No More Bruises

I spread out my arms as I feel the breeze touch every part of me. I feel my short, brown hair sway, and my skin pressed.  I smell the flowers, trees, water. Beautiful. Free. "Zach!" I jolt awake to find the whole class staring at me. It's third period; history with Ms. Hilton. "What?" I realize my stupidity and that I zoned out; there goes trying to look cool. The girls rolling their eyes and the boys laughing. I take my big hands and rub them through my thick, dark-brown hair, trying to conceal my embarrassment. "What treaty was signed to end World War One and where?"  Ms. Hilton stood at the front of the room, her long skirt reaching halfway down her shins, her many bracelets sitting on the ridge created by her hand and wrist from setting her hands upon her waist. But I seriously have no idea. I mean, why do I need to know this anyway? I wasn't asked this for my job interview and I probably never will!  "Um...The Treaty of War?" I saw everyone preparing to laugh, "I mean, I don't know." Once again, the class laughed, all except Ms. Hilton. I thought it was a good guess. "Zachariah! Detention, now!" She flung her hand to point towards the door, her bracelets flinging around as if they were trying to escape, and her glasses with a long chain hanging down from their corners, only to make her look older. They slid down the bridge of her nose from the jerk. I get up, adjust my black leather jacket, and strut towards the door. I look at Britney, the hottest girl in our class. Her thick, red lips, her long dark hair that flows down past her chest, conforming to her body. Hot! I gave her a wink. She rolled her eyes and turned toward her friends. She totally digs me. Girls love a bad boy. I am glad to get out of that class, and on the way, I look through the lockers for anything valuable. I find a ring, a watch, and twenty bucks, and a new chain for my ripped jeans. The Detention room is located at the back of the school, behind the band room. That's the only thing miserable about it! They don't even know how to play, and the boring people they talk about, Beethoven, Bach...They all are useless. I bet they didn't even get anywhere in life! I open the door, Mr. San looking not at all surprised to see me.  "What it be this time?" He asked as his gigantic body leaned back in the chair.  "Ms. Hilton and her dumb history questions." He did not seem enthusiastic, although he never was.   I don't let the hate phase me though. There's worse things in life than teachers who don't like you. I took my seat in the back, which is literally mine. I engraved my name in it, so no one else dares to sit here. I cross my arms in front of me and lay my head down. It's not long before I fall asleep.     As the bell rang, I jolted awake, tired. With the hallways flooded, it gets hard to look for my friends. Suddenly, a "Yo, Zach!" reached my ears. "What up?" I asked my friend Ken as he approached me. "I got a bone to pick with you." This is not at all what I expected. He does not look happy. Once he gets within three feet of me, he pushes me backwards, hard enough that I stumble back. "Jeez man! What's your problem?"  "You are!" he shouts as he pushes me again. This time, I hit the lockers. "You were with my girlfriend last night?" he pushes me again. "Yeah, so?" This time, I push him back. I didn’t do it very hard, he stumbles back, but it was a warning. "And you made out?" He pushes me once again. I then decide to punch him, and our audience that had gathered shouts the word "Fight" as if they are a stuck record. He wipes the blood off of his chin. "Who the heck do you think you are?" "Uh, Zach Fisk, and you need to chill your balls!"  We break out into an all-out wrestling match, punching, pushing, and spitting on each other. The principle, Mrs. Strict--and I’m not kidding, that’s her name--grabs our shirts and forces us apart. Her gigantic shadow looms over us like a demon overlooking its prey. “Mr. Fisk, Mr. Hope,” we don’t look at her, but at the damage we have inflicted upon each other. My swollen lip, his bloody nose. “Both of you: to my office, now!” She lets us go, turning around to address the cluster that had grown around us.  As the two of us round the corner to enter the office, we start up again. As I uppercut his gut, Mrs. Strict pulls us apart again. Holding our shirts, she guides us into the room that both of us have seen before. In the office sits a large mahogany desk, with two armchairs in front of it. The desk looks so neat and clean, it’s almost empty, and the plant in the corner of the room is the only life the room has.  The large window is covered with shades, leaving the room dark. There are no photos, signs, nothing. The floor is tile, which looks a lot like marble. How is it that such expensive things can go into a room for a principal of a school of poor kids? We each plop down in a chair, and Mrs. Strict sits down very gently, and folds her hands. Her blue suit is very professional looking; scary. Her dark-brown hair goes over her shoulders as if it is her tamed pet. Her eyes are so dark, they’re almost black, and she eyes you so solidly, that you can’t help but stare into them. In them, I only see evil.  “Now boys, what’s this all about?” she leans forward, as if she’s ready to snatch our eyeballs and put them in her cauldron.  “He messed around with my girlfriend!” Ken jolts forward and points at me. She turns to me for a response. All I can do is shrug. “Violence is not tolerated here, I’m sending you both home,” she says, looking at me. I jerk forward, her body jerking violently out of surprise, stopping my motion. God, she scares me! I lean back in the chair, scared to say anything. The door opens and Ken’s father comes through. Looking around Ken and his father, I see my father in the hallway, his arms crossed and angry. I turn. “Mrs. Strict?” “What is it Zachariah?” “Can I stay here? I’ll clean the walls, lockers, bathrooms, anything!”  “Zach, no. You need to explain to your parents why you keep getting in fights. It’s against the rules, and you’re nearing the point of getting expelled. We’ve been very nice. Your father says that he wants you home.”  I take a deep breath and walk outside the office slowly, towards my father. He grabs my ear and pushes me forward, towards the door.  It takes a lot to suppress that part of me that wants to fight. I turn to see Mrs. Strict looking at me. Her eyes have changed. Instead of being so cruel looking, they seem to hold sympathy. The only sympathy I have ever seen. My father continues to say nothing, only making me more fearful of going home. He obviously is beyond mad, and I’m in some serious trouble.  This is bad.    The car ride had been silent, and now I sit here--in front of my father--with a pulsating jaw. Not from the fight, but from my father’s wicked hand. I watch as he raises his bottle of alcohol to his lips, having to hold onto the chair to keep his balance. “Robert, he’s had enough!” My mother shouts, still careful to stay out of his hitting range. My mother’s tiredness is constantly reflected on her face. Knowing what he’s done to her only makes me hate him more.  Her hair is a mess, greasy from not getting regular showers. Her eyes, they used to be so blue, and are now foggy and faded. Her lips, thin. Her face displays no bruises, but I know that she has them. My father ignores her plea and throws the chair out from underneath me, sending me to the ground. My butt and back scream with pain, a kind that I have become used to.  “You dang child! Why did we get cursed with you?”  We all stand there for a minute, looking at each other. He then turns around, almost falling. He stumbles his way to his bedroom, and slams the door behind him. My mother rushes over to me, fear all over her face. “Honey, are you--” I cut her off. “Just! Just don’t. I’m fine.” I don’t want help. I don’t want her to worry about me, she needs to worry about herself. What I want is that monster out of here. I don’t even understand why she’s even still with him! Or even was in the first place! “I’m heading out, you should come with. Leave him alone.”  She looks at me, towards the room, and back at me. She shakes her head no, and I can see the pain in her face. She’s trying to hide tears. I go out the door, breathing in the fresh air. Free. I walk down the dirty block--trash, pollution, and gangsters hogging every corner. I enter the woods, following the trail I’ve made by continuously escaping here, through the green trees. I follow till I reach the creek, which I’ve named myself.  I sit down on a big log, hidden by the vegetation growing around it with the soil of time. It has an indentation from me sitting here so many times before.  I can hear the wind, blowing its words and whispers. I can hear the birds chirping, as if they’re gossiping about me. I can also hear the trees groaning their own language, living in their own world. I look down at the water in front of me. I no longer am surprised to find dried blood, swelling, and bruises covering my face. I run my hand along my face, caressing each wound adding them to memory, not forgetting a single one. I mentally prepare myself for tomorrow, knowing no one will ask questions, the way it has to be. I look around, studying each tree, each leaf, each plant. Every stone and every critter.  The beauty of this world takes my breath away. I put my backpack down and grab out my notebook. On the blank page, I write  Green is the opposite of humanity. Within the ongoing trees, I feel safe and as though I belong. The escape is what I long for, nothing else. These old trees are wiser and kinder than anything within the walls or on the streets built by man. I lay across the log, staring at the sky... "'Come here, Zach.'" I see as my mom holds out her hands, my father next to her, both with smiles across their faces. It's a sunny day, happy. I look down and can see my small feet and legs. I look back up and start heading towards them.  Suddenly, they aren't there anymore. Now I am surrounded by blackness. I can't see anything.  Suddenly, there's a man approaching me. I feel like I know him, like something that you can feel, but can't see. He has a group of guys around him, and they're coming closer. I begin to feel afraid, like my lungs are becoming smaller and smaller. "Zach, you shouldn't test me," he says.  The guys are holding me, and I feel like things are about to get bad. He begins to throw his fist forward.... A fish plops back into the water, making me wake up. I realize that I was only dreaming. After checking the time, I throw everything back in my bag, and slowly walk back home, trying to understand what just happened.