Childhood, Narrative Arc, lesson one
My Version of George and the Dragon
There are times when pain is worth the reward.
Billy Harrison is standing like a piece of granite rock at the far end of the alley, blocking the sunlight. I don’t care, I am telling myself, and I’m damned if I’m about to let go of Susan’s hand.
It’s not that I feel supremely confident, I don’t, and whatever happens in the next minute or two is sure to hurt, but the most important thing is not to let Susan see me cry.
I feel her hand twitch in mine but hold on fast. Billy wasn’t in school today, and in his absence, I took my chance to carry Susan Rafferty’s satchel home. I’m not a big kid, bit of a dope really, but halfway home from school we’d joined hands. It felt nice. I don’t know what else to tell you. I mean, in that moment I felt like a prince. You get it, right. You know what I mean.
It’s well known in the playground; Susan Rafferty is Billy’s girl. He is thirteen, but I am determined not to show timidness. I squeeze Susan’s hand. Billy gets astride his chopper bike, pushing off toward us, filling the alley with his size.
Butterflies flutter somewhere in the canyon of my stomach.
We hesitate to continue forward. Billy skids the bike to a halt two feet in front of Susan and me. He stares at Susan’s fingers entwined with mine.
Billy gets off his bike.
It happens very quickly, an explosive bang that jolts my head back. Then Billy, sitting on top of me, with his fist piling down into my face, and I hear Susan scream before getting a hallucinatory glimpse of her grabbing something off the ground, then running off home.
Mum does her best to console me, wiping the blood from my mouth. Dad, who came venturing into the bathroom to see what the fuss is about is less than sympathetic.
Fighting, he says, is best left to patriotic men. He looks closely at the bruising around my eye and asks if I managed to get in a punch. It disappoints him to see my head shaking. Obviously, one shouldn’t fight over a girl, but if one must, at least put up a good show. That was Dad’s advice.
I hope you took it like a man, he says, pulling my chin upward with a curled forefinger.
I nod.
Good, it’ll not be shameful if you take a beating like a man. Mum chastises him, telling him to go mind the dogs and not be so hard on me.
Dad insists I be sent to bed, the standard punishment for wrongdoing. I will get no tea, and for the rip in my trouser leg, no weekend soccer.
Billy’s victory is a shallow one, never producing a single tear from his rival for the affections of Susan Rafferty.
From my bed, I can hear Dad in the garden, digging up potatoes, cursing the dogs. A moment later the bedroom door opens. Mum enters carrying a glass of milk, a spam sandwich, and a caramel bar. She glances out the window, puts the tray next to the bed, and smiles. You know the kind of smile; the one that goes straight to the heart.
Push the tray under the bed when you’re done, son. Don’t let Dad see it.
She kisses my cheek, brushes her fingers through my hair, then closes the door. I tuck into my sandwich, ouching at every bite. Satisfied, I push the tray under the bed and opened my favorite book: ‘How the Whale Got His Throat.’
When Dad enters to say goodnight, I was finishing the story. The sun has fallen from the sky, and the shouts from the field at the back of the house, where my buddies had played soccer, had quieted. He drew the curtains and looked down at me.
That’s a shiner, lad. Maybe you’ll think twice about taking on someone bigger than yourself next time.
He bends to kiss my forehead. No soccer this weekend, do you understand?
Yes, Dad.
Before he leaves, Dad pulls a caramel bar from his pocket. Don’t tell your mother and brush your teeth when you’ve finished.
Billy’s bike is not in the schoolyard when I arrive the next morning. Susan is sitting on the steps to the classroom.
Hi, Susan, I sing out, as if the victor, and drop my backpack to the ground.
That must hurt a lot, she says, seeing the bruise, then casts her eyes to my swollen lip.
I lost a tooth, I said, proudly holding up my lip. Susan looks at the blood-filled gap.
It’s not missing, Harry…she says, opening a locket that hangs from a gold chain around her neck. My tooth is inside.
Postscript:
I never carried Susan’s satchel again. She left the island a few weeks later.
Billy Harrison grew up and became a policeman.
And that, my lovely friends, is the tooth of the matter!
Hello, this might be of some interest. If you would like to join Medium as a Member, giving you access to every story I write, and the whole shabang of talented writers on Medium, and you want to join up, read, or earn yourself a few coins writing, please think about using my LINK to become a member. Cost $5. You’ll be gifting me a cup of coffee, and treating yourself to the wonderland of Medium.com💜✍️
