Post by Joe Fischer on Jun 29, 2015 22:54:56 GMT -6
Joe sat in the crowded chapel with his parents and siblings, tugging at the uncomfortable tie wrapped around his neck. They were there for the funeral of one of his classmates, a boy he barely knew who had killed himself.
The boy—what was his name? Terry?—was small for his age and kept to himself, which made him a prime target for teasing and practical jokes.
Joe had joined in a couple of times, but he hadn’t really meant it; his father had been training him to be a Marine for five years now, and he had been taught not to bother people who weren’t bothering him.
He looked over at the boy’s parents. They were older than his, and the boy’s father had been bigger than his own, but now the man seemed smaller, like a balloon whose air had been let out, and there weren’t any other children with them.
An only child, he thought. That must suck.
His looked at his own parents. His mother, while not crying, was clearly on the verge, probably imagining it if it had been one of hers.
His father was not one to put his emotions on display, and he hadn’t moved since the funeral started, but he knew the man was irritated. It had taken him a long time to read his father, and now he could do so without even thinking about it.
He looked back up at the coffin, and there was a holo of the boy projected next to it. In it, he was sitting down at a table, but looking up at the camera with a startled expression, the sign of a spontaneous shot. He was holding something in his hand, and on the table was something he couldn’t make out.
After it had happened, he and all of his classmates had to speak with the school counselors. He did it, even though he barely felt sad. To be honest, he barely felt anything about it; he hardly knew the boy, so how could he feel sad about his passing?
When his father was still in the Marines, he would always take the family to the funeral of other Marines, even if he didn’t know them, so he was familiar with death, but this was his first time dealing with suicide, so he actually ended up asking the counselor more questions than she asked him.
He remembered asking her why the boy would do such a thing, and she told him that people often did it because they were in a lot of pain and couldn’t see any other way out of it.
Not right, he thought, thinking back to the neighbor kid who had died from an allergic reaction to a bee sting several years earlier.
He was not a particularly bright boy, he knew that much; his grades were mostly average, except in physical fitness, in which he excelled. But he knew that a child dying before his parents was not part of the natural order of things.
Not right.
*****
“Good riddance,” his father said.
The service was over, and they were back at home eating an early dinner.
“Some other kids throw a few harsh words at him, and he offs himself, good fucking riddance, certainly don’t need his weakness contaminating the gene pool,” he continued.
No one else—Joe included—said anything. He expected his mother would speak to his father when they were alone, but he knew neither of his siblings would challenge him. Any sort of disagreement with him was a declaration of war, and the man firmly believed in using a tactical nuke against a fly. His older brother has disagreed with him two years ago, and his father had chewed him out for ten solid minutes, throwing all sorts of insults and attacks and never once repeating himself.
After that none of his children disagreed with him—at least not openly.
*****
“Where you going, boy?” his father demanded as Joe headed towards the door.
The idea had come to him during dinner and he had lain in bed for several hours afterwards going over how to achieve it. There was only one part that concerned him, which involved him doing something he had never done before.
Lie to his father.
A good chunk of his time was spent working on different ones, each more outlandish than the other, until the right one came to him in a flash, and it was almost beautiful in its simplicity.
“Taking a walk,” he said. “I want to see some of this world I’m going to be defending.”
His father nodded.
“It’s getting late Joe, don’t stay out too long,” his mother said.
“Goddammit woman, stop babying him!” his father ordered. “Next thing you know, he’ll be as big a pussy as that kid that offed himself, is that what you want?!”
No good could come of him staying, so he left.
*****
“What do you want?” said the boy’s father.
Up close, the man looked even older than when Joe saw him at the funeral, and he wondered if that happened to all parents whose children died before them.
Not right.
“I’m Joe Fischer, sir,” he said, extending his hand. “I went to school with your son. Other than you, no one stood up and spoke about him at the funeral, and I think that isn’t right. I want to know more about him.”
“What do you care?” the man asked. “Because he’s dead? Why didn’t you get to know him when he was alive?”
He started to close the door, but Joe stuck his foot in the doorway, stopping it from closing.
“Yeah, my timing sucks,” he said. “But do you see anyone else bothering to do this?”
The man stared at him for what seemed like a year before opening the door.
*****
“Check out the new girl, what a fatty!” said Jack, one of Joe’s friends.
It was a week later, and he was having lunch with Jack and Ian, another one of his friends from the football team.
Until he had spoken to the boy’s father, he had never much thought about the effect of his teammates’ actions, but now it was all he could think about.
Rather than watching their actions, he watched the reactions of other kids, and what he saw was fear. They may have laughed at the victims of his friends, but it was only with their mouths; their eyes said they were glad they had not been targeted.
He looked over at who had caught his friend’s attention. She was definitely “big-boned” as his teachers liked to say, and he could tell by the way she looked around she was new. He knew the feeling, because with his father’s change of station—every three years like clockwork—he had been in that situation several times already.
The girl walked by their table and Jack yelled, “You’re so fat you generate your own gravity field!”
The girl stopped for a moment, then resumed walking, but a bit more quickly.
“Amateur,” Ian said.
“Let’s see you do better,” Jack challenged.
A look of relish came into Ian’s eyes, then he got up and went after the girl, who had managed to find a seat.
He sat down across from her and began talking with her, but they were too far away to make out any words.
Several minutes passed as he continue talking to her, and Jack began fidgeting.
“Come on, what are you waiting for?” he said.
As if he had heard the other boy, Ian suddenly picked up the girl’s tray and flung it at her, causing its contents to land on her, then ran back to the table, laughing all the way, and receiving several high fives from the other kids at the table.
“Told you she generated her own gravity field!” Jack exclaimed. “She like a…a black hole!”
The last two words were picked up by the other kids, and they began to chant them.
NOT RIGHT.
“Stop it,” he said to Jack.
“What?” the boy asked, as if Joe was speaking an alien language.
“You heard me, now knock it off before I make you,” Joe said.
“What do you care, she ain’t your girlfriend,” Jack snapped back. “Or is she? Joe and Fatty sitting in a tree, K-I…no, that wouldn’t work, she’d break the tree.”
“One more word out of you, Jack, so help me, I will hit you so hard you’re going to travel back in time,” Joe snarled.
“So when you’re doing her, how do you find her—“
It was an open-handed slap that caught Jack square on the cheek, and while the boy didn’t get knocked out of the space-time continuum, he did get knocked out of his chair.
In an instant, Ian was out of his chair, a strange look in his eyes, and Joe stood up as well.
Deep down, Joe had always known there was something wrong with his teammate. On the field, the boy was always drawing penalties for unnecessary roughness and late hits, and off the field he was little better, always picking fights with those bigger than him. He was a poor winner, often making fun of his victim for weeks afterwards, but he was even worse loser.
Those who managed to beat him suddenly had a rash of bad luck: homework going missing, emergency crews dispatched to their houses at 3 AM, airbikes sabotaged, and that was just the stuff Joe knew about. One time a boy who had beat him found his pet dog nailed to the door of his house with its head cut off.
“This is about that kid who punched his own ticket, isn’t it?” Ian hissed, the strange look still in his eyes. “You think this is going to bring him back?”
“No,” Joe said. “But I sure as hell don’t want to go to another kid’s funeral.”
Ian just grinned and charged.
Joe didn’t remember cocking his fist; in fact, he wasn’t even aware he had thrown a punch until it was on its way to its target.
It connected with Ian’s nose, and Joe felt the impact run through his arm all the way up to his shoulder.
Ian fell black, blood streaming from his nose. He wiped at it, then stared at his bloodied hand for a second.
He looked back up at Joe and the strange look in his eyes came back as he licked the blood off, then stood up and grinned nastily.
“Always knew you were soft, Joe,” he said softly.
“You think I’m afraid of you?” Joe said, fear racing through him as he realized what he had gotten himself into. “Come at me.”
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” roared the unmistakable voice of their gym teacher from behind Joe.
“HE STARTED IT!” Jack squealed, pointing at Joe. “HE HIT ME FIRST!”
The gym teacher, a former drill instructor, turned his intense gaze towards Joe.
“Yes I did sir,” he said evenly, meeting the man’s eyes.
“Well then, let’s go see the principal,” he said, grabbing Joe by the arm. “You two, you’re coming as well.”
As he was escorted out of the cafeteria, his path took him past the new girl. He looked over at her, and she gave him a slight smile and nod.
A weight he had been carrying ever since the boy died lifted, and he smiled back.
I can definitely get used to this.
The boy—what was his name? Terry?—was small for his age and kept to himself, which made him a prime target for teasing and practical jokes.
Joe had joined in a couple of times, but he hadn’t really meant it; his father had been training him to be a Marine for five years now, and he had been taught not to bother people who weren’t bothering him.
He looked over at the boy’s parents. They were older than his, and the boy’s father had been bigger than his own, but now the man seemed smaller, like a balloon whose air had been let out, and there weren’t any other children with them.
An only child, he thought. That must suck.
His looked at his own parents. His mother, while not crying, was clearly on the verge, probably imagining it if it had been one of hers.
His father was not one to put his emotions on display, and he hadn’t moved since the funeral started, but he knew the man was irritated. It had taken him a long time to read his father, and now he could do so without even thinking about it.
He looked back up at the coffin, and there was a holo of the boy projected next to it. In it, he was sitting down at a table, but looking up at the camera with a startled expression, the sign of a spontaneous shot. He was holding something in his hand, and on the table was something he couldn’t make out.
After it had happened, he and all of his classmates had to speak with the school counselors. He did it, even though he barely felt sad. To be honest, he barely felt anything about it; he hardly knew the boy, so how could he feel sad about his passing?
When his father was still in the Marines, he would always take the family to the funeral of other Marines, even if he didn’t know them, so he was familiar with death, but this was his first time dealing with suicide, so he actually ended up asking the counselor more questions than she asked him.
He remembered asking her why the boy would do such a thing, and she told him that people often did it because they were in a lot of pain and couldn’t see any other way out of it.
Not right, he thought, thinking back to the neighbor kid who had died from an allergic reaction to a bee sting several years earlier.
He was not a particularly bright boy, he knew that much; his grades were mostly average, except in physical fitness, in which he excelled. But he knew that a child dying before his parents was not part of the natural order of things.
Not right.
*****
“Good riddance,” his father said.
The service was over, and they were back at home eating an early dinner.
“Some other kids throw a few harsh words at him, and he offs himself, good fucking riddance, certainly don’t need his weakness contaminating the gene pool,” he continued.
No one else—Joe included—said anything. He expected his mother would speak to his father when they were alone, but he knew neither of his siblings would challenge him. Any sort of disagreement with him was a declaration of war, and the man firmly believed in using a tactical nuke against a fly. His older brother has disagreed with him two years ago, and his father had chewed him out for ten solid minutes, throwing all sorts of insults and attacks and never once repeating himself.
After that none of his children disagreed with him—at least not openly.
*****
“Where you going, boy?” his father demanded as Joe headed towards the door.
The idea had come to him during dinner and he had lain in bed for several hours afterwards going over how to achieve it. There was only one part that concerned him, which involved him doing something he had never done before.
Lie to his father.
A good chunk of his time was spent working on different ones, each more outlandish than the other, until the right one came to him in a flash, and it was almost beautiful in its simplicity.
“Taking a walk,” he said. “I want to see some of this world I’m going to be defending.”
His father nodded.
“It’s getting late Joe, don’t stay out too long,” his mother said.
“Goddammit woman, stop babying him!” his father ordered. “Next thing you know, he’ll be as big a pussy as that kid that offed himself, is that what you want?!”
No good could come of him staying, so he left.
*****
“What do you want?” said the boy’s father.
Up close, the man looked even older than when Joe saw him at the funeral, and he wondered if that happened to all parents whose children died before them.
Not right.
“I’m Joe Fischer, sir,” he said, extending his hand. “I went to school with your son. Other than you, no one stood up and spoke about him at the funeral, and I think that isn’t right. I want to know more about him.”
“What do you care?” the man asked. “Because he’s dead? Why didn’t you get to know him when he was alive?”
He started to close the door, but Joe stuck his foot in the doorway, stopping it from closing.
“Yeah, my timing sucks,” he said. “But do you see anyone else bothering to do this?”
The man stared at him for what seemed like a year before opening the door.
*****
“Check out the new girl, what a fatty!” said Jack, one of Joe’s friends.
It was a week later, and he was having lunch with Jack and Ian, another one of his friends from the football team.
Until he had spoken to the boy’s father, he had never much thought about the effect of his teammates’ actions, but now it was all he could think about.
Rather than watching their actions, he watched the reactions of other kids, and what he saw was fear. They may have laughed at the victims of his friends, but it was only with their mouths; their eyes said they were glad they had not been targeted.
He looked over at who had caught his friend’s attention. She was definitely “big-boned” as his teachers liked to say, and he could tell by the way she looked around she was new. He knew the feeling, because with his father’s change of station—every three years like clockwork—he had been in that situation several times already.
The girl walked by their table and Jack yelled, “You’re so fat you generate your own gravity field!”
The girl stopped for a moment, then resumed walking, but a bit more quickly.
“Amateur,” Ian said.
“Let’s see you do better,” Jack challenged.
A look of relish came into Ian’s eyes, then he got up and went after the girl, who had managed to find a seat.
He sat down across from her and began talking with her, but they were too far away to make out any words.
Several minutes passed as he continue talking to her, and Jack began fidgeting.
“Come on, what are you waiting for?” he said.
As if he had heard the other boy, Ian suddenly picked up the girl’s tray and flung it at her, causing its contents to land on her, then ran back to the table, laughing all the way, and receiving several high fives from the other kids at the table.
“Told you she generated her own gravity field!” Jack exclaimed. “She like a…a black hole!”
The last two words were picked up by the other kids, and they began to chant them.
NOT RIGHT.
“Stop it,” he said to Jack.
“What?” the boy asked, as if Joe was speaking an alien language.
“You heard me, now knock it off before I make you,” Joe said.
“What do you care, she ain’t your girlfriend,” Jack snapped back. “Or is she? Joe and Fatty sitting in a tree, K-I…no, that wouldn’t work, she’d break the tree.”
“One more word out of you, Jack, so help me, I will hit you so hard you’re going to travel back in time,” Joe snarled.
“So when you’re doing her, how do you find her—“
It was an open-handed slap that caught Jack square on the cheek, and while the boy didn’t get knocked out of the space-time continuum, he did get knocked out of his chair.
In an instant, Ian was out of his chair, a strange look in his eyes, and Joe stood up as well.
Deep down, Joe had always known there was something wrong with his teammate. On the field, the boy was always drawing penalties for unnecessary roughness and late hits, and off the field he was little better, always picking fights with those bigger than him. He was a poor winner, often making fun of his victim for weeks afterwards, but he was even worse loser.
Those who managed to beat him suddenly had a rash of bad luck: homework going missing, emergency crews dispatched to their houses at 3 AM, airbikes sabotaged, and that was just the stuff Joe knew about. One time a boy who had beat him found his pet dog nailed to the door of his house with its head cut off.
“This is about that kid who punched his own ticket, isn’t it?” Ian hissed, the strange look still in his eyes. “You think this is going to bring him back?”
“No,” Joe said. “But I sure as hell don’t want to go to another kid’s funeral.”
Ian just grinned and charged.
Joe didn’t remember cocking his fist; in fact, he wasn’t even aware he had thrown a punch until it was on its way to its target.
It connected with Ian’s nose, and Joe felt the impact run through his arm all the way up to his shoulder.
Ian fell black, blood streaming from his nose. He wiped at it, then stared at his bloodied hand for a second.
He looked back up at Joe and the strange look in his eyes came back as he licked the blood off, then stood up and grinned nastily.
“Always knew you were soft, Joe,” he said softly.
“You think I’m afraid of you?” Joe said, fear racing through him as he realized what he had gotten himself into. “Come at me.”
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” roared the unmistakable voice of their gym teacher from behind Joe.
“HE STARTED IT!” Jack squealed, pointing at Joe. “HE HIT ME FIRST!”
The gym teacher, a former drill instructor, turned his intense gaze towards Joe.
“Yes I did sir,” he said evenly, meeting the man’s eyes.
“Well then, let’s go see the principal,” he said, grabbing Joe by the arm. “You two, you’re coming as well.”
As he was escorted out of the cafeteria, his path took him past the new girl. He looked over at her, and she gave him a slight smile and nod.
A weight he had been carrying ever since the boy died lifted, and he smiled back.
I can definitely get used to this.