Authors: R.D. Power
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.”
“No,” she said. “You’re wrong about me. I never wanted them to hurt you. I admire you. I admire your courage.”
“You think I was brave out there? I was scared as hell, but I knew from hard experience, it would be less painful in the long run if I stayed to face the music than if I ran away. Then I’d be a chicken in everyone’s eyes, and the bullies would never leave me alone. Now everyone knows they’ll get hurt if they take me on. Yes, I apologize, but I am feeling sorry for myself at this moment, while I struggle to see out of my swollen eye and speak through my fat lip. Forgive me, your
heinous
,” he said bowing. “Now get out!”
Kristen turned and walked out, then ran home. Her life, she realized, was blessed compared to his. She knew he’d lost his family, but it didn’t seem to trouble him outwardly, so it didn’t trouble her. She had never considered what a terrible tragedy it was for him; he really had lost everything. She cried just thinking about it. How remarkable it was that he turned out so well in the face of that, she reflected.
Jennifer, who felt a little remorseful about the fight and who was rebellious enough to want to see Robert because she’d been forbidden to do so, went to see him the next weekend. “I heard you beat up three boys. That’s pretty impressive,” she complimented as he opened his front door.
“Thanks,” the surprised and delighted teenager replied, while straightening out his hair with his hand, “though I imagine the three dickless gobs of shit that left me lying mangled and whimpering in a ditch would be surprised to learn I beat them up.” She laughed. “Um, do you want to come in?” he said. He never dreamed such a stunning girl would come calling for him.
“No, but let’s walk and talk for a while,” she answered. He smiled and nodded, and the two strolled through their lovely neighborhood. Although she wasn’t as polished at conversing as he, he enjoyed just looking at the striking girl. Her ethereal beauty overwhelmed any personality flaws in his judgment.
She, too, enjoyed the walk, liking his looks, sense of humor, and turns of phrase. He was so different from any other boy she’d ever met. As their stroll ended, he asked if she’d like to do it again sometime.
“Maybe some time. I’ll let you know. Don’t ask me, though,” she ordered.
He went home and thought of her every minute that day and in spurts that night.
Since Robert felt he couldn’t make idle threats in his vulnerable position, he set out to keep his oath to get each of his three assailants while he was alone. The next Monday, he boarded the morning Catholic school bus in search of any of the three. Ryan was the unfortunate one he spotted first. Robert grabbed him with both hands by the shirt and thrust him up, slamming his head on the ceiling of the bus. The boy collapsed, moaning and holding his head. Most of the teens who witnessed the event were stunned at its ferocity and rapidity. Before Robert could address the other two boys, the bus driver intervened, screaming, “Get off my bus, hooligan!”
Robert glared at Trevor and, adapting a cheesy line he’d heard on a TV movie the evening before, he said, “You’re next, and I’m when through with you, you’ll be wearing your ass for a hat and your balls for a necktie.”
Smiling genially at Jennifer, who smiled back, he left. Kristen and the driver helped Ryan back to his seat. He seemed okay.
Resuming her seat next to her cousin, Kristen said, “I think that boy is dangerous. We should stay far away from him.”
“I don’t know about dangerous, but he is definitely sexy,” declared Jennifer.
“You’re actually turned on by what he did?”
“He’s just so … I don’t know …
virile
—and we both know Ryan deserved it.”
“Be careful, Jenny. He might be violent with girls, too.”
“Don’t worry, cuz. He’s my puppet.”
•
After school, he went to Trevor’s house and rang the bell. Trevor answered, came out to try to talk his way out of a fight, but went down at the behest of Robert’s fist. He refused to get back up, so Robert left.
Trevor phoned Bret to warn him. Trevor’s mother phoned the police, who arrived at Bret’s house to see Robert sitting on a boulder out front, waiting for Bret to play. They took him to the station.
Inspector Taylor took a particular interest in this case and went to interview him. “In trouble again, eh?”
“I guess so. Do the cops have a special squad to track down kids who get into fist fights now?”
“Don’t you take that tone with me,” he warned. “The parents are filing assault charges against you.”
“Really? Where do I find forms to file assault charges against their son and the two other pricks who attacked me for no reason when I got off the bus last week?”
“You have a right to do that if you wish, but I’d rather avoid the paperwork. I’ve called your social worker, my wife, to try to defuse this situation.” The inspector left and called Trevor’s parents to relay the threat of charges against their son for the unprovoked attack the week prior. They’d got a different story from their son, of course, but were worried enough to withdraw their request to have Robert charged.