The Circle
by Jake DeTrempe

As the boy walked up to the door, it didn't occur to him that he might have some broken fingers, a concussion, and a few bruised ribs. He was hurting, but he never felt so alive. He felt like he had conquered the universe! His high of besting the school bully was enough to negate any number of broken bones or sprained joints. He had received more praise during that three block walk home than he had collectively in his whole life. The other guys were giving him hearty pats on the back and the girls were looking at him in a way that didn't upset him.

It was hard to imagine that four short hours ago he had been given a death sentence. He had been sitting at the table in the cafeteria eating his nutritiously balanced school lunch (its comparability to cardboard didn't escape him) when the bully approached and inquired if the boy was going to eat his Jell-O. The boy gladly handed the small plastic cup to the bully remarking its similarity to snot. The bully made another attempt to instigate a situation by asking the boy if he enjoyed homosexual activity. When the boy wondered aloud if he was asking out of interest or plain jealousy, the bully threw the Jell-O cup to the ground and announced the future meeting of the bully's foot to the boy's ass.

Dread filled the boy's stomach as he realized that he was dead. The next three hours of his school day he spent with a rock in his stomach. It became a tumor growing more and more throughout the day collecting energy from the looks of pity from all of his classmates.

At 2:50 when the dismissal bell rang, the doors opened for countless students off to enjoy their weekend, as did the floodgates of the boy's emotions, primarily dread and panic. The boy left the building and began the walk to the place where such matters were resolved. This was the place where children got together to work out similar situations since before the boy's time, The Circle. It was a small circular patch about six feet in diameter in the center or a clearing about 100 ft into the woods off of route 24, only a half mile from the school. Many a kid had entered only to come out hurt, degraded and humiliated. Until now, the boy had managed to keep himself out of The Circle, but all of his preventative measures were nullified by a cowardly bully with no more ambition that to find a nice little quarry, pound him, and go home to eat a Snack Pack and watch Saved by the Bell.

As the boy walked down the path to the circle, he became aware of the darkening sky. Part of it was the foliage, but most was the dark storm clouds rolling in. His mood was knocked down another notch when he pictured himself limping home while the rain came pouring down on his head. His aura was one of woe, an ultimate woe, which couldn't be penetrated by the cheeriest of puppies or kittens. As he entered the clearing, he noticed something. The number of kids at the circle was unusually high. He thought briefly that his overworking emotions were playing tricks on him, but refused to believe it. He estimated that the whole school was there. There had been the traditional group of people following him, just as there would assuredly be a group following the bully, but this was different. There were kids everywhere; crowded around the clearing, sitting in trees, even on each other's shoulders, anywhere to get a better vantage point. He felt a sickness roll through his bowels as he pictured his return to school Monday, bandaged up with everyone looking and laughing at him. Oh, how the gossip would flow. Being an optimist at heart, he made a mental declaration that it couldn't possibly get any worse.

So there he stood at the edge of the clearing. Hope for survival became a cliff by which he dangled from an exposed root about a foot from the edge. He heard a dull murmur as the he saw the crowd part opposite him across the clearing. The bully entered, followed closely by a few of his lackeys. He broke out in a cold sweat as his heart pounded through his chest. He took a deep breath and looked around the clearing, expecting to see the hungry eyes of his peers not unlike those of spectators in the Colosseum of ancient Rome. To his surprise, he instead met hopeful, supporting eyes. The bully wasn't popular, obviously, as he had reduced a number of kids to shuddering lumps in The Circle. Suddenly a lucrative idea came to his mind; he could win. He had been fighting with his brother for as long as he could remember. Being a whole two years older, his brother had showed him a thing or two about fighting, both by instruction and just plain brotherly aggression. After thirteen years, the boy didn't go down easily. Nevertheless, the bully was the same age as the boy's brother, being held back two grades (academics not being his strong suit). Confidence emerged from the boy, and the thought of being a hero inspired him to act. He marched to the circle realizing that his body had become numb.

The bully entered the circle and grinned, revealing the nastiest teeth the boy had ever seen. The bully made a remark but the boy didn't hear it; he was already beginning to swing. He punched the bully squarely in the jaw. However the bully, no stranger to a fistfight, was not phased much. The bully met him with a punch to the forehead, followed closely be another one right above his left ear. The boy's vision became blurred and hazy. He could vaguely make out the bully as he received another shot to his head. Now he couldn't see at all and the ground began to spin. He fell down to his hands and knees. The boy tried frantically to regain his footing before the bully could continue his assault, but the bully began to kick him several times in the ribs. After four, the boy lost count.

Blinded and suffocating, the boy lied in the middle of the circle, doubled over like a roly-poly bug. The bully began cheer, taking a victory lap around The Circle but the boy didn't pay him any attention, he was too busy dying to notice anything. Each breath was agonizingly slow and fiery, like he was breathing napalm. He teetered on the brink of losing consciousness, but regained his head. The bully was celebrating his apparent victory by challenging anyone and everyone present with the balls to take him on. The boy felt a rise of humor, and stifled a snicker. It felt out-of-place yet refreshing, like a waterfall in the desert. His brother had taught him never to turn his back in a fight until he was sure it was absolutely over. C'mon, he thought, this is kids stuff.

The boy worked himself up to his feet. He sauntered up to the bully with an uneasy calmness and a sly grin on his face. The bully hadn't turned around to check on his opponent once. This thought widened the boy's grin and forced him to work back a laugh. By now the wind had picked up, and the rumble of thunder was closing in from the southwest. The boy's aches were distant, almost as if they were someone else's. There he stood, behind the bully waiting for him to turn around so they could both get what they had coming. There was a bolt of lightening and the bully didn't have a prayer.
The flash startled the bully into turning around only to be blinded by a punch to his nose. The boy grabbed the bully's hair, bringing his face down to his knee. As it started to rain, the kids began to cheer. The boy didn't know if it was the rain, the cheering crowd or his own aches and pains, but the rest was a blur. All he could remember about the fight was a minute comparison he made between his hand and a mallet.

The next thing he knew, his hand was stinging madly and the bully was lying in the mud on his back, unconscious. The rain had slowed to a light shower and the bully was breathing in short labored breaths. The boy's peers hesitated for a moment, perhaps waiting for the rage in the boy's eyes to subside, then surrounded him and hoisted him up onto their shoulders cheering his name and giving him adulation. After that short celebration the rabble of rain soaked kids began to disperse. The boy looked at the bully and wondered if he would be okay. He noticed that a few of his bootlickers were standing at the edge of the clearing blocking his exit. He walked to them and told then to pick their sorry friend up. They tried to look tough, but it turned out to be a futile attempt; without their boss they were nothing. He exited the clearing and came out on the side of route 24 and began the walk home.

By the time he got to his front gate the sun had come out and it shined with a brilliant red-orange glow, making everything appear to ember as if the world was on fire. When he got inside his mom would gasp and scream and over-exaggerate. His father would take him to the E.R. and talk to him about why fighting is wrong, 'talk'� being a euphemism for taking him out for ice cream and listening to his story. He would be grounded, but none of this mattered to him. He was a hero and felt invincible. As he walked up to the door, he found himself wondering if the bully would retaliate. Then he heard his brother's voice tell him that it would have to be after he recovered. The boy leaned against the front door and began to laugh, making his side scream with pain. After he regained his composure, the boy opened the door and began to walk into the house. He then thought about all of the other thugs who would try and challenge him after they heard of his little victory, leading to many more Friday afternoon skirmishes in The Circle.

He grinned, watching the sun retreat behind the trees and closed the door.

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