The Boy: Part 5

The bell is ringing, calling upon all bright students, with slick hair and sandwiches made of love in their backpack. But the boy is not a golden one, so he could care less about what a bell is telling him to do. He is too busy looking for sticks, in the school’s backyard. His hair is oily and his face muddy. Apparently, this bothers his mom, for whatever reason: “You will end up looking like a rat if you keep on only showering in rain. You are not exactly a sight for sour eyes to begin with, so you better get your act together.” She just does not understand that looking pretty is not his purpose, which is odd because it was his father who decided so. One would think that parents would talk through their reasons for having a kid, instead of just ordering one like fast food at the drive-thru after a rough day at work. But then again, even if they did have the talk, it would have been a one-way conversation. His mom is a talker rather than a listener, after all. “Good thing the boy can fight, because there are no thoughts behind those eyes,” is what his father told others, so that’s what he ought to do: fight for his loved ones and protect the weak. No matter what, even if he ends up with a bruised knee. He has to give back what was borrowed.

The boy is on all four, crawling in dirt, and looking for the perfect stick hidden under autumn leaves. Occasionally, there is a gust of wind, trying to provoke him, but he won´t fall so easily. It is a bit cold, but he must learn to deal with it until he is immune, so that he will never ever freeze again, not even in a snow blizzard. Only then, can he be a duckling’s rock when the trees start falling, along with the rest of the world. He cannot turn weak. He just can´t. Because his existence will be worth nothing if he does. He feels a sudden punch in his stomach, which does not make sense because none of his bullies are here. Get yourself together, he thinks to himself, you can´t cry now, you weakling, only cowards cry.

The boy starts digging in the pile of leaves, which have turned old after losing their summer spark. Soon they will die, just like the rest. His hair is getting in the way, so he can´t see what is right in front of him. All he can depend on, is his hands, skin thickened way too soon. Come on, remember who you are doing this for. You need to keep digging. You can´t stop. If you stop now, then what will stop you from letting your whole family get slaughtered?  

And there it is. The perfect stick! It could knock out about anyone, even the janitor who the boy is convinced is living a double life as a wrestler. The boy looks at it, with admiring eyes. Then he picks up a pencil he borrowed, but never gave back, and asks it: “Isn´t it beautiful, Georgie?” Instead of cheering along with the boy, it seems rather upset, scared almost, at the sight of what looks like a pencil so much bigger than itself. “Don´t worry, Georgie, I will protect you,” the boy tries to reassure, “This time I will keep you safe; it will not be like last time.” 

“Whatchuuuu doing?” a tiny voice behind him asks. It startles the boy. He puts the pencil back in his pocket, hoping no one saw him. Then he turns around quickly, and draws his wooden sword, ready to defeat his enemy, but finds himself ashamed once he realizes who stands before him. It is just a little girl, probably a few grades under him. She looks malnourished, thinner than any stick he has seen. She probably couldn´t even carry her own lunchbox if she had one. She is exactly like the ones he wants to protect, and here he is, pointing a weapon at her. He could have gauged her eyes out, if she just stood a little bit closer. 

He drops his weapon. “Nothing, I´m just looking for sticks,” he says, and carries on, pretending like he is trying to find a new, even better stick than what he already got.

“Why?” she asks, with a curious expression, joining him. Why is she even out here? Shouldn´t she be in class right now?

“So that I can defend my family if someone ever breaks in and tries to stab them to death,” the boy explains, without a trace of emotion in his voice.

“Oh okay!” the girl exclaims, almost joyfully, “But why a stick? I´m sure a real sword, made of steel or gold or something, would do the job way more effectively.”

“My father doesn´t allow me to buy swords, or knives for that matter…” the boy answers, thinking about the time he begged to lend his father’s favorite saw, so that he could build a birdhouse. His father told him no: “Fighters don´t build birdhouses! They protect them!” It was probably for the best. He never knows when to give back what is borrowed anyway. 

“Really? I have like… 5 knives or something that I carry with me everywhere. Does your father want you to fail?” the girl asks. 

“I don´t know, maybe” the boy shrugs, still looking around, and never at her face. 

“Also, why were you talking to a pencil just now?” the girl asks and picks up the weakest stick he has ever seen. It is probably the only thing she can bear. She hands it over to him, clearly happy with what she has found. And this is the girl who is walking around with knives?

“It is Georgie” the boy says, with no further explanation.

“Oh okay, hi Georgie. What is he like?” the girl asks, clearly not noticing that he does not want to talk about it. The boy locks his eyes on the pitiable stick he is holding. He feels a pain in his heart, but he does not allow it to be shown. Not even to himself does he let it out, as his inside only has room for one face, and it is not his own.  

“I never got to give it back…” he whispers, not sure if it is to her or himself. He knows he will choke up on tears if he speak up. He can´t allow that. He has to keep it together. “I… never…”

A voice, unlike his own, is hammering in his head: You never got to give it back. You took it from him. You are a thief. A filthy thief. Not even when you were standing in front of his casket, did you have the guts to give back what had been stolen. It is a man talking. Or no, not a man. A monster. The one he could not face. Because he was too weak, too scared. There are no thoughts behind those eyes, one may say, but why then, does he remember his mind being so loud at that moment? The voices got louder, and they wouldn´t shut up. A blizzard, but internal this time, destroying all in its path, until what is left is no longer human. Emptied of peace, and haunted by the same thoughts over and over: Why did you not do anything? Why did you not do anything? It should have been you. Not him. You borrowed his life, and you never gave it back. Why was it not you? 

It should have been him. It should have been. The stick he is holding, feels suddenly heavy. God damn it, you can´t turn weak now. His arms are shaking, and he cannot stop it. What is wrong with you? He has to snap out of it, but his vision is turning blurry, and he is losing grasp of his own mind. Georgie was right there. Where the pile of leaves is right now. His cheeks had a summer glow, and his hair looked like honey in the rain. He had just got back from a warm distant land, that the boy does not even remember the name of. The boy should have known that soon his skin would lose color and wither along with autumn. He could have warned him. But he didn´t. What was the last thing he told him again? What was it? Something stupid about the last spiderman issue? 

“Hey, what´s up?” he vaguely hears a voice ask, but he is too far gone to answer.

Leave me alone. I don´t wanna talk. 

“Can I get a look at Georgie?” 

No. 

“I bet he is a sharp one, so maybe you can use him to stab people instead.”

The suggestion fills him with fury. He gains back a sense of the grip he has on the stick. How dare she? Does she want the weak to die, used as weapons? In that case, she should be the first to go. Georgie could have been beside him right now. They would have skipped school, to go buy new Pokémon cards. They would have told the old woman behind the counter that they just graduated, to ease her suspicions as to why they are not in class. Then they would ask where the best ice cream in town is. They would have fought when exchanging cards but would laugh over having chocolate flavor smeared all over their face. His mind would have had space for precious memories. They should have done all of those things, but they didn´t, all because of people like her.  

“No” the boy forces himself to utter. 

“Why not? Isn´t it unfair to only use sticks for harm, and not pencils?” 

The boy snaps. He starts yelling, but no actual words are coming out of his mouth. There are no thoughts behind those eyes, so how would he know how to talk? He throws the stupid stick onto the ground with all his might and steps on it, so that it splits. He is looking at her face now. She should feel guilty. She should feel awful. But in his anger, expressions are impossible to read, so the boy has no way of knowing what she is thinking. Maybe she is thinking that he is a monster, that he failed his mission. He failed. It is all his fault and there is no way he can ever make up for it. It should have been him. That is the only way he could have ever given back what was borrowed. He picks up the pencil. The pain he is carrying needs to be put somewhere, when he can´t put it on his face. So, he breaks Georgie in two, and the oath dies with him.  

The boy is filled with instant regret. Why did he do that? Why? You just killed Georgie. His knees break and take a hard hit to the ground. It hurts, but what hurts even more are the tears streaming down his face. And the tears turn into loud sobs and gasps. He cannot stop. He will suffocate if he does not let it out. He has turned weak. He can´t protect anyone. He is now nothing. His whole time on earth, has been spent borrowing others’ lives, never doing what it takes to make one for his own. Even the moon went to hide during his birth. He only causes suffering. And now he is left alone, to drown in his mistakes, because he does not have the strength to make up for them and get back to the surface. 

“What´s wrong?” the girl asks, gently, sitting down beside him. He is surprised that she is still here. 

“I´m so weak,” is all that he manages to say, in between sobs. 

 “No, you are not!” the girl tries to convince him, but the comfort is empty. There is no way she means that. 

“Yes, I am! I broke Georgie, I…” the boy is struggling to breathe, not sure if he is angry or sad or panicking. 

“That´s okay! Wait, I have an idea…” the girl looks for something in her pockets. “Here! I found it!” she pulls out a band-aid. “I wanted to impress you so I kinda lied when I said I own 5 knives, I only own 3… and I am not allowed to bring them to school. But what I do always carry, is band-aid in case anyone gets hurt! You see, one day my knee got bruised, and no one would help me, which really sucked and… may I have a look at Georgie?”

The boy is hesitant but lets her take it. She puts the two parts back together, like she is the school nurse, but kinder and younger. 

“There, good as new!” she exclaims, and shows the operated Georgie to him, with a satisfied look. He wants to thank her, but he can´t, not when he knows that Georgie would be whole if it was not for him. 

“I should have never hurt him…” the boy whispers.

“You didn´t want to hurt him,” the girl says, once again trying to comfort.

“No but I did! I didn´t save him. I wanted to, but I… I just stood there. I could have done something, if only I was stronger.”

“I know what that is like” the girl says, while thinking of how she should continue: “You see… One day I saw a group of jerks stomping on a frog. They just kept going and going, and it was trying to escape but it couldn´t. It was small and helpless, and that… is also how I felt. I didn´t do anything. I didn´t know how. They were too many, and I was just me. All I did was cry, and watch it die. I tried to put a band-aid on it afterwards, but even that wouldn´t save it. I felt like the worst kid to exist afterwards, but then I realized… The weak ones are the people stomping on frogs, not the ones trying to save them.”

The boy nods. He thinks he understands. 

“Besides, sometimes the healing bit can make you just as much as a hero as the saving bit. Here, you can borrow this, no, scratch that, I want you to keep it.” She says, and hands him her package of band-aids. Before he has time to protest, the school bell rings. School is over. It is time for kids to go home. She gets up: “Looks like I got to go, see you!” and then she runs off, without even waving goodbye. 

The boy sits there for a while, thinking back to the last day of school before summer break. All the kids had brought candy from home, but Georgie had nothing. So, the boy gave him his bag and said: “I just got a candy-allergy, so you can have it. I don´t want it to go to waste.” Then the boy pulled a water-gun he had snuck in and declared war on all teachers and students. He made sure everyone got soaked, and that Georgie was laughing his ass off for the whole day. The parents had to bring towels when it was time to pick their kids up. No one came for Georgie. He said he did not want to go home just yet. That he wanted to enjoy the sun a little bit longer. So, the boy stayed with him. They went to the school´s backyard and sat there for hours. The boy does not remember much of what they talked about, but he does remember telling a joke that made Georgie quietly say: 

“Thank you for being my friend, you make everything hurt less.”

The boy wipes his last tear and gets back up. He looks at the stick the girl was so happy to find; now it is wounded from being taken for granted. So, he picks it up, and put it back together, with the use of the band-aid he got. “I´m sorry I made you feel weak” the boy tells it. Then he looks back at the pile of leaves, and notices that they kinda looks like gemstones when the sun is shining on them. The boy makes a new oath, to never infuse the earth with his anger and hatred but rather heal what has been broken. Then he starts walking, with his new friend, into a world that looks a little bit different in this light.