Marcus
When Marcus was 14 years old he got the shit beaten out of him. Not by his asshole father or older brother, either. Marcus had grown up loving Star Trek and space. He was fascinated by concepts like jet propulsion. He was a kid. He liked watching sitcoms. He had an undiscovered wit. He dressed like a cross between Zack Morris and Steve Urkel.
His particular combination of traits were, as one might imagine, not appreciated in a freshman boy in a suburban high school. Not being popular didn’t bother Marcus. He hadn’t been especially social, he kept to his three or four friends and that status quo was good enough for him. Then there was the day in physics class.
His teacher was explaining the concept of inertia. The concept that objects in motion stay in motion and objects at rest stay at rest. Marcus felt well versed in this concept. So when John, the tight end of the football team, said that that couldn’t be true because when a baseball rolled on the ground it eventually stopped, Marcus felt the need to pipe up.
“Yeah, but that’s because of friction. The Earth is acting against the ball. What he’s talking about is objects in space with no other acting forces.”
John’s face grew bright red. He didn’t like being wrong. He hated when teachers corrected him and he really hated it when a student did it. John was already close to 6 feet tall and unnaturally broad for a 14 (almost 15) year old. Marcus on the other hand was about 5'6" and was barely 160 pounds.
Class was over and Marcus made his way out of the classroom into the hallway. Suddenly he felt a force act on him, against his left shoulder specifically. He was sent hurdling into the lockers on his right. His physics oriented brain was processing this act in relation to the discussion in class when he realized who had shoved him. John stood over him.
“Hey! What the fuck? Trying to make me look stupid?” John bellowed.
“No you did that yourself, dumbass.” Marcus shot back. It flew out of his mouth before he really knew it. If he could pull it back into his head he would have. But he couldn’t and John’s face grew red. John clenched his fist and Marcus braced himself.
It was then that a couple of teachers made their way down the hall and John decided now wasn’t the time.
The school day passed and Marcus held an unease about it. He walked home with a chasm in his stomach, not knowing if he’d picked a fight he couldn’t win or if John would be satisfied with the shove he’d already gotten in. The anxiety lifted as he got home. Safe at home he did his homework, played video games and read a little. He’d forgotten about the potential threat.
Then the morning came and the feeling of dread was palpable. As he let the house and walked to school he imagined all manner of threat against him. The reality was that Marcus didn’t fear physical pain very much. It was more the knowledge that at any time his dignity could be taken, that someone of greater physical and social stature could simply take what little of both Marcus had. He decided the best course of action was to change his routine. He normally went to the cafeteria and had breakfast. Today he’d skip breakfast and go to his locker instead. He normally walked home, today he’d take the bus. He was normally outspoken in physics. Today he’d be quiet. If he didn’t make himself a target the whole thing would be much more likely to disappear. Then he remembered that physics was the dropped class for the day! All the sudden his anxiety lifted. He never saw John except for class. With an extra day to cool off he was certain this whole thing would pass.
The next day came and that meant that physics would the the hour-long class for the day meant to make up for the time it dropped out the day prior. Marcus sat in his chair and waited nervously. All was normal, he stuck to his quiet plan. Halfway through the hour, he felt a tap on the shoulder. He was handed a note. When he unfolded it, it read “Your a fucking pussy. Don’t hide from me.” Apart from noticing the the misspelling, Marcus felt the familiar pit fall out of the bottom of his stomach. He looked over at John who was staring at him.
The bell rang. John was closer to the door than he was and so he exited the room first. Marcus saw him turn left so he made his way to the right. John yelled, “Hey!” Marcus reflexively turned.
“You finally gonna face me you little pussy?” John said through his teeth.
“What do you want?” Marcus replied, doing everything he could to control his fear.
“I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”
“Why? Because of one thing I said in class?”
“You made me look stupid.”
It was at this point Marcus had a thought. If he could get John to do something in front of teachers, he had a better chance of getting it diffused. He flashed a look back at John. A small crowd had gathered to watch the action.
“Nope, you did that yourself. Dumbass.” Marcus said, his stomach quivering.
John grew bright red and launched a punch at Marcus’ face. In a panic reaction Marcus went to duck and actually slipped and fell on his ass. His reaction was fast enough, however, to cause the punch to miss. While simultaneously causing him to inadvertently kick John’s feet out from under him on the way down.
John fell forward basically on top of Marcus and the two began rolling around, scrambling both to get up and defend themselves. In a fit of fear combined with rage combined with self-preservation Marcus managed to get on top of John. Marcus threw a series of rabbit punches trying to hit John in the face. One of his attempts made glancing contact with John’s eyebrow the rest were deflected. John grew impatient with this and grabbed Marcus’ shirt and hurled him to the side into the lockers. He got up and was about to unleash hell on Marcus. When they both heard, “HEEEEEYYYY! Knock it off!”
It was an english teacher who’d heard the commotion and came out. John froze. Several other teachers came out. One grabbed John by the collar, the other Marcus. They were escorted down the hall. The crowd parted and the students started applauding, jeering the two fighters. Suddenly, the ridiculousness of both the conflict and fight that ensued settled in for both of them. They both grew red and laughed out of embarrassement on their way to the dean’s office.
Punishments were handed out. Two weeks of afterschool detention for both. Though John was allowed to go to football practice which struck Marcus as unfair. Never the less, the two of them sitting in a classroom together for an hour after school each day John didn’t have practice led to a sort of peace. The first hours were quiet and tense, but by the second week John was bored. He looked over at Marcus and said “what are you doing?”
“My homework.” said Marcus.
“Figured.”
“Why aren’t you doing yours?”
“I hardly ever do.”
“How is that possible?”
Of course Marcus knew how it was possible. John was a football player, he was popular, he got C’s and D’s with no effort because teachers liked him and he could run a four-four forty. John sat back smug and bored. He started again.
“You know I still have to kick your ass after this, right?”
The pit in Marcus’ stomach became a chasm.
“Why?”
“Because I told my friends I would.”
“So?”
“I don’t want them to think I’m a pussy.”
“Great.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you.”
“Great.”
There was a long silence. Marcus was scared and pissed and couldn’t take it any more.
“You know what, fuck you.”
“What?” John grew flush.
“Fuck. You. Fuck you and your jock life, you get to throw footballs and fuck cheerleaders and not do any work and fucking coast through life. It’s not enough that your dad gave you a car and you brag about getting blowjobs at parties, you need to beat the shit out of me? Fuck you, man.”
John sat back. His anger turned into something else. Maybe empathy? Maybe he saw the spark in Marcus that he saw in himself. While kids like Marcus saw a dumb, lazy jock, he saw himself as a gladiator. Marcus had no idea how much it hurt to get hit on the football field. He had no idea what it was like at six years old to be told to hit another boy as hard as he could. To be thrown to the ground by his enormous father. To be punched by older brothers. To be sacked by a steroid using linebacker and driven to the ground as your coach tells you to shake it off.
Marcus wasn’t done, “So if you’re going to beat me up, beat me up because I called you a spoiled, lazy asshole.”
John wanted to be pissed, but he saw Marcus’ spark, his fight. He saw a little bit of himself and he liked it. He smiled.
“What?” Marcus sneered.
John smiled.
A week later Marcus was walking home. John had only been in with detention with him one other time that week, there was a big game that weekend. He turned the corner and there was John and two other football players. Marcus froze. There wasn’t anyone else around. He decided now was the time. He walked right at them. He wasn’t going to be afraid any more.
As he strode down the sidewalk and entered their space, John put his hand on Marcus’ chest. John said, “I told you.”
Wordless, Marcus took a step back and took off his bag and jacket.
“Wow, bad ass is ready.” John’s henchman said. John looked over at him and waved his hand in a gesture meant to tell him to be quiet.
John and Marcus side-stepped into the street for the extra room. John looked at him, winked, and said “come on.”
Marcus charged and took an awkward, mighty swing. John side stepped it and the goons laughed. John had assumed the role his father took with him. Patient teacher, benevolent dealer of pain. Marcus awkwardly bucked forward and backward, not sure how to attack. He stepped within range to throw a punch. He could feel himself overthinking, he fired a punch. John shrugged his forearm upward and blocked it. Then immediately countered with a right-cross to Marcus’ jaw. Marcus had never felt pain like that before. He was instantly on the ground, his eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t believe the impact. He bounced to his feet wild eyed. This was suddenly a fight for his life, at least in his mind. He charged and wrapped his arms around John’s torso in an attempt to bring him to the ground. John back peddled. John’s friends laughed as he said, “you don’t want to do this.” Marcus pushed harder. John pressed against Marcus’ force locking him in place. John reached down and began to throw upper cuts into Marcus’ ribs. The pain caused Marcus to wince and loosen his grip John easily pushed him a back a half-step and punched him in the stomach.
The air rushed out of Marcus’ body, he couldn’t breathe. He hit the ground and crouched to the fetal position. John stood over him and yelled instructions. “Go slow. Breathe. Slow. Breathe.” The air filled Marcus’ lungs again. He rolled to all fours and got to his feet. He squared to John, ready for more. One of the henchmen called out “Look at this kid! Bad ass!” Marcus stepped forward. John didn’t react, Marcus threw his hardest punch and hit John square on the cheek. Marcus felt a searing pain in his hand from the impact. John’s head turned at the impact. He turned back to Marcus who was shaking his hand. He squared and fired another punch at Marcus’ face. Marcus was laid out again, looking like Sonny Liston after Muhammed Ali took him out.
Gaining his faculties, Marcus looked up as John stood over him. John looked down, “You good?” Marcus nodded. John leaned down and extended a hand. Helping Marcus up, he helped him gather his things. “Come on.” John said.
Wordlessly, they walked to John’s truck. John opened the back door of the truck. Marcus climbed in. John drove him home, without a word. They pulled in front of Marcus’ house.
John called from the front seat. “Come by my table at lunch tomorrow.” Marcus could tell there wasn’t a hint of irony or cruelty in his offer. Marcus nodded.
