A Boy and His Dragon

by Michael J. Bowler

  A shadow fell across his lap as Bradley Wallace examined the contents of his lunch bag with obvious disgust. He was seated at a table in what would have to be called the cafeteria because there was nothing else even close, but which was really just a large room the school mothers used for rummage sales and bazaars.

  It consisted of numerous long tables lined with chairs, at which the upper grade students ate their lunches under the usually watchful eye of a lunch monitor, who ordinarily patrolled the premises like a Gestapo officer, ready to pounce on anyone who even thought of starting a food fight.

  But as Bradley Wallace looked up to confront the source of the shadow, which he already knew had to be John Wagner, he wished, for once, for interference from the lunch monitor. Where were they when you needed them, anyway?

  Flanking Wagner, as usual, were Raley and Smith, who both appeared expectant, obviously looking forward to a good fight, or at least a good beating-up. Wagner wore his usual mocking sneer like a comfortable old sweater, and had his arms folded smugly across his thrust-out chest as he demanded to know just how Bradley Wallace had managed to disappear from the warehouse yesterday.

  Having anticipated the question, Bradley Wallace replied easily that he’d simply slipped out through another slit he found on the other side. Wagner’s eyes narrowed with wariness. “Yeah? Well what about curse crap, huh? You tryin’ to make us look stupid?”

  He angrily pushed at Bradley Wallace’s shoulder, knocking the bologna sandwich from the boy’s grasp. The sandwich split apart and hit the floor with a plop as the mayonnaise squirted out from underneath. His mother always did put on too much mayonnaise. Bradley Wallace feigned anger, but secretly thanked Wagner for giving him an excuse not to eat that disgusting sandwich. By this time, a heavy silence had fallen over the lunchroom, and all eyes were glued to the scene, eagerly anticipating some action. And still no lunch monitor appeared.

  “All I remember,” Bradley Wallace shrugged truthfully, “was you three guys ganging up on me, and me telling you to get lost. So why don’t you?”

  Wagner’s sneer dropped instantly, and cold contempt flashed across those vile grey eyes. “Make me,” came the all-too-familiar challenge.

  Bradley Wallace stared up at the other boy, and knew some action was expected of him. So he stood up and bravely faced off against his enemy. They were of equal height and similar build, and the outcome of a fight between them was unpredictable, despite Wagner’s cockiness.

  But Bradley Wallace made no move. He merely stared at his adversary, his features impassive, and his thoughts unreadable. Smith and Raley exchanged a quick look, beginning to wonder if Murphy was gonna freak out again or something.

  “Pound him, John,” Smith prodded, and Wagner tensed up as though to take a swing at Bradley Wallace. But before the situation could advance any further, the lunch monitor - Mrs. Wilson, a hulking mountain of a woman who looked like something from a Japanese horror movie - finally emerged from the small kitchen adjacent to the lunch room. She had something in her mouth, and resembled a fat cow chewing cud - she’d obviously been eating her own lunch. Sizing up the situation at a glance, the behemoth lumbered between the intervening tables - forcing many students to slide their chairs out of her titanic path or else they’d have been sideswiped like parked cars by a careening mac truck - and stopped before Wagner and Bradley Wallace.

  “You,” she barked, jabbing a fat finger at Wagner, “Go sit down over there.” She pointed to a table across the room.

  Wagner glared at her but a moment before complying. No one crossed Texas Mama (as she was affectionately known behind her gargantuan back), not even John Wagner. But he did manage to cast another threatening “You’re dead meat” look at Bradley Wallace before strutting like an arrogant rooster to the appointed table, his gang trailing behind like twin shadows.

  Texas Mama turned her pudgy face and fixed her beady little eyes, buried deep within sagging folds of fat, on Bradley Wallace, and indicated his overturned sandwich. “And you,” she continued, almost without pause, “clean up that mess and sit down. Any more trouble and you both go to the principal’s office.”

  Without awaiting a reply, or even an explanation, she turned (actually, it was hard to tell which was her front and which was her back) and plowed her way back toward the kitchen, daring anyone she passed to so much as snigger. But nobody was that stupid. They were too afraid of getting sat on.

  Bradley Wallace sighed, and plopped heavily down into his chair, legs shaking, heart pounding. That was close! He didn’t know how he’d fare in an actual fight with Wagner, but would rather not find out. He hated fighting, but didn’t really know why. Maybe he was chicken like everyone thought; after all, he’d never really been in a honest-to-goodness fight, always shying away from trouble before it could escalate to that point. But whatever the reason, he didn’t want to fight.

  As he fumbled with the smashed sandwich, Bradley Wallace suddenly felt as though he was being watched. Figuring Wagner was glaring at him again, Bradley Wallace determined to ignore the irritating sensation. But something in the back of his mind told him to turn and look, and when he did he saw, to his acute surprise, that it was not Wagner staring at him after all, but a girl. A girl? Staring at him? He must have mayonnaise on his back or something.

  This wasn’t just any girl staring at him, either. This was Janet Hobbs, who’d just joined his class this year and whom he regarded as the prettiest girl this side of Josette Du Pres. She had dark hair flowing loosely past her shoulders, a soft, gentle face, and large, inquiring brown eyes, with the longest eyelashes the boy had ever seen. Why on earth would she be staring at him?

  Realizing how stupid he must look staring back like a moron, Bradley Wallace raised a hand to wave in acknowledgement.

  Unfortunately, he raised the hand still holding the mangled bologna sandwich, and realized his blunder too late, after she put a delicate hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  Flushing red with embarrassment, he quickly lowered the sandwich and smiled sheepishly, turning away and silently cursing his stupidity. A short while later, he mustered the courage to sneak a peek in her direction, and she was talking to another girl beside her. Thank God!

  Unfortunately, both Wagner and Janet were in Bradley Wallace’s English class, and that made his assignment that day even more difficult. His English teacher was Sister Mary, a slight woman who always reminded him of a duck with her beak-like nose, minute blue eyes, and at least two chins (with a possible third lurking in the background), and one of her favorite assignments was the memorization and recitation of poetry, which Bradley Wallace wasn’t too fond of because he didn’t really understand it very well.

  Today was his turn to recite, and, as usual, he didn’t exactly know what the writer, a guy named Robert Frost, was trying to say. The presence of Wagner and Janet, after the cafeteria incident, only heightened his nervousness as he stood up before the class and easily recited “Fire and Ice.” (Memorization was pretty easy for him, at least.)

  “Some say the world will end in fire,

  Some say in ice.

  From what I’ve tasted of desire

  I hold with those who favor fire.

  But if it had to perish twice,

  I think I know enough of hate

  To say that for destruction ice

  Is also great

  And would suffice.”

  Unfortunately, understanding was not so easy.

  Bradley Wallace fumbled lamely with Sister Mary’s questions when he had finished, trying to ignore Wagner’s evil eye and Janet’s interested stare.

  He could feel himself sweating, and felt like a display in a museum, knowing he must look like a real dope up there. But Sister Mary was surprisingly understanding, merely instructing him to think about the poem some more and they would “discuss it another day.” Fortunately, that day never came.

  Managing to get through the remainder of his classes without meeting up with Wagner wasn’t easy, bu
t Bradley Wallace pulled it off, and with a deep sense of relief clambered aboard the rickety old school bus that would take him home to relative safety (if it didn’t break down again, that is).

  The bus dropped him off just up the block from his house, and Bradley Wallace skittered down the sidewalk, sweater dangling over his shoulders, and went around to the back gate. Today he was in luck - his mother wasn’t home (she’d left a note on the frig saying she went shopping), and neither was Katie (she was probably out beating up some little kid, he thought wryly). With the house to himself, he wouldn’t have to skulk around like a criminal just to spend time with his friends on “Dark Shadows.” He’d even be able to watch “The Adventures of Superman,” another favorite of his that directly preceded “Dark Shadows.”

  Snagging a piece of leftover birthday cake from the refrigerator, he passed through the vaulted, cathedral-high entry hall and moved down the narrow hallway adorned with photographs of himself and Katie in various stages of growth and which always reminded Bradley Wallace of those before and after fat pictures in magazines.

  Somehow luck was with him this day and he got through both programs and escaped the house before his mother or Katie returned home. Nonetheless, he had still been nervous and tense all during that hour, always straining with one ear for any sounds to indicate he might get caught. What a way to live. But “Dark Shadows” had been worth it today. He’d been right, it was Julia Hoffman Barnabas found in that room, and Angelique, who’d locked her up there, ended up having problems of her own. She sought to destroy the evil warlock Judah Zachary, who possessed the body of Gerard Stiles, but at the conclusion Judah discovered her treachery and prepared to kill her. Naturally, the upshot of that encounter would have to wait till tomorrow, but that was what made the show so much fun to watch, its cliffhanger endings. Grabbing another piece of cake and a couple of Ho Ho’s from the cupboard, Bradley Wallace set out for the Gully. Despite everything that had happened since last night, he couldn’t shake the memory of that strange object he’d discovered, and was determined to examine it more closely.

  Dropping down the incline to the Gully from the street, Bradley Wallace tramped over the dry grass and weeds to the old warehouse. It reminded him of a bum sitting forlornly on a park bench hoping for a handout. Nearing the slit, a feeling of apprehension crept slowly over the boy, seeping into his heart and chilling his soul. Something was different inside. He didn’t know what, or why, but he suddenly felt very frightened. Curiosity, however, mixed with a strange pull he couldn’t quite define, impelled him forward. He passed through the slit.

  Peering through the murky light that filtered in through the broken windows, Bradley Wallace focused his eyes on the area of the fallen rafter which, surrounded by dusky shadows, resembled a slumbering beast. All seemed as he’d left it the night before. And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different, amiss. Slowly, cautiously, eyes darting from side to side alertly, the uncertain boy pressed his way through the intervening rubble, and halted at the fallen joist. He sucked in a frightened breath - the beam had been pushed aside, revealing fully the gaping hole in which the boy had been trapped the night before. Someone’s been here, he realized, or something.

  Dropping to all fours, Bradley Wallace warily crawled to the lip of the cavity and peered inside. The glowing light was gone, but enough sunlight filtered into the warehouse to reveal the hole’s contents - nothing. The “thing” was gone. Leaning further over the edge, ever mindful of not slipping, the boy scanned the interior of the excavation more closely. Sure enough, whatever had been there had vanished without a trace.

  Pulling back from the lip, Bradley Wallace contemplated what might have happened to his discovery. Maybe someone else had come along and found it. Or maybe —- he stopped the thought in mid-sentence. Something moved, on the other side of the Masher, and the boy’s heart froze.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Scarcely daring to breath, Bradley Wallace listened, straining to hear any other sounds or movement. When nothing happened, he began to think maybe he just imagined it all, and let out the breath he’d been holding. Even he knew his imagination worked overtime.

  Nonetheless, he rose to his feet silently, alert as a jackrabbit.

  Plunk!

  He jumped. That was something falling, a board or an old piece of machinery. And it had been knocked over. Mustering all his courage, and fully aware that whatever was over there stood between him and his only means of escape, Bradley Wallace forced one foot in front of the other, moving ever so slowly and soundlessly around the rusted-out Masher. He must’ve noticed every single rust flake and dent in that machine as he eased along its bulk, afraid to even breathe out loud. Suddenly he stopped.

  A new sound caught him off-guard. It sounded like someone dragging a dead body along a gravel path. Whatever was back there wasn’t going to wait. It was coming around the Masher toward him.

  Frantic, but struggling with all his might to keep cool, Bradley Wallace scanned about for some sort of weapon. At first his eyes refused to separate any one object from the general blur. But then he saw it - a bent and twisted old crowbar. All pretense of stealth gone, he leaped for the bar and snatched it up, turning simultaneously to face his attacker.

  The dragging drew inexorably closer, and Bradley Wallace’s knuckles turned white, so hard was he gripping the crowbar, poised and ready to strike. What finally lumbered around the corner took the boy so by surprise that his lower jaw dropped and the crowbar stopped dead in mid-swing. He gaped in unabashed shock at the creature before him.

  It stood half as tall as him, though gauging its exact height was difficult at the moment as it sat on its haunches like a dog and regarded him curiously. It was definitely a four-legged beast, that much he could see; and each foot had four toes with long, rakingly sharp claws. The creature’s body was covered with thick, armor-like scales – dark red along the back, legs, and crown of the head, but crimson along the chest, stomach, and face. Massive, bone-like ridges ran from the head down the long, sinewy neck and following the curve of the back like a staircase, each ridge becoming smaller and smaller as they reached the end of the lengthy, twisting tail, the tip of which was spiked like a mace. Large, leathery webbed wings, covered at the edges by lighter scales, sprouted from the muscular shoulders just below the neck. The creature’s face was actually sort of cute, the boy noted - large nostrils, long, rounded muzzle, mouth shaped in a semi-smile, and large bony ridges above the twirling, scarlet eyes.

  And yet the ferocious rows of gleaming white teeth lining the massive jaws marred its cuteness. Bradley Wallace had seen pictures in books of such creatures, but he never expected to see one in person.

  It was a dragon!

  An actual, real live dragon, something he’d always thought to be mythical, like unicorns. And yet, here it was, regarding him thoughtfully. Bradley Wallace shook his head in confusion. Maybe he was dreaming, or spaced out on another of his imaginary adventures.

  But no, the solid weight of the crowbar clenched tightly in his fist was very real, and so, he realized, was the impossible creature he’d intended to use it on. Instinctively feeling that the dragon meant him no harm, Bradley Wallace lowered his weapon, which, given the size and apparent strength of his target, would no doubt have proved as ineffective as striking a rhino with a yardstick.

  The dragon’s glittering scarlet eyes never left the boy’s own, and Bradley Wallace thought he saw something in those eyes, almost like recognition. The beast seemed perfectly at ease in the boy’s presence, as if it had been expecting him. And even more strangely, knew him. But that wasn’t possible. None of this was possible.

  Suddenly the creature screeched so loudly the startled boy dropped his crowbar. It clattered to the ground and rolled out of his reach. But the dragon made not the slightest move toward him, or any gesture that could even be construed as threatening. It just continued creeling piteously, as though in great agony. And suddenly waves and waves of bitt
er hunger assailed the boy’s mind (not his stomach) and he realized that this was a newborn creature, and that the “thing” he’d found had been an egg, and that, like any newly born animal, the dragon was ravenous. But what did dragons eat, he wondered, fighting to control his thoughts against the assaulting hunger pangs. Meat flashed through his mind. But he didn’t have any meat. All he had were his Ho Ho’s and piece of cake, which he’d dropped in scrambling for the crowbar.

  Taking a few steps to his right, never taking his eyes from the creeling dragon, Bradley Wallace was able to reach down and retrieve his snacks.

  The cake had been crushed against the napkin in which it was wrapped, and the boy carefully began peeling off the paper. Without warning, the dragon’s slender, snake-like neck darted over and the massive jaws sucked the cake from his hands, napkin and all. Bradley Wallace sucked in a sharp breath and staggered back away as the beast gulped down the food, but still made no threatening gesture. Realizing the dragon had only been after the cake and not his hand, Bradley Wallace felt more at ease. After all, if the creature wanted to eat him (and he was the only meat around here) it would have done so already.

  Despite his fear, it struck him as curious that dragons were always portrayed in books and movies as ferocious, man-eating monsters, hardly the impression he was receiving from this starving, pitiable creature before him. Realizing the dragon was still mewling with hunger, Bradley Wallace snatched up the fallen Ho Ho’s and set about hurriedly unwrapping them. But the famished creature plucked them from his grasp with amazing dexterity and swallowed them whole, before the boy could even remove the foil.

  “Hey!” Bradley Wallace exclaimed. “You’re not supposed to eat the foil! You’ll get sick.”

  But the baby dragon paid his warning no heed, swallowing the treats and licking the chocolate and cream filling from his lips, crying out loudly for more. Obviously newborn dragons need a lot of food, he realized. But where could he possibly get meat to feed it? Home came the answer. But had he thought it? He wasn’t sure; it just seemed to pop into his head.