Jonathan: Prince of Dreams Chapter Two

Chapter Two: The Fight Everyone's Been Waiting For


I joined Tyson at a table in science. I was still dwelling on what Nikki had said. I did want to fight Garrett, just to earn myself some respect from the guy. I didn't want to become someone like my dad, however––someone who thought flailing his fists was the way to solve all his problems.
I shook my head, half listening to Ms. Devin go over the day's lesson plan. This was different. I was only standing up for myself and my honor, right?
The lights in the class went dim, and Ms. Devin wheeled a TV up to the front of the room.
Would I win when I fought him? I had decided it was indeed when and not if. Garrett was bigger than me but not as conditioned. Yeah. I could do it.
Bang!
I jumped, pin wheeled my arms, and caught myself on the edge of the table before falling backward off my stool. Tyson, beside me, barked a laugh and slapped his hands over his mouth.
Ms. Devin shot him a stern look and nodded her head pointedly at the movie playing that had almost cost me my intact brains.
Focusing on reality, I saw that the video was about the big bang theory. An asteroid had just struck a mass of shapeless Play-Doh, giving it a form.
Fidgeting off to my left caught my eye, and I looked to see a shy girl in my class glaring at the screen, her shoulders hunched and posture rigid.
It was Kitty. She was Ben's girlfriend, and the two were perfect for one another: both had an air of mystery and liked to quietly observe the world around them. She was currently displaying the most emotion I had ever seen from her.
After listening for a bit to the proposal that the first life had crawled from the ocean, Kitty slid stiffly from her stool and went up to the teacher. They had a hushed conversation, Kitty looking polite but disturbed, and Ms. Devin looking dismissive. After a while, Kitty spun to return to her seat. Her eyes met mine, and I saw that her face was flushed with angry heat and her eyes were brimming with frustrated tears. I looked away, worried that she would, I don't know, stick her tongue out at me or something.
I wasn't as close to Kitty as I was to my other friends. But there were a few things that I had learned about her over the years she had spent becoming a member of our group.
At first, most of us had assumed she was stuck up because she never talked. But after Ben had assured us repeatedly that she was only shy, and once she became comfortable enough around us to actually keep up a conversation, we all discovered that she was different. She wasn't a snob, just as Ben had promised, but the far opposite. She really had a sweet and charming personality, always smiling and optimistic and telling jokes. She was also a devout Protestant.
We'd found that out one day when she pulled a cross necklace from where it was buried under her dark, curly hair and showed Nikki. Tyson, not really much of a believer, would debate with her sometimes. She was confident. Kind. Before Kitty, Tyson and I had assumed that Christians—that all religious people, for that matter—were stuffy and a bit prudish. But now that we had Kitty, Tyson was reconsidering, and I was listening in the background.
Kitty seemed to have an answer for everything. An answer for why life sucked so much and why she was so content all the time. But the problem was that these answers required a lot of faith, something that I didn't have much of. I found it hard to trust something you couldn't see and feel. Ideals, dreams, faith, none of it mattered. None of it belonged in the real world where there were just as many people happy to crush your dreams and mock your ideals as there were people struggling to hold on to them.
Once the video was finished, Ms. Devin opened up the floor for questions. Most kids were silent, just now waking up for school, but Kitty's hand was the first in the air. Ms. Devin hesitated for a millisecond and then pointed in her direction.
“I can find many flaws in that theory, one being that the big bang purports that all matter, space, and time gathered and exploded to create...all matter, space, and time. It's redundancy, not rational,” Kitty said firmly.
Ms. Devin huffed and scowled. “This isn't debate class!”
Kitty quieted humbly. I realized that I was a bit jealous of her. She had been ready to put up a good argument, and I admired her courage to so proudly stand up for what she believed in. I couldn't do that. Everyone believed something, was willing to put up a fight for something. I didn't know what I believed in.
I shook myself heartily. But I couldn't think about that right then. Maybe after the whole Garrett problem blew over, I'd have the peace of mind to do some soul-searching.
I picked up my binder and homework right as the bell rang and reentered the crowded hallway. Tyson kind of congealed to me like a germ cell, his eyes warily looking ahead down the hall, around the corners, behind us.
I leaned over toward his ear. “Garrett isn't going to attack around so many witnesses, Ty.”
Tyson didn't stop his shifty observations, only grumpily replied, “He could.”
It was clear that he wanted a fight too, almost as much as me. I wondered how many other kids in the school had anticipated the storm between Garrett and me to break and for someone to put the bully in his place. Tyson's face crumpled into a pout when we reached the locker rooms for gym without incident.
After dressing down into my sweats I made to move outside, my mind starting to overflow with everything that had happened that day. Thoughts circled my mind on a loop: Garrett wants to fight. Nikki says that means I’m giving in. What do I believe in? What do I stand for?
Before I got to the door, Tyson took my arm and pulled me aside. His face was serious, which was so out-of-character for Ty that I did a double take around the emptying locker rooms, expecting to see Garrett emerge from a bathroom stall and square up for a brawl.
Instead Tyson asked, “How do you feel?”
“Um. Tired, I guess?” I frowned at him.
He grunted. “Your dad give you another rough morning?”
“No, he was asleep when I woke up. What’s with the questions?”
“You seemed a little out of it, just wanted to check if your head’s in the game.” Tyson gave me a wan, supportive smile.
“‘In the game?’ Ty,” I lowered my voice as the last three guys left the locker rooms, chatting about some video game. “Garrett doesn’t want to play tennis, okay? This isn’t pro-wrestling. He wants a full-blown fight.”
Tyson waved his hands in the air like I was an over-excited dog that needed shushing and said, “Okay, okay, okay, yes. I know. It’s just… We all knew this was going to happen sometime, right?”
“Who’s we?” I nudged around him and led the way into the hall. We cut through the gymnasium towards the doors that would lead outside to the track and Tyson gestured broadly at the underclassmen playing basketball.
“We, you know...Ben, Vince, Lia, Kitty...everyone in the school. It’s about time, too.”
I scoffed. “No pressure.”
We were doing hurdles on the track, and it was exactly what I needed to let out some anxiety. I just wanted to be alone, free to run and think. I knew that some of Garrett's friends were in this class period with me, but I expected them to leave me alone like always. Sure, I was planning on crushing their buddy into a football and kicking his butt in for a field goal, but why would that make a difference to them?
By now, rumors had indeed spread about the fight, and kids were either giving me sad looks as if this would be the last time they'd see me alive, or giving me excited thumbs-up.
Tyson seemed insistent that I get the point he was trying to make before our shoes hit the track rubber. “Even before what happened with Nikki, Garrett’s made it his mission to kick you whenever you’re down. And you’ve gotten in fights for a lot less than the hell he’s put you and Nikki through. It’s like you’ve been saving this fight.”
I didn’t say anything, but I thought about all the times I’d come to school, after Dad had knocked me around a bit or yelled himself hoarse at me for closing the front door too loudly, when Garrett’s insults had stung more than usual.
Tyson elbowed me, watching me think. “Garrett’s your everest,” he said. “He’s the dragon you have to vanquish.”
I looked up sharply. The vision from the past few nights, me gearing up to slay a fire-breathing monster, flashed through my mind. Maybe this was my chance to be that knight in shining armor. To not only defeat the dragon and spare myself future misery, but to defeat the dragon because it meant sparing others as well.
“Huh,” I said thoughtfully. “Thanks, Ty.”
Tyson clicked his tongue at me, then patted my back and trotted off to flirt with his girlfriend, Lia.
On my way past two freshmen stretching on the track, I heard one mutter, “Do you think it's true that Garrett has a whole bunch of knives in his backpack?”
Apparently unaware of me frozen behind them, the other small kid laughed. “Doubt it. I'm not so positive that he hasn't killed people, though. Jonathan'd better watch out.”
I avoided the urge to knock their heads together and stalked away. I had enough on my plate without having to stress about Garrett bringing a knife to a fist fight.
Lining up, we waited for the signal, readying ourselves for the hurdles. With a shout from the teacher, we took off, shoes clapping against the pavement like the hooves of a herd of uncoordinated horses. Five kids had already tripped over the first hurdle and lay in a heap behind me.
Half daydreaming, I curled my spine and swung my legs out, arms spread. Clearing the second hurdle, I ran on, trying to conserve my energy and keep a pace similar to that of my classmates. But even being among them, I didn't quite feel like one of them. My mind drifted and wandered to the dream I'd been having almost every night. I imagined that I was a warrior, fearless and defiant in the face of danger—a hero that people could be proud of—a man that I could be proud of.
I smiled to myself and, without really meaning to, started to pick up speed and pull ahead of the others a little. I had friends, people who cared about me, people who rooted for me at the games and greeted me in the halls at school, but they didn't know me any more than I knew myself. What was I truly capable of? Could I really slay a monster if the need called for it? Could I win a fight with Garrett and get him to finally leave me and my friends alone?
As my attention lapsed, someone shoved me in the small of my back. My ribs smashed into a hurdle, and my legs tangled in the bars. Even before I fell I knew it was one of Garrett's pals who had knocked me down. Dratted sadists.
I hit the ground on my arms and skidded forward a bit. Fiery pain lanced up to my shoulders, and my aching knees weren't doing so hot either. But what Garrett's goon hadn't thought of was my foot being pinned in the air by the hurdle hooked under the crook of my knee. He collided with it…in between the legs.
With a squeal, the guy flipped over my sorry carcass to thud, unmoving, a pace away. Unable to swerve or stop themselves, most of the class tripped on me and formed a gangly heap of angry teenagers.
I extracted myself from the pile and was just about to confront my perhaps mortally wounded attacker when the gym teacher ran up. He had seen me fall and asked, “Jonathan He'klarr, are you alright?” in his thick Japanese accent. I nodded, helping a few people up. “Better get your arms looked at,” he suggested, rushing to take up my job assisting his students.
I looked down at my limbs and saw streams of blood trickling from cuts in my elbows. Gently brushing away the track grit embedded in my wounds, I headed off to see the nurse, waving goodbye at Tyson and wondering how much worse my day could get.

Computer science was always the slowest class for me. I got some questions about my bandaged arms, so by the time I made it to my spot, I was cranky and in no mood to even partake of the PC game Mr. Kevin let us play when we were all caught up with work.
Moving my seat back, I made myself adequate room for resting my head in my arms. My injured elbows barked in pain when I put weight on them. I withdrew them so quickly that my head bashed down hard on the keyboard and I bellowed, “OW! CRAP!”
The teacher jumped and asked, “Ur, Jonathan, do you need a break?”
I turned to face him, feeling a spacebar-shaped bruise throb on my forehead, and said, “Yes.”
Leaving the room felt like taking a cleansing breath of fresh air. I decided to wander the halls for a bit until I calmed down.
What was my problem? All day, I had felt like my head was stuck in a bubble of slow motion. The whole Garrett issue was messing with my mind. I rounded the corner and bumped into one of our elderly, overweight security guards.
“Oh, hey, Jonathan, scared me there!”
“Sorry, Greg. I'm a bit distracted,” I mumbled.
“That's fine, bud, just do what you gotta do and get to class, okay?” Greg's eyes twinkled with fondness, like I was one of his favorite grandsons. I'd spent an unfortunate amount of time with the security guards way back in the day when they would catch me skipping classes or mouthing off at Garrett. Over time, we'd developed a unique sort of friendship—I came to appreciate their fatherly patience, and they appreciated my sassy sense of humor. Greg himself had told me so once in almost those exact words.
I nodded at Greg and sidestepped him to keep walking, musing to myself.
He turned and called, “Hey, you seen anyone else meandering around?”
I shook my head and frowned. “Why?”
Greg gave a dismissive shrug, walking backward. “Oh, some kid's been skipping all his classes so far today. Don't worry, I'll take care of it.”
I smiled and nodded, returning to my wonderings. Speaking of fatherly patience, now my thoughts were wandering to my dad.
Tyson had found out about his more…violent moments in middle school. I'd shrug off a black eye or a limp or the conversations brought up by kids suspicious about why I wouldn't dress down in gym. One day I'd trusted him with my secret and told him about dad. He'd known of my mom's death; we lived in a small town, and our mothers had been close, but I had never told him how I felt about it and how it had affected dad until that day. We had been close friends since infancy practically, but that was when we became best friends.
And then Nikki had discovered my secret later on when I'd itched a scab on the side of my head caused by the TV remote being chucked at me when I'd talked back to dad. It had started to bleed badly, and after Nikki made me let her look at it, she put things together. She also stopped asking to be introduced to my family.
I climbed a staircase, trailing a hand on the railing.
Over the years, I'd learned how to avoid my father when he was drunk, slinking into other rooms at the house when I heard him coming and slipping out the back door when he came home late from the pubs roaring for me to get my ass downstairs so that he could kick it to Nepal...
Some kid was walking down the hall toward me. I saw them stop in my periphery. Probably looking at a poster advertising the game.
Dad wasn't too bad when he was sober; he always apologized, promised not to do anything like that again, and then gave in and ended up going to some tavern or bar to drink away the pain anyway.
I moved over to one side of the hall to get around the other kid.
My life had been all kinds of messed up ever since Mom—
“Hey, Jonathan”—someone grabbed the back of my shirt and threw me against the wall, holding me there with their elbow—”you should watch where you're going.”
I couldn't believe it. I had walked right past Garrett.
Before I could do or say anything, he tossed me to the ground, sending me skidding along the linoleum floor. I scrambled to my hands and knees and tried to get to my feet, but Garrett planted his shoe against my back and pushed me down again.
“I'm sick of coming to school and seein' you here, surrounded by your admirers. Prince Jonathan, the popular one.”
Listening to his snide voice, I could barely breathe. It hit me how earnest it sounded, how it was full of loathing. And I knew that this was going to be more than the average brawl. He was going to try his best to take me apart. That realization sent an icy shiver down my spine and an electric tingle up my limbs. Nausea made my skin go clammy. I dug my fingers into the floor and strained to pull away, like a mouse tearing itself out from under the claws of a cat. His fingers curled themselves into my hair and gave a vicious yank. My roots screamed in protest. I was pulled up to my knees and twisted to face Garrett's eyes. He was enjoying this.
The bully calmly stared into my face for a while, as if searching for something—maybe the reason why I had the indentation of a spacebar in my forehead. “Nah,” he said, as if disappointed. “You aren’t ready, yet! Get angrier, Jonathan!” Then he laughed and socked me hard in the jaw.
I was surprised it didn't snap; my lower face was numb, and fuzzy dots danced tauntingly in my eyes. The force of his strike flung me backward and my back hit the railing leading downstairs. I put my hand on it, trying to concoct a plan of defense. All that came to mind were images of Garrett on the bus that morning, goading me, teasing me, insulting my family…
That got my blood pumping again, and I felt a pinprick of anger. I grasped it and let it blossom, filling up my body with a warm and excited buzz. I looked over to see Garrett stalking closer, his hands flexing.
I lunged down the stairs and ducked behind the wall, tense. Garrett's loud, confident footsteps came nearer and nearer. Suddenly, his fist smashed around the corner and right where my face had been seconds before. I'd been expecting his move and ducked, at the same time scything out my leg to trip him off the last step. He collapsed with a loud grunt, and I tugged him back up, punching him onto his butt at the bottom of the stairs. He leaped to his feet and football tackled me around the waist.
One minute we were inside, the next outside on the grass. Somehow, it seemed, we had taken the battle outdoors. We writhed and snarled on the cold grass like two feral dogs finding each other on the same territory.
Strategy. I need to think strategy, I thought. What were my strengths?
Garrett had me by the shirt front and, as we grappled, seemed to be trying to steer me away from the school and behind the nearby custodial shed. Is he moving us away from the school cameras? I wondered. That sent a strange chill down my spine. Was he actually capable of that kind of rationality at this moment?
When I felt my back touch the brick wall of the shed I desperately channeled my football energy and bent low, hefting Garrett up and throwing him down like a sack of potatoes. As he still had hold of my shirt, I went with him, yelping in alarm and frustration. I tried to pin him, maybe give myself time to turn my impotent panic and anger into the rage I’d felt on the bus that morning but all I saw was the green flash of Garrett’s eyes as he rocketed his head forward to butt it against mine.
Clutching my face, red splotches blossoming behind my eyes, I rolled off of him and Garrett, completely unfazed by anything like what should’ve been a killer headache, dragged me up onto my feet by the back of my shirt and drove his fist into my gut. I doubled over. He chuckled wheezily and straightened me back up.
“You’re friends aren’t here now, are they Jon?” Garrett hissed, his eyes alight with savage joy. “It’s just you and me.” He leaned in closer to whisper, “And this is only the beginning.”
I held my hands protectively around my body and kept my head lowered, spitting up syrupy blood and watching it fall to the ground: a small red puddle in the gem-green grass. That blood, my fear...it made me think about Mom…
The gun fired. Her blood glistened in glittering sprinkles across the open door of her car…her wedding ring. He laughed. She was just a body. Never mind that she had a life and a home, a hardworking husband, a son…
A roar built up in my throat, my hands clenched at my sides. I ripped away from Garrett, batted aside his fist that was coming at my throat, swung back my arm, and shot it at his face, letting loose with another animal roar just as I felt his nose shift under my knuckles. I heard a popping sound and saw Garrett's eyes go big, his nose slightly off-center and pouring blood.
He fell to his knees, touching a hand carefully to his nose and staring at the scarlet fluid it came away with. I was too insanely exhilarated to see at the time how he was more surprised than in pain. He should have been crying in agony or passed out, but instead he just pinched the bridge of his nose, inclined his head, and looked curiously up at me.
My voice was shaky. I swallowed hard, pointed a trembling finger at him, and said, “I don't want to hear from you ever again. It's over, Garrett.” I shuffled my sore weight, trying to see if I had more to say, but instead spun about and headed back toward the school.
I didn't know what I wanted to do next—go to class? “I tripped and fell down the stairs,” sounded too lame to use as an excuse for how I now looked. But I'd done it. I had finally stood up to the guy who had mocked my grief after my mother had died, taunted me when I came to school tender and depressed after a beating from dad, insulted Nikki for caring about someone he called pathetic, a wimp, a loser...
My cheeks felt warm and wet, and I pulled my shirtsleeve up to siphon away the blood, but there was none. I wiped at my tears with the heel of my palm and blinked furiously.
It was over. That was what mattered.
A splintering throb of pain burst in my lower back, below the rib cage and to the left. It stung like a hornet's tail, all sorts of agony.
I fell to my knees and reached back to feel the handle of the small switchblade half buried in me. My shirt was soon soaked with red. There’s a knife in my back, I thought, but that truth felt detached and distant from me, like I was dreaming about something that had happened to someone else.
Toppling to my side, I watched Garrett limp around to glare down at me. “Careful what you promise,” he warned deviously.
Everything seemed to pulsate once like a heartbeat. A red haze descended from the sky like mist or the light from a lunar eclipse. And without my knowing how it happened, I was suddenly somewhere else.