by D. F. Noble
Three Musketeers
A couple days later, and I step out on the playground after lunch. Down by the swings, I can see a circle of kids, and more kids swarming to that circle. That can only mean one thing: a fight. I walk over and squirm through the crowd, feeling excitement and adrenaline rush through me.
In the center there's a big kid. His name is Eric, and he's a prick. He's never done anything to me before because I'm his size, but I've seen him pick on little kids quite a bit. The other kid, he's probably eighty pounds soaking wet. He's black, has short, curly hair, and glasses so thick his eyes look huge, like he's a fly or an owl or something. I think his name is Alex; 7th grader, maybe. He immediately reminds me of Ronnie, and my heart sinks for a moment. Eric pushes the kid back, Alex hits the wall of kids behind him and they push him back to Eric and the kid trips, lands on his hands and knees.
Eric laughs. “I caught this kid looking at a Playgirl! He's a fucking faggot! Who wants me to beat this faggot's ass?!”
The kids around me go wild, screaming for blood. I'm growing angry, but I want to see blood, too. Not from this little kid, but from Eric. I want to show him what it's like to be picked on. How it makes you feel. How bad it can hurt.
Eric grabs Alex by his hair and lifts him to his feet. “You like to suck wieners, gay boy? Huh? You like big cocks?”
Alex is crying, but he answers his bully, “It wasn't a Playgirl! It was an anatomy book! I was learning to draw!”
Eric laughs, and draws his fist back while still holding Alex by the hair. “Whatever, fag! Pretend my punch is a big ol' dick you can suck on!”
The kids are laughing, and then I move. I lock my arm through Eric's, pivot, and pull him till he trips and drags Alex over with him. They land on the ground in a jumbled mess, and Eric pushes Alex off of him and gets up, brushes his pants off.
“What the fuck, Jake?” The crowd falls silent. There comes this intensity, and I realize I've never had so many people staring at me at once. I can feel a tingle in my legs, coming up my spine—it’s adrenaline starting to kick in. This nervous jittery feeling comes over me in waves for a second. And then I smile.
“Put your fists up,” I tell him, and I coil my muscles.
He looks around, looks back at me. “Dude, fuck off. This your boyfriend or something?”
Kids go, 'oooooooh' and start laughing.
“Nope,” I say and smile. “I just hate bullies. Now put your fists up.”
Eric laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh. He's scared, but I'm punking him out in front of everyone;if he doesn't fight, everyone will think he's a pussy. I'm counting on that.
“I'll beat your ass, Jake,” he says, pointing at me. “So fuck off.”
“You're a pussy,” I say, smiling. “You can't pick on me. You won't, because you're a pussy. You're a scared little bitch.”
Someone in the crowd (one of his friends, I'm sure) yells, “Beat his ass, Eric! Come on!”
Then it's on. I see Eric swallow, and then he puts his fists up. That's all I need. He's about to say something, but I hop forward, faking a punch to his face, and when he lifts his hands to block, I front kick him in the pelvis as hard as I can. Kicking him like that, it locks his knees. His upper body pitches forward, his legs kick out behind him, and Eric, like a big invisible hand just smacked him on the back, slams forward on the ground on his chest and face.
'Oooooh!' goes the crowd.
I'm going to turn Eric around and rough his face up a bit, but before I can, Alex steps forward and punts Eric in the head. Holy shit, I think. Nice! Then the crowd goes nuts. One of Eric's friends rushes forward and clobber's Alex in the cheek with a wild monkey punch. Alex falls over, his glasses spilling off his face, and I leap forward with a right cross. My punch connects, crunch! Right in the kid's nose. Blood splatters immediately and the kid drops like a sack of potatoes. Someone kicks me in the back and I tumble forward and trip over Eric. On all fours now, and I see a pair of legs coming at me, getting ready to boot me. I crawl up those legs, up his shirt like I'm a goddamned squirrel, grab the kid by the ears and head-butt him. My forehead smashes into his nose and mouth, and I feel either blood or snot spray down my face, and then we topple over.
It's a free-for-all now, and somewhere, in the back of my mind, I realize I have a boner.
Someone jumps on my back and tries to put me in a headlock, but I reach back, grab his earlobe and give it a hard yank. There’s a shriek of pain…he isn't on my back anymore. I get to my feet just as a fist crams into my temple. I stumble sideways, and I realize I'm laughing. Kids' faces blur in the crowd. They cheer. They holler. They call for blood.
I stumble into the crowd and they push me back toward the center. The kid that just hit me, some fat kid with freckles, takes another wild swing, but I duck and come up and with a hard jab in his nose. Another jab and he's off kilter. A right cross, whap, and he goes down.
Then I hear a whistle, and next thing I know, someone is lifting me off the ground. I kick out, hit some random kid in the face with my foot and I laugh so hard snot shoots from my nose.
“Fucking bullies!” I laugh. “Fuck you! FUCK YOU!”
***
Our Principal, Mr. Cavanaugh, writes something down—our detentions, no doubt—and looks up at me and Alex from across his desk. “So,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You're saying a group of kids were picking on you, Alex, and Jake came in and started fighting them?”
“They were gonna beat me up,” Alex answers. His glasses are taped in the middle and the lenses are scratched. Other than that, he doesn't look like he's been touched. “Jake stopped them. Then they all started trying to beat us up.”
“Why were they picking on you?”
Alex looks down and mumbles, “Eric told everybody I was a faggot. They were going to beat me up because they think I'm gay.”
Mr. Cavanaugh nods and shuffles his papers. “I believe you. Eric's got a history in this office.” He looks at me then. “And Jake, while what you did was honorable, you know there is zero tolerance for violence on school property. Fighting should have been the last thing on your mind. You should have told an adult.”
“Yes sir,” I say, “there just wasn't enough time.” Of course there was time. I could've told somebody, but I'm not going to say that.
***
“I didn't get to tell you, but thank you,” Alex tells me as we walk to detention. It's actually I.S.S—In-School-Suspension—so we won't be in our regular classes at all. We'll be with Mr. Ottoman, an ex-military guy who runs detention like a prison camp. Our work from classes will be sent to us, and we'll be locked up with all the other troublemakers. I suppose even Eric and the kids we fought will be there; that or they got sent home. We've got a fat two weeks for fighting, even though it’s the first time either one of us has been in trouble. Guess they want to make sure that we know they're serious.
“It's okay,” I tell Alex. “Somebody had to stop him. I hate that shit.”
“That was my first fight,” Alex says. “I've never hit anybody before.”
I grin. “Well you kicked Eric in the head pretty good.”
He smiles and keeps looking ahead, adjusting his backpack. “I didn't last long after that, though. You were crazy out there. The kids think you're nuts now. I heard them talking this morning outside.”
“What'd they say?” I ask.
“Bunch of guys,” Alex says, “saying they can take you. I think they're gonna try to fight you... you know... since you beat like two or three of their friends up.”
I laugh. “They probably will. Let them try.”
“So,” Alex says, “do you think you can teach me, you know, to fight?”
I walk a bit farther, rolling it over in my mind. I never taught anybody anything before, but hell, it's not like I'm really busy. “Sure,” I tell him. “Guess you can come over after school or on the weekend. Your parents probably don't want you hanging out with me, though.”
“Actually,”
he says, “my dad thinks you're a good kid. I don't have many friends, 'cuz I'm new—and everyone thinks I'm a nerd or...gay. I don't think they would mind. Dad says you're either really brave or really stupid for helping me, but he's glad you did.”
I nod. We're almost to detention now. “Cool,” I say. “So... what were you learning to draw?”
“People,” Alex says. “I want to learn anatomy so I can do awesome realistic comic book characters.”
“Sweet,” I say. “I draw, too…well, used too. What's your favorite comic?”
I see his face light up. “Oh man, Lone Wolf and Cub, that one's awesome, and of course Akira, and Death Note. There's so many.”
“Never heard of them.”
'They're Manga,” Alex says.
“Manga?”
“Like Japanese comics,” he says. “What do you read?”
“Spawn,” I say. “Have you ever read Preacher? It's more for grownups but it’s wicked funny.”
“I've heard of Spawn,” he says, “but not Preacher. I don't know; if you want, you can borrow some of mine and I can borrow yours?”
“Deal,” I say. “Bring some of your drawings, too, I'll bring some of mine.”
“Okay, cool,” he says. “Is this the room?”
“Yeah,” I say. “This your first time in detention?”
“Yep,” he says.
“Yeah,” I reply, “mine, too.”
I open the door, and a group of kids look up from their desks. Immediately, I recognize Dean in his hoodie. He nods, grins at me, and I nod back.
“Alex Whitaker?” Mr. Ottoman asks. “Jake Warren?”
“Yeah,” we say in unison.
“Take a seat,” Ottoman says. “Since you’re new here, we'll go over the rules. I'm sure the other kids will let you know I take no lip around here. Follow the rules, and the less time we have to see each other. Now sit down.”
***
Kids in I.S.S don't get to eat in the lunchroom—we eat in the basement, apparently. Little bag lunches the school provides if we don't bring our own. Today it’s peanut butter and jelly and an apple. That's it. Alex got an orange. Lucky fucker. There's more than one I.S.S class, too. I guess the teachers know better than to put all the screw-ups into one room.
I see Dean sitting by himself at a table, so I head over with Alex trailing me. This is the only time we're allowed to talk. Rest of the day, just silence, and Mr. Ottoman's little radio playing classical music.
Dean sees us approach, says, “Look who it is. Batman and the Boy Wonder. Heard you guys were out slap-boxing or something. Some real sissy shit.” Then he takes a bite of his sandwich. “Thish your widdle bruddah?”
Me and Alex look at each other. We look nothing alike.
“Nope,” I say and take a seat. “Dean, this is Alex. Some douchebag was picking on him, so I showed him stuff.”
Dean swallows, looks at Alex and says, “Sup?”
Alex swallows and sits down. I think Dean makes him nervous. Dean's one of those scary kind of guys, though. Like you just know he would eat your face. “Hi,” Alex says. “So you guys have class together?”
“We go to the War Room,” I explain.
“War Room?”
Dean takes another bite, “Itsh a misshed marshal arts thang.”
I can tell Alex didn't understand, so I translate. “It's a mixed martial arts class we go to after school,” I say.
“Is that where you learned to fight?” Alex asks.
“Kinda,” I reply and dig into my sandwich.
Dean leans back in his chair, takes a look around the room at the other little groups of guys and girls at little rounds tables and the robot-like Mr. Ottoman eating in the corner, watching us all. “So,” Dean says, “you gonna tell me about this fight or what?”
***
I talked to Dean and Alex about Tree Top after school while we waited for the buses. They say they'll be out this weekend. I ride home, feeling better than I have in a long time. I think these guys will be pretty cool friends. Me and Dean told Alex we would teach him everything we knew about fighting if his dad wouldn't let him join the class. He says his dad probably won't, because he doesn't want him even playing sports. He says he's prepping for college already. That just sounds crazy; we're not even in high school yet.
I feel like I can relax finally. Kids are going nuts around me on the bus, but I just feel calm. I think about Chris Red Cap, and the memory is like a movie in my head. I beat him, Ronnie. If there is a heaven, I hope you can see. I never have to worry about him again. I breathe, stare at the clouds.
Maybe life will get better.
I didn't even have to kill him; I keep thinking that. I don't know if I could have. Just don't know. I think I probably would have, but I don't even like shooting animals. Chris was different, though. He was evil.
The bus stops and I walk up my driveway. Come in the front door and mom's passed out on the couch. Typical. Wes is asleep in his playpen; at least he's not screaming. I walk into the kitchen and there's a newspaper on the table. I see a familiar face and stop.
The headline reads, “Man Found Shot In Woods.”
That can't be right. That should be Chris's picture. Paco shot Chris. I heard him, I heard the shot...
Unless...
I swallow hard, and I feel my blood turn cold.
Chris isn't dead. He killed Paco.
Chris isn't dead.
Fuck.
C hapter 4
The Last Summer
The Elder sets the book down, placing it carefully in a leather case. He always starts the story this way. He finds it best to let the children of the tribe hear these words. It touches them and shows them that their elders were much like them at one time. Even though they would never know the boy who wrote these words, or the man he grew into, his name and his deeds lived on.
“The year passed,” the Elder says, “and the boys drew closer...”
“What about Chris, though?”
“In time, Sparrow. In time. Now don't interrupt again or we will see if you can fly from this tower, little bird..."
The boys opened a bottle of whiskey, trying to be men. At the base of their tree house, in the dark of night, they sipped from the bottle and passed it around the fire. This was the last summer before high school, and the weight of growing up was bearing down on them. The world told them they would need girlfriends, who would eventually be their wives and bear their children. The world told them they would need jobs and houses and cars, and to go to church on Sundays and pay taxes and have well-manicured lawns. All that was a faraway fantasy, no more real than Lord of the Rings. On this night, there was whiskey (easily snatched from Dean's stepdad) and the first voyage into the seas of inebriation.
Alex stood up after taking a swig—the bottle almost empty at this point—and raised his hands up. Punctuating each word, he said, “I am a powerful
wizard!”
Alex turned, farted on the fire, and lit up the faces of Jake and Dean. The boys fell about laughing while Alex patted his pants with a scared animal face. The fire licked his asshole through his jeans and singed the fine hairs there. Alex did a my-ass-is-on-fire two-step.
Dean took a swig and handed the bottle to Jake, who couldn’t seem to stand back up; the ground preferred to cuddle him.
“I am a powerful warrior!” said Dean, and beat his fist on his chest like an ape, then promptly vomited, fell over and wet his pants.
Jake found his footing then, stumbled over to Alex, and shook his hand vigorously. “Thank you,” Jake said, “for coming to my birthday party!”
“What?” Alex raised his eyebrows, birthday party?
Jake walked over to Dean then—who was lying on the ground, still peeing his pants and giggling—and took his hand, started pumping it up and down. “Thank you,” Jake said, “for coming to my birthday party!”
Dean kept on giggling, slightly aware someone was shaking his hand. “Good doggy,” Dean laughed.
&nb
sp; Then Jake walked back to Alex, who was still wondering about the birthday party, and Jake took his hand, gripped it tight and shook it, making Alex’s arm flop about like a wet noodle. “Thank you-”
“-for coming to my birthday party!” Alex finished, cheering.
“It’s your birthday, too?” Jake asked, and before he let Alex answer he shouted, “Happy birthday, Alex!” and then hugged him hard enough to make Alex fart again. Behind Alex, the fire leapt up with the sudden infusion of methane.
Alex laughed and fell. “I am a powerful wizard!”
“I’m starving!” Jake blurted, leaving Alex to his giggle fit and walked over to his backpack, drew out a can of tomato soup, and then threw it in fire. He plopped down and gazed at the can with yearning eyes, and he licked his lips. His head swam then, and he lay back, making it worse. Through the canopy of leaves above him, the stars twinkled and swayed, like particles of dust in a beam of light. Jake gazed at the moon and reached up, placing it between his forefinger and his thumb.
“You,” Jake said to the moon, “in my pocket. Come here.”
Before Jake drifted to sleep, he heard Alex chuckle.
“I think I pooped.”
***
Dean dreamt of Jessica, the apple of his eye, and she was naked, rubbing her magical vagina up and down his leg. Dean laughed and spoke out loud, “You’re doing it wrong!”
Then Dean opened his eyes. He realized he was staring at the smoldering remains of their campfire. It was morning, not night, and Dean wondered what happened. He didn’t remember falling asleep. His head swirled when he turned it to the motion at his leg. It was a dog, a black lab, humping him. Its tongue flapped out of its mouth, and the dog, with no shame, looked dead into Dean’s bewildered eyes and continued pumping away.
“Dammit, dog!” Dean grunted, pushing the animal off him, “Get! Get!”
