Why

by Michael Edward

  I hit the locker again and then I stop. He wasn’t moving and I’ll never forget his words. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Then he walked away and that was the last time he or his friends picked on me.

  I remember the next year it happened again, a different person, but the same thing. This guy ran his mouth to me everyday, in the hall, on the playground, where and whenever. Then one day he did it in front of a girl I liked and that was it. I snapped. I turned around and walked up to his face. I yell words that to this day I don’t use, but the end result was interesting.

  “You’re no threat to me.” That’s what he said. To this day I don’t know what that was supposed to mean. I’m no threat to him. I already knew that, that’s why it wasn’t me picking on him. It’s funny though, because years later while at a concert I see him again. We meet and he acts like we’re buddies, so that’s what we become and still to this day we are, the few times our paths cross that is. He’s a good guy.

  A couple years later I would feel that fear again. This time it would be worse.

  Worse, that one word sparks distraction. I return from my memories and I’m sitting in my chair. I see the clock on the screen. Two hours and twenty pages later, that’s good. It’s still early. Then I feel the cold and my vision blackens.

  When my vision clears and I become aware, I realize that I’m in the back of a large pick-up truck. There are multiple police officers in the back with me. I see the shotguns. I’m holding a shotgun and then I remember. I know where I am. I’m in a scene from T.B.O.T.E. Two.

  Again I’m pulled from my travels. My vision flashes multiple times until I’m sitting in my chair. I hear footsteps and then I hear the dogs. There is movement on the floor above me. That’s not right though. There should be no movement this late into the night but there is. I have to get up and check.

  I’m back. It was Perry. For reasons I don’t know, he’s home. I thought he was staying at his girl’s house but I could have been wrong.

  I remember where I was. I have the ability to focus my thought and travel to that memory. I can do it. I just need focus. Music, I need music. I reach for my headphones then put them on my head. I grab the remote and press play. It takes less than a second. My hands are typing and my vision blackens. I’m going to purposely travel back to where I was. I was in Ohio. I had faced two bullies in a row and I came away ok. This third time was different.

  In the apartments I had a friend who was from Kentucky. We hung out a lot and one day while taking his dog for a walk something happened. There was a lake behind the complex and there were woods. My friend and I were walking his dog when the small beagle suddenly walks off the path. The dog walks straight up to a group of guys who were sitting in the woods smoking. We didn’t even know they were there until the dog went to them. My friend looked at me as he went off the path into the woods to get his dog. He bent down and picked up the dog and started back.

  I see the guys in the woods stand. They watch my friend then they start behind him. He gets to the path and with my eyes I point behind him. We start back towards the apartments. We heard them behind us and we felt the small rocks they were throwing at us but we didn’t turn around.

  My family’s apartment was on the end near the woods on the other side of a small creek. We walked fast without turning around. They said silly words trying to taunt us into looking at them but we didn’t. We walked fast and didn’t stop until we were in my apartment.

  I was hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn’t the end. It was the beginning of a long three weeks. Those guys messed with me everyday the first week. As soon as I got off the bus they’d be there. At first I’d just walk past them and eventually get to my apartment but on the second week they were getting bored. They started pushing me and trying to get me mad but I didn’t get mad.

  One day they tried to pin me in but I got away. They chased me through the woods and across the creek into a nearby neighborhood. I was losing most of them but there were a few who were keeping up. I knew the area well and I ran with a destination in mind. I ran through yards climbing fences, one of them had a dog and it chased me but I made it to the other side jumping up onto the fence and over. I saw a couple guys jump into the yard and when that dog chased them back over I was able to increase my lead. I crossed back over the creek and started up the back parking lot. I walked toward my apartment and that’s when I saw my little brother Joey.

  Joey walked around the corner and he saw my clothes then he saw the guys walking out of the woods behind me. He knew what was happening and we both walked to our apartment. I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  In school I had a friend. She was tough. I mean she was tough, probably as tough as the toughest male in our class. She rode the bus home with me and when we got off the bus they were there. She walked up to them and started yelling. She was tougher than all those big guys and on that day they listened.

  My path was clear for the rest of the week but on the third week I wasn’t sure. I had two friends in the complex that were pretty big and a little nutty. They walked me home and while they were with me nobody messed with me. I believed they forgot, or were tired of messing with me, so I told my two buddies that they didn’t have to walk me to the door.

  That was my mistake. There were two rows of townhouses and I had to walk between them to get to ours at the end. I was twenty yards away from the end when I saw them. They walk around the corners at ends. I see the two guys that for some reason hate me. I can say I don’t know why because up to this point I hadn’t said three words to them but still they hated me. I turned around and at the end of the rows I saw more of them. I’m backing up trying to figure out how I would get away. I knew that I could go forward. There were like ten or eleven in front of me, so I turned and ran the other way toward the smaller group of five or six. I had a better chance of getting past the six than the eleven. I saw a kid I knew on one of the ends as they prepared for my charge.

  I knew this kid on the end. We were just talking earlier at school during lunch. He didn’t hate me. He was there only because of the others. He is the one I ran at and right before I reached him and as the others tried to grab me, I ducked down and slide in the grass. I was on my feet before they knew it and I was gone. I ran as fast as I could through that complex. There was no way they were catching me. I knew where I was going. I turned around as I was running; I didn’t see any of them.

  I wasn’t worried. I ran straight to the complex office but when I went to open the door it didn’t open. It was locked. I panicked and started knocking on the door. I knew someone had to be in there but no one was or at least no one answered the door. I turned around when I heard them.

  The two that hated me were in front and there were at least twelve guys behind them. I was pinned in and there was no way to escape. The two that hated me, there was a small one and of course a big one. I keep scanning to the parking lot looking and hoping somebody would help.

  “No one’s going to help you.”

  He saw me. He knew what I was looking for. I didn’t respond and that’s when I saw him, the maintenance man for the complex. I raised my arms so he could see me as I yelled to him. He stopped and walked over to us causing the crowd of teens to separate. He looked at me then he looked at the others all around us.

  “Yes sir. I’m just locked out of my apartment and I need in.”

  “Ok, wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  He saw the look in my eyes and he heard the desperation in my tone. He said yes and I walked with him to his cart. He told me he’d take me home right away. I got on and we started through the complex to my apartment. All the teens that were chasing me were now running along the side of the road as we drove.

  To his credit he asked me if I was in trouble and I said no. I said they were being goofy. Why I didn’t tell him the truth I don’t know but I didn’t. He drove me around and when we were at my front door the teens were all around us. The
y were quiet, waiting for the guy to leave but the small one who hates me couldn’t control his temper. When the door opened and I entered he pushed the man away and stuck his foot inside. At that point in my life I’d never seen a teen push an adult but this guy did. His foot was inside but I was quick. I slammed the door with his foot in it. I reached for a ball bat that we kept behind the door. I slam the head of the bat down on his foot and he pulls it out. I shut the door and move away. I hear yelling and I hear the man telling the teens to leave and they do, or at least I thought they did.

  They were just waiting for the maintenance man to leave and when he did they returned. I was still in the middle of the living room, holding the bat. I heard them outside yelling at me and cussing. They started slamming into my door and pounding on the window. From my location in the living room I can see into the back patio. I see some of them walk to the sliding glass door and try to open it. It was unlocked but there was a ball bat in the bottom and they couldn’t open the door more than an inch. I saw the look of frustration on the big guy’s face. He turned to the fence and started kicking it.

  This was all new to me. I didn’t think to call the Police. I sat there in the living room and watched as it took less than three minutes for them to tear down the entire patio fence. When they were done they walked to the siding glass door and pointed inside at me. I didn’t move. I watched them leave the patio but even when I thought they were gone I didn’t move. I didn’t move until Joey came home from school. He saw me in the living room and then he saw the fence.

  “You ok?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mom is going to be mad.”

  “I know.”

  We were right. When my Mom came home she was mad. She was furious. Someone attacked her boy and she was going to take care of it. I wouldn’t tell her their names. I didn’t know them, only a couple of their first names. I did though tell her everything that had happened in the last three weeks. Her anger grew and she left the apartment. I didn’t know what she was doing but I did know that if she did the wrong thing that they’d tear me apart at school. What I remember next is not what I expected.

  It was several hours later and I was upstairs in my room. Joey comes in and says Mom wants you downstairs. I asked him what she wanted and he said that I wouldn’t believe it. He was right. I walked downstairs and the first thing I see is almost every single kid that tore our fence down. There was like ten of them in my living room. I didn’t know what was happening. I was very nervous and then I saw the two that hated me. They were talking to my Mom. They were not being smart with her at all. She gave them a choice. She could call the cops and press charges, or they could leave her son alone. They chose to leave me alone for the rest of my high school career. That was my Mom. Don’t cross her when it comes to her kids.

  My vision fades to black and then it clears. I sit in my chair staring down. I see my fingers typing. I’m getting faster and I’m making less errors. The lights flash and I turn around. I yell out to see who’s at the top of the stairs. No one answers so I get up and go look. I see nobody. I walk upstairs and make the rounds of the house. While upstairs I walk outside but less than ten minutes later I’m back downstairs in the basement, sitting in front of this computer.

  Thoughts, thoughts, there are too many thoughts. Why? Why so many? What am I doing? I don’t know? Am I talking to myself? I don’t know. I know this. I have six stories that could easily equal one of the best epics ever made but I can’t sell it. The reason I can’t sell it is because I really haven’t tried. That makes me mad. I kept coming into this dark, cold basement rewriting and rewriting until all I see is blackness. I’ve lost control or maybe I never had it. Maybe there is no such thing as control, I don’t know. I don’t care. I need focus but I have none. I need trust in myself and I cannot find it. Why? Why do this to myself? I know better.

  I remember when my wife read the first thirty pages of Three. I asked if she saw that coming and she said no, no way. And there is no way. Three is where we begin to drop the hammer down on the story. Hopefully it takes one down directions they were not ready for and hopefully they like it. I know I do, maybe I’m blind I don’t know. My head hurts and I want to stop but then I get a thought that gives me something to focus on.

  My memory might be wrong but I know I felt like my family thought that I was nuts. It was constant talk, like I was still that guy who was afraid to leave his house. That makes me mad because I never lied to them. I told them when I was having panic attacks, and I took their lack of understanding. I wasn’t lying. I was telling them the truth. I was at home to work on the story.

  The project has manifested out of control but maybe it’s supposed to. What did we know six stories in one month that was the original plan; it ended up being over five hundred thousand words. We didn’t lose focus. We are still on that adventure and it’s looking better, or at least it feels better. I feel like I’m finding confidence and self-trust. I know I have a long way to go but maybe my travels will help.

  I take a deep breath and stand. I stretch out and stare around the basement. Its cold and one of the lights is still out. Why I didn’t change the bulb by now is maddening. My wife is right about me in that area of life. It’s not my strong point.

  I wake in my chair. I’m cold, really cold and instantly I know why. My shirt is off. I’m sitting in my chair with my shirt off. How? Why? I was standing and now I’m sitting without a shirt on. I don’t remember. I look at the computer and I see what time it is. I have only an hour before those who work in the house begin to get up. Where did the last hour go? What did I type in the last ten pages or so?

  Right now I’m not sure what is real. I’m confused and I need focus. I need focus.

  “Focus!”

  My yell is loud. I hope I don’t wake anybody but I just can’t stop. My mind is gone. It’s fried just like my eyes. I think I’ve messed up. It late and I’m not projecting to sleep for a few more hours. I know what that means, there’s a good chance I will sleep the day away. I can’t do that. I wanted to spend time with my kids. They don’t have school tomorrow and I just didn’t want to waste the day again. Why’d I do this? What is this that I’m doing? My trust, my faith is gone. Why?

  I remember when we lived in Kentucky we were poor. My Mom babysat twelve kids and had three of her own. Things were tight. We went to a catholic school and it was expensive.

  There is an interruption. I have memory of this. This very moment is something I know. I have had this experience before. I refocus and I travel through the void to the memory of grade school in Kentucky. I remember we were behind on tuition, it was the year that the nun principle had retired and there was a new principle.

  The new guy wasn’t a priest and he wasn’t as understanding as the one he replaced. He said that we had to pay but we couldn’t and there was nothing my Mom could do. He said if she wanted her kids to go to school there then payment was needed.

  My Mom didn’t know what to do so she went to the head priest. The next day he told the principle that we didn’t have to pay and we didn’t, not that year or the next. There was nothing the principle could do. As a kid going to a catholic school I thought it was like God himself told that man to do that. Now I understand the positioning of power and who had it but that head priest was a good man, and he took care of us.

  My vision fades and I’m sitting in front of my computer. I have one word in my head, faith. Faith, what does it mean to have faith, and do I have it? Where do you place it, when do you place it, and who’s going to steal it from you?

  I know that the people who surround me have faith in me. Are they crazy? Do they know what they’re doing? Do I? Can I? Time will tell. Not me. Not now. I’m done. I can do no more, no more right now.

  Five hours later I’m in the basement, staring at the computer. That’s the way it is. One minute it’s six-something in the morning, then I wake and its twelve noon.

  Time is not always my friend. Almost always I’m running
from time, almost always I’m running. Chasing me? Is there anything? No, but I always feel like it.

  I remember. Remember everything is what I do. I experience everything from birth to now, still working on the future. Bad memories are few and far between but I have them. We all do. Mine generally have common denominators, me not acting right, not being honorable and things like that. Nothing, I can do nothing from my basement. There is nothing around me.

  This isn’t right. The blackness roars from behind me as it comes up and over, devouring my thoughts and vision. No! No! I know where I am. I know what I’m doing. I’m remembering, but why?

  Thoughts form and fade throughout my conscious without control. Ten minutes ago I was upstairs, I’d been up and down I know this but I remember. I kissed my children and hugged them then I left. I came down here to the computer. It was on and the music was programmed. My candles burn and the upstairs is secured. Michael has the kids, they have no school today so that means there will be noise on the floor above me but that’s ok. Michael and my oldest, Jessica, have the upstairs.

  This blackness it is everywhere but the roars are fading and distant. Today is my day. I will not lose focus. I will work on the story and we will end this. End this. That’s funny. This will never end but I will inch closer to my ending.

  That’s what people do. They blink and they are near ending. Life can go fast and if one isn’t paying attention, they wake one day and have regret. Regret is not something I have a lot of. Failure maybe spread throughout my memories more than I like but regret is not something I give power to. Failure on the story isn’t something I fear. I remember my dreams, I know that with my ending or I should say if I end first the story will be told.

  The Beginning of the End is too good of a story not to be told. It’s only negative is me, my doubt, my hesitations.