by R. D. Power
Like many gorgeous girls, Jennifer felt it was her birthright to capture and discard any boy she pleased. Jennifer had a well-deserved reputation for being callous and capricious with boys. She found she had power over boys and became addicted to it. Jennifer dismissed Robert on first sight as a vagrant in the making. Even Kristen, who would never need a man to rely on, couldn’t defy evolution enough to overcome this instinct. She, too, assumed from his appearance that he was indigent and low-class, unworthy of her.
Jennifer determined it might be fun to play with the cute boy for a while—to tease, taunt, and lure him—with full intentions of marooning him as soon as he made a beachhead. That he would fall for her was certain. Everyone with enough testosterone to qualify as male had since she began developing curves two years previous. That there had to be a rejection stage was also patent. How better to assert complete domination?
Jennifer commenced the game. She took off her jacket. She was wearing a tight red shirt and blue jeans. “Watch,” she mentioned to Kristen, “he’ll stare at me.” Hands clasped behind her behind, she meandered up close to him looking at the ground. Coyly, she raised her eyes to meet his, then quickly lowered her gaze. Demurely inclining her head toward him, she again raised her eyes, but this time stared daringly for a few seconds before again averting her eyes. He was hypnotized. To finish him off, she turned sideways, jutted out her chest, tossed her hair, gazed again at him over her shoulder, and smiled invitingly.
Being unable to disengage the stare, he walked into the tree and bagged himself. She erupted in laughter and said, “Are you all right?”
Struck dumb by this immaculate vision, all he could manage was a nod and a blush, while maintaining his gape at her incomparable face. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop himself until she turned and walked away. She’d attracted many boys before, but she’d never known such exaltation. I have complete power over this boy, mused the smug lass.
After Robert recovered, Kristen, who was wearing a knitted white sweater with a colorful log cabin on the chest, came over to see if she could command his attention, too. She had no interest in the teen, but wanted to test how appealing she might be to a guy, so she ambled up to him, smiled, and stuck out her flat chest, hoping he’d walk into another tree.
“Nice sweater,” he noted. “What’s that?” he said, pointing at the log cabin. “The little house on the prairie?”
Kristen, who admired a sharp tongue except when it was lashing her, blushed and retreated to her cousin’s side. Jennifer laughed. That was enough for today. The game shall recommence at a time of her choosing. Bill, who’d seen the girls near Robert, told them to come in. “Stay away from him, both of you. Understand?”
When he finished the chore, Robert came to the door for payment. Kristen answered and promptly shut the door in his face with a giggle. He rang the bell again, and she did the same thing. The next time he rang, Lisa broke the impasse and let him in. “Krissy, behave,” she said.
While Lisa fetched his money, the teens stood in the hallway glaring at each other. Lisa returned, handed him his payment and walked off. Kristen, anxious to repay him for the insult he’d greeted her with, said, “My mother thinks you’re some kind of genius because your parents were. I think this nut fell pretty far from the tree.” He sneered, but said nothing, so she continued. “I think I can classify you. An IQ below seventy is a moron, below fifty an imbecile, below thirty an idiot, and below that—you.”
“I want you to do something for me, but I think you’d tattle on me if I said it straight out, so I’ll give you a hint that I hope you’ll understand: it begins with ‘f’ and ends in ‘uck off.’”
She smirked at him. Never before had she encountered someone who could match her jibe for jibe. She’d met her match.
He continued, “So, Krissy—”
“My name is Kristen. My family calls me Krissy.”
“I’ll jot that in my diary, Taylor. Where’s your sister?”
“You mean Jenny? She’s my cousin.”
“I should’ve figured there wouldn’t be such a wide range of looks within the same family.”
“Ha. Ha. Jenny’s here every weekend. I can call her if you want, but I should warn you—she’s used much better looking guys than you as a doormat. She forgot you even before you reeled your tongue back in. Come on, we’ll go see her. I want to see her laugh at the thought that you would have a prayer for her.”
“Never mind,” he replied, thinking he’d better be careful about trying to outwit this one. Bill came in at that point and saw his daughter talking to Robert. Seeing the displeasure on her father’s face, Robert quickly quit the Taylor abode.
“I warned you to keep your distance from him, young lady, and I meant it,” Bill pronounced. It was bad enough Owens was a delinquent, he was also a boy. Bill had drilled into Kristen the virtues of staying away from men, since they only think about one thing. Actually, that’s not a fair charge. Most men think about sports and music, too—and how many women they’d get if only they were a pro football player or a rock star.
•
Three more months brought the school year’s surcease, and with it, the Taylors left for their cottage northwest of London on the eastern shore of Lake Huron. The twins and their cousin Jennifer spent the entire summer there with Lisa every year. Bill came up on weekends.
Robert stayed in Kilworth with nothing to do. He yearned to play baseball, but he had no money. He looked around the house for money to steal, but found nothing. At summer’s end, he called Lisa to ask about getting his parents’ money. She informed him that their will specified he couldn’t get access to his trust fund until age nineteen, though it did allow small disbursements if the public guardian approved. Lisa made arrangements for him to get a hundred dollars per month from the fund.
With his first hundred, he got a buzz cut, a used baseball glove, and his first new clothes in years. Privation having been his lot since his family died, he felt richer than the queen of England, but he soon discovered that one hundred dollars is a trifle.
Chapter Two
She’s Causing Him Woe
On the first day of high school, the girls noticed a new guy at the bus stop. Robert Owens had grown five inches over the past few months. Having outgrown every piece of clothing he owned, he was forced buy a whole new set of secondhand clothing, but he was sporting new attire for the first day. His short haircut showed off his pleasant face.
The bus for the Catholic school always came first, followed shortly thereafter by the public one. Robert chose public school, even though the Catholic one was much closer; he’d have gone any distance to avoid anything to do with religion. As the Catholic school bus pulled up to the stop, several female heads were turned to the right, staring through the windows at him. Who is that? they wondered.
One said, “Isn’t that that Owens boy?”
Kristen looked when she heard his name and couldn’t believe the transformation.
“He’s kind of hot,” Terri Zylstra observed.
“Yeah, not bad at all,” seconded Karen Chan, with a glance at her boyfriend, Trevor Larsen, who reacted with a menacing sneer at the low-class rogue.
Ryan Olsen, noting that his goddess, Jennifer, was studying Robert with interest, observed, “Look at the way the ugly fag is standing there, as if he’s real cool.”
Jennifer returned, “Well, I think he’s really cute. You’re just jealous.”
“Of that dumb ass? I could beat the crap out of him,” Ryan declared.
“Yeah, right,” Jennifer said with a smirk. “Get out there and put him in his place,” the troublemaker taunted with a snicker. Kristen smiled to underline that her cousin was being sarcastic, but Ryan interpreted the smile as concurrence and resolved to do as they suggested.
On the bus home, he and two friends planned an ambush at the bus stop. Their bus normally arrived about ten minutes before the public school bus. Ryan, Trevor, and a third bully, Bret Walker, would “rearra
nge his face.” Overhearing this, Kristen attempted to dissuade them, but to no avail.
“You and your cousin were the ones who said we should put him in his place,” Ryan retorted dismissively.
Jennifer wasn’t on the bus, having gone to her home.
“I never said that. My cousin said it, but she didn’t really mean it,” Kristen protested, but they had decided their course, and that was that.
When he stepped off his bus, Robert saw the three girding for a tussle. Many of the rest of Kilworth’s Catholic high school kids were there as well. Ringside seats to the fight of the month they had, and they sensed a good, old-fashioned blood bath. His first instinct was to run, but he was surrounded and didn’t want to be considered spineless, so he tried to joke his way out of it: “I think you’ve got me really scared, don’t I?” No one laughed.
“We’re here to put you in your place as she suggested,” avowed Ryan, pointing to Kristen.
“No!” she said, “I did not say that. Don’t hurt him.”
They didn’t listen.
As the bullies closed in, Robert essayed another tactic. “One at a time, okay? Three against one is not fair!” Nothing. “If you come in all at once, I’ll get each one of you when you’re alone!” That threat seemed to unnerve Trevor, but he stayed put as Ryan and Bret stood their ground.
Robert, remembering some tips Gunnar had given him on the basics of boxing, turned toward the leader and, with all his weight behind it, applied a direful fist to Ryan’s jaw. That stunned him. The follow up jab sent him down in a heap. Upon realizing the caliber of his opponent, he stayed down, feigning insensibility. As Ryan fell to the ground, the two other assailants attacked Robert. Trevor hit him hard from the left, bloodying the Owens nose. Bret hit next, a left poke to the right eye.
Ooh, that’ll be black tonight, murmured the audience. Kristen was terrified as the fight unfolded and human damage mounted.
Robert next turned to Bret, hitting him hard in the ribcage and stomach. Down he went to his knees, out of air and out of the fight temporarily. Meanwhile, Trevor contributed by smashing Robert over the head with his heavy book bag. That felled him, but he got up quickly and hit him in the mouth. Trevor responded by charging at Robert and knocking him down; he clumped the prone boy in the stomach. Kristen covered her eyes.
Robert was hurt, but enraged to such a degree that he got up and punched Trevor so hard in the face, he stumbled away dazed and bloodied. Bret, able to breathe again, then punched him in the cheek. Robert, nearly spent by this time, turned and smashed him in the nose, breaking it. Bret ran home, blood pouring from his proboscis. As Robert fell to his knees exhausted, Ryan righted himself and came over to assert his dominance. He stormed into Robert, knocking him over and finishing his ability to defend himself. Trevor returned and kicked him again. Robert lay in the fetal position clutching his head.
With the horde on their side, the two were ready to continue kicking the unpitied boy, but Kristen stood in their way, saying, “No! The fight is over. Go home.” Satisfied they’d won, they left. The crowd dispersed, a couple of friends patting Ryan and Trevor on the back. Kristen came over to help Robert, but backed off when she saw the rage in his eyes.
“Are you satisfied now?” he sobbed. It had been a long time since he’d cried. He’d fought back tears under the provocation of fear, of pain, of ire, of humiliation, and of loss, but when all five coincided, he was powerless against their onslaught. With the fear of getting hurt, with the injuries he’d sustained hurting him to the very bone, with the fury he felt in being ganged up on, with the embarrassment of many witnesses seeing his pummeling, with his status as the impecunious orphan boy being the chief cause of his continuing misery; with all that, the emotion burst forth in piteous wails. “Am I now … in … in my place?”
“No. I, I tried to stop them. I didn’t want—”
“Get away from me!” he yelled. He endeavored to get up, but couldn’t, so he reassumed the fetal position, helpless against the torrent of tears, and covering his face to hide them.
“You need help,” Kristen insisted. “Let me help you home.”
“No! Leave me alone!” he screamed, trying to get to his knees, but collapsing to a sitting position. Blood, dirt, and tears smudged together to render him a dreadful sight. His face had begun to swell, his eye to blacken. Kristen was aghast and felt terrible for him. Since he wouldn’t accept her help, she gathered his things. A few of the mob had emptied his book bag and scattered the contents far and wide.
After a few more minutes, Robert struggled to his feet, steadied himself and tottered home. It was a sad sight to behold, his tremulous gait observed from behind: head downcast, ears reddened, shoulders slumped, arms enfolding his aching gut. Kristen lowered her head and walked home.
That evening she mustered the courage to take his things back to him.
“Zere’s a girl here to see you,” Elspeth said, opening his door. “He’s hurt. Ze bullies beaten him up. He said he vas not vanting to vight, but zey attack him anyvay,” Elspeth informed her.
Kristen nodded and looked to see Robert on his bed, lying on his side facing the wall. “Hello,” she ventured. “I brought your things back to you. I think I got them all.”
Elspeth left.
“Thanks. Now go away,” he submitted.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m just peachy,” he said to the wall.
“I think you should be proud of the way you handled yourself. You needn’t be feeling sorry for yourself.”
He chuckled caustically as he sat up and turned to face her. “Do you know what I miss the most?” he asked.
“Pardon?” she responded, taken aback at the bruises and swelling on his face.
“Pancakes,” he said.
“I don’t under—”
“Well, not the pancakes per se—the feeling I got on Sunday mornings when I woke up to breakfast. Mom used to make homemade pancakes and bacon every Sunday. We’d have the pancakes with maple syrup or whipped cream and strawberries. Funny thing, I never knew how much I loved it until it was gone … I had a family, you know. Then, all of a sudden I didn’t. Just like that.” He snapped his finger. “Gone.”
“May I ask what happened to them?” she asked with a shaky voice. He went to his trunk, rummaged around amongst the disarrayed remnants of his dead family, found an old newspaper clipping, and handed it to her. She read to herself:
Worcester The crash of a private plane at the Worcester Regional Airport yesterday had tragic consequences for a family of four from Framingham, for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and beyond. Killed in the crash were Dr. Jill Owens, a nationally-renowned heart surgeon and research professor at MIT, her husband, Dr. James Owens, a leading biochemist at the university, and their four-year-old daughter, Tara.
The Federal Aviation Administration has begun an investigation into the crash and was unwilling to comment on possible causes at this stage. Witnesses said, however, that the Owens’ plane almost hit a commuter plane that had taxied onto the runway in front of their plane. The pilot, who had just taken off, veered to miss the airliner, but lost control, and his plane hit the ground, killing all three occupants. He was a highly trained, experienced pilot, having flown F-4 and F-15 fighter-jets for the U.S. Air Force in the 1970s.
Dr. George Liu, a spokesperson for MIT, said, “This is a terrible loss for the university, the country and even the world. These two scientists were engaged in groundbreaking research that could have benefited thousands of people.”
Both were popular professors. Many of their students cried when told of the accident.
The Owens leave behind an eight-year-old son, Robert, who fortunately decided to go to a birthday party instead of the weekly family outing in their small plane. He will live with his grandmother in Canada.
Teary-eyed, she handed the clipping back to him. He repined, “Life just went on for everyone else. They paused for a minute to say, ‘Ah, poor orphan boy. That’
s too bad. Oh, well, let’s eat. Pass the salt, will ya?’ I lost my parents, my sister, my friends, my cat, my home, my country—everything.”
“What happened to your grandmother?”
“She died almost two years ago now. I never once thanked her for looking after me. Not once in four and a half years. I wouldn’t let myself love her because I figured she was old, and she’d go any time, too. I was right. I found her dead in her bed; she’d died of a stroke overnight. ‘Don’t leave me all alone!’ I screamed at her as I shook her and shook her. I sat there next to her body wondering what to do. Obviously I couldn’t leave her there, but what would the police do with me when I called them? Put me in an orphanage or with strangers?
“Just try to imagine the pure terror of realizing you have no one in the entire world. I was so angry and so scared. I’m still scared. I try to convince myself none of it’s real, that maybe it’s this long nightmare I’m trapped in. If I could only wake myself up, I could have pancakes, you know? You can’t even begin to comprehend my shitty life, yet you stand there and callously accuse me of feeling sorry for myself.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. I just need someone, anyone, to understand that I wasn’t always this poor, beat-up orphan you see before you. I had a family. I had a life!” he vociferated as he plunged his fists into his bed. Tears ran down his cheeks. He wiped them with his sleeve. Kristen, too, began to cry. “I’ve had to change a lot to deal with what happened, but I’m not this scum that people see me as.”
“I don’t think—”
“You saw in the article that my mom and dad were professors at MIT, but they were much more. Mom won an Olympic bronze medal. Here it is here,” he said, pulling it out of his trunk and putting it on. “My dad was an awesome baseball player. He actually made the majors for one game before blowing out his shoulder. Here’s his San Francisco Giants jersey.” He put it on. “Before that he was a fighter pilot. They were incredible people. That’s who I came from. That’s who I am! But all I am to you and your cousin is a worthless foster boy.”
