few moments of awkward silence, he turned to me and said, “I still think you should do it. Can’t have people thinking you can be controlled.”

“Thank you for sharing your opinion now shut the fuck about it please.” Then, to myself, “Where the hell is Mr. Taylor anyway?”

Almost on cue, the door swung open and in he walked, wearing his typical business suit, something that made him stand out amongst the other Parkhurst High employees. Or maybe it was the impeccable comb over, or the precision with which he put his Samsonite briefcase down every day, sliding it into the same exact spot under the corner of his desk. He stood at the front of the class and breathed deeply, making sure to hold up his chest and broad shoulders as he did so. Even after he exhaled his upper body seemed a little bigger than it should have been. He looked around the room to scope out the mood of the day when I must have caught his eye because his shoulders slunk a bit and he let out a remorseful, “Good to see you again.”

“Why thank you, sir! It’s good to be back!” I made sure he could see my teeth and catch my subtle head tilt as he took in my response. He shook his head, looked to the ground for a moment, and came back up smiling as if our quick encounter had never happened.

“Shall we begin?”

Just before lunch, I was called to Principal Shearer’s office. When I walked in I realized it always seemed dead and lonely, not just when Shearer was in a bad mood. The faded blue walls clearly had not been changed since the building was built, and the aged wood that made up Shearer’s desk and drawers made me realize why our entire school seemed to have a musty smell to it, almost like body odor combined with old age. He sat behind his desk in a chair whose width would barely hold someone of my size yet whose highest point nearly touched the ceiling; I had never seen anything quite so geometrically abstract, except of course, for the last time I was sitting across from it.  I didn’t know why I was there but it quickly became apparent that Shearer’s motives were transparent at best.

“So how was your week off? Did you learn anything about yourself?”

“That I suck at Jeopardy.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t really have anything to do all week, you know, seeing how I couldn’t get my work or be with my friends because, well, they were here, but I did get to watch a lot of episodes of Jeopardy that my parents recorded. I didn’t fare so well.”

“That’s… not quite what I was getting at.”

“Then what were you getting at, Principal Shearer?” He readjusted in his seat as much as he could.

“Do not patronize me, young man.”

“Oh, I’m not. I just don’t know why I’m here exactly, and I’m trying to be as honest as I can.”

“You know why you’re here.”

“Sir, I honestly don’t.”

“Because you beat up Steven Mehler.”

“Beat up? Please, it was a fight— and I was here for that last week. I have no idea why I’m here now.”

“I wanted to check up on you.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“I don’t know, is it?” With that, he took off his glasses like he was trying to be my psychiatrist or something. I already had one of those so I sat in silence, waiting for him to make the next move. If I played my cards right I’d be out of there in no more than five minutes; with a little bit of luck, maybe two. Principal Shearer suddenly stood up. I had never noticed how short he was, and his attempt to loom over me actually made me feel bad for the guy. Here he was trying to intimidate a student, me of all students, and standing over me, he barely had to look down for us to lock eyes! All of his power was lost before it had even been established.

“I’m worried about you— and let me finish before you interject. You have a lot of potential. I can see it, your teachers can see it, and I think you can see it. But for some reason, for some reason, you think you’re better off being the way you are now.”

“The way that I am now? That’s who I am. That’s who I’ve always been.”

“And that’s the way it’ll always be, right?” Damn right that’s the way it’ll always be. Nobody’s going to make me who they want me to be, some idealized image of the things they didn’t achieve for themselves. This guy clearly did not know who he was talking to. I wasn’t some weakling who was going to let things fall into place after following the rules for x amount of years; I wasn’t going to lead a cookie-cutter life full of the typical family photos and reunions and all that bullshit. I was going to be who I wanted to be, and I was going to do what I wanted to do. If only I could have gotten any of this out before Shearer continued. “Wrong. Because you can change. Not whenever you want, but when you are ready. You need to realize that some people are ready before others, and it is their duty to pursue the call at the moment it reaches out to them. ” He stood there for a few moments, as if waiting for a response from me, but I was not going to give him anything. There he was, trying to frighten me into following his rules and becoming the student he wanted me to be, as if the principal of a public high school has any right to tell people what they should and should not be doing.

“Are we done?”

It was two minutes before my poetry class started when Ms. Richards told me that we had an exam that day. I had missed the classes discussing the material we were to be tested on, but I was still responsible for the material nonetheless. I was a victim of circumstance.

            “Whoa there, you’re telling me that I have to recall facts and information that I don’t have and didn’t even know I had to know for today?”

            “Despite your poorly-phrased summing up of the situation, yes, you are correct.”

            “That doesn’t seem very logical. Am I wrong?”

            “You are not wrong. However, the rules are the rules. You weren’t sick, you were merely absent.”

            “A forced absence! I was suspended.”

            “For something that you yourself did. Which would mean ultimately it is your fault that you are in this situation, and nobody else’s.”

            “Give me a break, here.”

            “I’m sorry, I cannot. I didn’t come over here to discuss, but merely to inform.”

I thought about grabbing my balls and telling her to inform those, but using my better judgment I merely kicked the leg of my desk and paid her no more attention. She stood looking over me for a few moments before mustering up a “if you have a problem, take it up with Principal Shearer” and heading back to the front of the room to begin distributing tests.

The sun fell behind the clouds and the clock struck 3:30. Thinking I could get out of a lose-lose situation, I found myself walking briskly towards the school exit. The eyes of students at their lockers seemed to be focused on me, and as I got closer and closer to the light at the end of the tunnel I had a feeling that I was being led to something. My suspicions were confirmed when I finally felt fresh air once again, only to see a circle of kids, tens, maybe even a hundred, surrounding the area around my parked car. Steven placed himself in the middle of the circle and paced around, doing his best impression of a hype man trying to pump the crowd up. All the students gave in and a slow clap ensued. After the spectacle was complete, I made my presence known. The crowd opened up for me and I entered the arena. Steven would not even give me the benefit of acknowledging my presence; he was now merely squatting, slapping the pavement in order to convey his supposed dominance over it. The bruises on his face made it hard for me to picture him as anything other than my punching bag. I still could not believe he had the gall to think this was an appropriate course of action. I had won fair and square, but humiliating himself as much as possible seemed to be part of Steven’s MO.

Steven stood up, cracked his neck and his knuckles, brought that deviant stare back into my gaze, and bluntly said, “let’s do this,” as if our lives depended on it. His might have. He got into a sparring pose and seemed as if he were going to approach this a bit more strategically than last time. He circled me, and I rotated my body to make sure he was constantly in sight. As I did, I found my eyes wandering towards members of the crowd. There was Rebecca, who seemed to want nothing more than to see me get what I deserved. How she could still like Steven was beyond me, particularly after he had taken advantage of her like that. I saw Doug hitting his fist against his palm, seemingly full of more rage and will to fight than even I was at the moment. Suddenly, Steven reminded me I had business I was supposed to be attending to and cheap-shotted me in the stomach. I keeled over, more from the surprise than actual pain, and almost instinctively raised my left leg to his chest. The weak, wounded boy fell over almost immediately.

This was pathetic. One punch last time, one kick now? Who was this kid pretending to be? He lay on the floor for a moment, stunned at his own weakness. I imagined his other eye just as black, and he now looked like a raccoon, at a loss for how to possibly defend himself against this bear of a man. He tried to stand up but could not by himself. Doug took a step forward, raised his hands in the air, and yelled “That’s it!” The crowd moaned and Steven tried to stand up again.

“Bullshit! This is not fair!”

“The rules are the rules my friend.” But Doug was not in charge, and there were no rules laid out. There didn’t need to be. This was my problem and Steven’s problem, and all the fanfare played no part into how we were going to settle this. Without saying a word, I walked over to Steven and helped him up. The few students who had taken Doug’s word suddenly came back and the circle was full once again. Steven winced a little as I got him to his feet, and I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Quit being such a pussy.” I let go, turned around, and took a few steps away. I stayed turned toward the crowd but I could feel Steven’s rage building towards me. He was all-but motionless, but his breaths became deeper and longer, and his pain had clearly subsided to the point that he felt physically capable again. I stood for god knows how long, waiting for him to do what I could not believe he had not done yet. I finally could feel him approaching and turned around. I clenched my hand into a fist and closed my eyes. He grabbed my shoulder, turned me, and I relaxed my fist. I brought my arm up slowly toward him, but he hit me square in the cheek with a fist of his own. It did not hurt as much as it stung, almost like a shot at the doctor’s office. The cool air made the sting last, and Steven quickly hit me on my other cheek. The crowd let out a loud roar and it was clear what they had wanted to see all along, since over a week ago. I gave it to them.

I half-heartedly threw another punch, which Steven easily avoided. He jumped behind me and put me in a headlock. This was almost crossing the line, but just as soon as he got me in it he was throwing me to the ground. He jumped on top of me and began pummeling my face, clearly at odds with his feelings of vengeance. I heard only claps, and nobody seemed to be doing anything else. Even Doug was getting off on Steven’s rage. After what could have been ten solid strikes to the face, I decided I’d play dead. I turned my face to the pavement and closed my eyes. I could feel Steven wanting to hit me one more time, but he did not. I continued to lie down on the hard pavement with my eyes closed for what must have been like a long time. There were no more footsteps of students walking away, no more engines revving. I did not open my eyes but figured I was lying there all alone. Everyone else was at home, with their families, or hanging out with their friends, or on the phone discussing what they had just witnessed. Whether they felt bad, or proud of Steven, or disappointed that I did not put up a better fight I did not know. I figured I’d lie there for a while.