The Coffee Cup
As we open our tale we see it was a perfect arch. It didn't spend much time in the air because, like with all coffee, he had trouble letting go. It picked up all the speed in needed from the swing. It left the hand and flittered in the air, flirting with the side. It eeked over the rim of the trashcan and landed, without bounce, on the top of the empty thirty-pack. He never looked back at the large Styrofoam Dunking Donuts coffee cup. Unfortunately, Ned did.

'What the hell is this?'� He punctuated his inquiry with a punch to the chest.
'I don't know,'� she said, watery eyes defiant. 'It's not mine.'�
'Don't lie to me, you whore!'� he roared rapping her ass with his knuckles
'I swear! It's not mine.'�
Just like that, the time for words had passed. He threw the cup at her, which floated harmlessly through the air, and went to the cupboard. He reentered the shag- carpeted living-room with a role of duct tape over his wrist, one of his stained socks in that one hand and his belt was in the other. Her vivid green eyes went wide. She opened her mouth to protest but he knocked her to the floor with a solid shove to the chest.
Ned sat down hard on her chest. He ignored the whimper he caused by his landing squarely on the bruise an earlier shot had formed. Her mouth was presented with the soiled sock. He roughly taped her mouth shut, then commenced with the whipping. The blows ripped open her shirt and landed blow after blow with the belt onto her belly. The scars reopened. Her eyes poured tears. Ned's pants swelled in the front.


'So Jimmy said that Billy said that Jamie told him that Bobby was suspended. For, like, passing notes or something. Can you believe that shit? I mean Everybody passes notes y'know? It's not the first time that a teacher has caught someone. So I'm, like, 'what the hell they got against Bobby?!' And Jimmy was like, 'I dunno.' So I'm wondering if it's true cuz that Billy isn't playing with a full deck of Pokemon cards, you know what I'm saying?'�
'Yeah,'� Mary was only half listening. Bending down to get her books from the bottom of her locker, wasn't a cake walk. So she didn't have much energy for gossip.
' '� So then I'm, like, what-eva! That teach just has it out for us kids, ya know what I'm sayin? I mean if I was in Bobby's shoes I'd be like, 'get out my face! I didn't do nuthin' wrong'�''�
Jenny stopped to take her obligatory once an hour inhalation when Peter walked by. Trying his best to look nonchalant, he stole a quick glance at Mary. He thought he was quick enough, that nobody had caught him. He would have been right had it not been time for Jenny to inhale. But, alas, The Fates work in mysterious ways.
' uh-OH! Dweeb alert! Look out Mary you got, like, a not-so-secret admirer or something.'�
Peter didn't even slow down as he blushed his way past. Mary looked up and their eyes met. For a moment Peter's world stopped. She had the most beautiful green eyes. The light bounced off them in just the right way that they seemed to sparkle. One of her long dark-red hairs obscured his view of one of her eyes. But that just added to her beauty. She was lithe enough to be a cheerleader but actually was more than skin and bones. He'd actually seen her eat too! She was in better shape than any of the cheerleaders, with track-pants and long-sleeved jersey she looked amazing.
All this assessing took a nanosecond. Then his thoughts were thrown to the wind; she smiled at him and swept the hair out of her eyes with that skill that drives men of any age wild. She actually smiled at him! His heart took off at mach three. His head clouded with unadulterated joy.
Which is probably why he didn't see the six foot five mountain of muscle in his way. He slammed in to it so hard that if he had been looking forward he might have broken his nose. He went sprawling and his books scattered and one of them hit her in the ribs. He landed a scant tile away from her.
He heard her gasp, out of what he thought was surprise. He got up quick, turning a deeper hue of crimson, amidst a chorus up steroid filled guffaws.
'Watch where your going nerd!'�
He was bumped down again with a boot to the butt as the jock and his friend continued down the corridor. He actually touched Mary's leg as he met the tiles again and he blushed anew. He scrambled to his feet.
She helped him collect his books and set his heart aflutter by touching his hand with hers. He did notice how she paused at the contact. But quickly looked away before he could catch a glimpse of what he was sure to be disgust. And he muttered, multiple times, thanks before standing up getting ready to bolt before something really bad could happen. But something, he new not what, held him there for moment longer. He turned slowly and saw her staring at him. When his eyes met hers she smiled that smile again. With Jenny in the background rolling her eyes Mary threw him a quick wave and then hurried off.

Working Thoughts

'Have you even talked to her?'�
'I couldn't talk to her! Are you crazy? What if she doesn't like me?
Ah, the logic of the young. Pete was standing behind the counter of the small bookshop with his boss. While tying on his apron the pensive look in his eyes alerted Pam to his dilemma. Having covered the subject before, she knew exactly what was wrong but played dumb just the same. She asked if everything was alright.
She put her jet-black hair up and tried to remember a time when she was so young and so naïve. It wasn't all that hard. The first few crushes stay vivid no matter how far into the past they recede, the first few loves even more so. Judging from the look in her young employee's eyes, this could very well be his first love. She remembered her first love and knew that he had to get over that paralyzing fear. She knew he'd need help.
He was the youngest member of her staff by almost two decades, but was already one of her best employees. That alone would have been enough for her to help him out. After all a happy employee was a productive employee. But it went beyond that. She genuinely liked the kid. In some ways he was older than his years, but in others he was younger. He never shied away from an irate customer and always handled him (or her) with a battle-tested politeness that belied his age. Yet, here he was perhaps on the verge of his first love, one of the single most amazing experiences a person can go though, and he wouldn't even talk to the girl.
'Pete, that's ridiculous and you know it.'�
'But what if she doesn't? I could look like a fool, y'know? Hell, she could even have a boyfriend! I'd never been able to even look at her again! I don't think I could bear it.'�
'But what if she does like you? What if she doesn't have a boyfriend? What then? Do you really want to go through life wondering what might have been?'�
'No, of course not. But I think it'd be worse to find out the hard way that she's taken than to spend my life wondering.'�
She had to hand it to the kid, he thought it through. That didn't stop her, though.
'Oh, come on. You read a lot. I'm sure you've come across the lines 'Nothing ventured nothing gained.' This is a big venture, definitely, but think of what you can gain.'�
'I know but'�'�
'But nothing,'� she cut in, seeing a chink in his ignorance amour and opened it wider. 'Look, kid, I know what you're feeling. I've been there. It was one of the scariest experiences of my life; Moving across country with nothing but a duffle-bag full of clothes and my Chevy, included. There's nothing that makes you more vulnerable than really liking someone. You put your heart out there and she's free to stomp on it if she feels like it. Believe me, I know. It's happened to me more times than I care to count. You know what though? For every time that does happen, and I'm not going to lie to you it will happen, those times when you offer up your heart to a girl and she embraces it more than make up for every time a girl stomps on it. Girls can be cruel but they can also be amazingly caring. Sometimes you have to just put your heart on the line and see which it's going to be.'�
A customer took that time to step up to the counter and complain. In his hands the short, squat, and balding man held a copy of the novelization of the Spider-Man movie. He did not look pleased.
'Excuse me young man,'� he began as all bitter old men do, 'what is a comic book doing in a book store?'�
'I'm sorry, sir, but you're mistaken. That is a novel not a comic.'�
'What! Look at the cover. Doesn't it say, 'Spider-man'?'�
'Yes it does.'�
'And you have the nerve to tell me Spider-man is not a comic?'�
'You're right, sir. Spider-man is a comic but that's not a comic. It's the novel written to coincide with the movie that just came out.'�
'What! You just said Spider-man is a comic. But you claim that this is NOT a comic?'�
'Yes sir.'�
'How stupid do you think I am? You're telling me that Spider-man is a comic but this book, entitled 'Spider-man', is not a comic?'�
He threw down the book on the counter with a grunt. Calmly, Peter picked it up. He held the book out so that the irate man could see and he flipped open the picture-less book.
'You're right, sir. It is based on a movie that was taken from a comic. However, as you can see, there are no pictures in this book. Well, except for the shots of the movie. This is no different than the toys that the company puts out when a movie is released. This is just a tie-in to the movie. In fact, in my opinion, it's better than the movie. A story loses something when it makes the jump to the big-screen. There are aspects of the story that can't be shown in a movie. Background information or a character's thought process often loses something in the translation. So you're right. This is based on a comic but is not a comic itself.'�
The customer went silent. How did one argue with someone who had just said he was right? Apparently the old man didn't know either. He looked at Pete and then stormed off muttering something about kids these days.
'See?'� Pam inquired, smile beaming
'See what?'� Pete responded utterly confused.
'You've got plenty to offer. It's not like asking someone out is a one-way street. You bring plenty to a relationship. I've never had problems with your customer service. I still can't get it through Eddie's head that he can't yell at customers. And he's twenty years older than you. You're scared because you aren't self-assured. You're a good kid and any girl would be lucky to have you.'�
The good kid had nothing to say. His brown eyes stared into Pam's icy blue ones with something that was a mix of fear and excitement. He knew he had something to offer a relationship. He just needed to be reminded of the fact. But knowing this basically made up his mind for him. Now his heart was flooding with emotions. He was afraid she'd reject him. He was anxious to find out if she would. He was excited at the prospect of getting a girlfriend. He was nervous of how, exactly, to approach her.
All these emotions filled his heart at once; their powerful influence overflowing his heart. It's quiet a feat for a 16 year-old boy to be able to rein in all theses emotions. To not be paralyzed by them, so that he can act on them, is no small task.

Homing in

As the big-headed mouse explained his plan for the night, the skinny one bounced around the screen and uttered one of his many unintelligible phrases. Pete chuckled. He'd seen this one before, but that didn't matter. He was just looking for some good old mind-numbing TV. He was tired. Damn tired. All day long he thought of her, only to actually run into her as the day drew to a close. Naturally things went awry. Those damn bullies! How the hell was he supposed to stand up to them when he could only look eye-to-chest?
If, by some divine intervention, he was to take a stand, his scrawny self would last only seconds. The brute could break him with one hand. The only chance Pete had was to outthink him; a hard thing to do when the very sight of Moose made his brain freeze. He's always liked the all brains no brawn characters and he knew it was because he saw himself in them. The only thing was, he panicked. He just didn't think he could stay calm enough to trick Moose into blinking, let alone leaving him alone.
Not to mention he had to deal with the brute's sidekick as well. Oh, he knew that Rocky was far from the brightest bulb on the tree but the simple fact that they outnumbered him was enough. Besides he should know better than to underestimate someone. He could be right and the littler of the duo was nothing more than a hyena who cheered the big guy on, but he couldn't be sure. So any ingenious plan he thought up must be enough to best two bullies.
He was sitting upside down on the couch. Legs in air propped up by the back of the couch. Head hanging over the side of the seat cushions. The mice seemed to be walking around the ceiling of the lab rather than the floor. The key clanked into the lock and the front door started to swing open. He rolled off the couch and landed sitting on the floor with his back against the foot of the couch. His mother looked at him over the paper bags with a knowing eye.
'C'mon and help me with these bags, Peter.'�
His mom was the only person he allowed to call him Peter. He even made a point to correct teachers on the first day of school. But he didn't even blink as he jumped up off the floor, dusted off his butt, and retrieved the two bags from his mother's arms. He almost dropped one of them. He grunted in surprise, as well as annoyance at his lack of arm strength, at the weight of the bag.
'Damn, ma, what's in these?'� he asked as he lurched into the kitchen.
'Watch your mouth, young man,'� she scolded as she retrieved the key from the door and followed him into the kitchen. 'We're having Shepard's Pie tonight and I needed the potatoes.'�
Together they unpacked the bags. He snuck a look at his mother's circled eyes. He worked for four hours after a full day of school so he knew the feeling of being tired. But his mom was something else. She was out of the house before he even finished his shower. When he went downstairs there was always eggs, toast, and cereal waiting for him downstairs. And this eight o'clock return home was a usual thing. His mom, being his only parent, did all this because she didn't want her son to have to go to the 'crack-house with books'� as she like to call the local public school.
So she worked her tail off to put him in a private school. Even if that meant sleep became a luxury. At sixteen, Pete knew he had a special mom. No teen-angst driven rebellion against family authority for him. He appreciated his mom. He even made sure he took a shower Friday night so that when he got up to go to work on Saturday morning he wouldn't wake her. Age is but a state of mind and Peter Watson was much older than his sixteen years.
'How was school today, Peter?'�
'It was school,'� he answered his usual answer, which was met with the usual roll of his mother's eyes. 'It was ok. Got another C in geometry.'�
'I always hated math in school too, dear, but that doesn't mean you don't have to give it your best shot.'�
'That is my best shot, ma. I just don't get it. I mean something that is base on pie should be cooking not math.'�
Mrs. Watson suppressed a laugh, unsuccessfully, and went on parenting, 'Just give it your best shot ok? And if you're best shot doesn't equate a passing grade, don't be too proud to ask for help. This the only time you'll have to deal with geometry, so just bite the bullet and get it over with. You wouldn't want to do it again over the summer would you?'�
'Hell, no! I got a C, ma, that's passing,'� he said as he was putting the milk in the fridge; he saw her look and apologized for his language.

It was after dinner, he'll never get used to eating at nine but a look at the sleeping mother in the Lay-Z-Boy across from him quelled any complains, That he heard the shouting. He turned down the asinine commentators as the rambled on about shoe-laces or something, and perked his ears. He couldn't make out what they were saying but the fact that he could hear the voices through not only his wall but theirs' was scary enough. This happens almost weekly.
The shades are always drawn and he never sees anyone enter or exit the house. As far as he knows they've been there since right before his father left. From the shouting matches it doesn't seem like a happy union. The higher pitched voice usually just sounds like it's crying. Every now and again he can hear a crack. Not quite clear enough to identify but he's pretty sure it's a belt.
As he hears one such mystery noise he looks at his mother. Her eyes are closed, her mouth is slightly open, her head is tilted to the left. Her breathing is shallow and regular. He's seen her doze off enough times to know that she's out cold. At the sound of intrigue she stirs and shifts in her seat but doesn't wake up.
He gets up as the light-hitting shortstop grounds into a 6-4-3 to end the inning. He cautiously walks over to the window that looks out to his neighbor's house, as if they can hear him over their shouts and through the walls. The shade is drawn, as usual. However, he can make our two silhouettes. One is cowering on its knees, arms covering its head. The other is towering over it with an arm raised. That arm is brought down in a rapid series of blows. Each punctuated with that crack. Each receives a decreasing whimper of protest. The attacking silhouette stops, for an all-too-brief moment, and bends over to yell in the other's face. Or at the back of the curled figure's head anyway. There's nothing but a faint sob to be heard from the latter. The first figure straightens up and raises its arm to begin anew. But it stops and turns to the window.
Pete's heart freezes in his throat. His knees tremble. His eyes are mere inches from popping out of their sockets. The figure turns completely to the window, arms by its sides. It stands there for an agonizingly long second before it reaches up to something beside the window. Then the gruesome scene goes black as the silhouette turns out the light.
Pete just stands there, horrified. He'd been hearing the beatings for years. Now, he had actually seen one. Up until a few seconds ago he had always been able to convince himself that it wasn't what he thought it was. Just the TV up too loud, that's all. His over- active imagination just got carried away. Only now he knew his imagination was right. He stood staring at the dark window his heart still doing double-time. He jumped as the hand fell on his shoulder.
'Peter, what are you looking at, honey?'�
'Geez, ma, you scared me!'� He replied in a faint voice. 'I thought I heard something trying to get into the trashcans again.'�
'What was it?'� She asked not-quite believing him.
'Nothing,'� he said, not sure why he had lied.
'Ok,'� she replied after a moment's hesitation, 'I'm going to bed. I want you in bed in a half an hour. Is that understood?'�
'Yes, ma,'� he said absently. There would be little sleep for him that night.
She kissed his forehead and went upstairs to bed. He went back to the game and then eventually to bed where he tossed and turned; where he dreamed of the silhouette coming through the wall to attack him. There was sleep that night for Pete, but none of it restful.
Class Act
She looked as if she got as much sleep as he did. Three seats behind and three to the left he sat looking at her. Her deep red hair was thrown haphazardly in a pony-tail. Rogue hairs stuck up from various points on her head. Her head was supported by a closed fist on her cheek. Her eyes were shut, her mouth open. She'd been like that since five minutes after they sat down.
Mr. Naughton was asking for the definition of 'literature'�. As usual with an honors class, no one responded. He stood in the front of them with his hands clasped and resting on his man-made shelf; his generous belly. He tilted his head first to the left then to the right, looking much like a confused dog. He then began to pace; and whistle. Pete's head, along with many others', perked up. Was the man whistling the theme to 'Gilligan's Island'�?
'A three hour tour. A three hour tour,'� someone sang softly.
'Ah! Marvelous! You are awake! Now, can anyone tell me what 'literature' is?'�
Very slowly, a hand in the front of the room began to raise. Mr. Naughton immediately homed in on it. Skipping, yes a man of enormous girth can actually skip, he went over the timid hand-raiser.
'If you know it, shout it out! Don't be shy! I don't bite! Well, that's not entirely true, but don't be shy anyway.'�
''The expression of life in words of truth and beauty'?'�
'Is that a question, my good man? Or an answer?'�
'An answer?'�
'Then,'� the jovial teacher ignored the inquiring tone this time, 'Say it like you mean it!'�
''The expression of life, in words of truth and beauty'!'�
''The expression of LIFE, in words of TRUTH and BEAUTY,''� the pedagogue echoed rather loudly. He consequently woke those sleeping souls, including Mary, who jumped at the exclamation. She rubbed her eyes and gazed confusedly at Mr. Naughton. He looked straight at her and winked. A knowing smile crept onto his face as he surveyed his newly awakened audience.
'Now,'� he went on, 'can anyone tell me what that means? Uh-ah! No looking at the book. You'll not find your answer in there. Look up here.'� And they did. His grin grew as all eyes were on him. 'Well? Whose first?'�


Walking out of class, head still running around with the idea that literature can't be defined by any text-book, he bumped into her, literally. They were both tucking papers into their assignment book and hit the door way at the same time. Much later he realized that he heard her hiss in pain. But that momentary pointer of pain was immediately forgotten.
Their eyes met and the world stopped. Standing nearly the same height they had no trouble peering into each others' eyes. His were a bold brown that buried her heart in her throat and hers were a vivid green that planted his heart in his windpipe. Their eyes smiled just before their mouths did.
His toothy grin got in the way of his stammering apology. She smiled and blushed. She bowed her head to hide her newfound crimson complexion and pushed a stray lock of red hair behind her ear. He took a step to the side and motioned her on, but not before the world started again.
'Hey,'� someone, it doesn't matter who, neither would have been able to remember his name anyway, yelled from the rear of the queue that had formed. 'Let's go! Some of us have class to get to!'�
They shared a final look as she scurried out to meet the exasperated Jen. He stood against his locker trying to get his heart to slow down. He watched her hurry along with her books hugged to her chest. He didn't see Jen look back and scoff. He was far too intent on reliving the moment. He thought that Pam might actually be right. Perchance she did have an interest in him, he'd be able to actually talk to her. Those beautiful emerald eyes certainly held no loathing or annoyance. His hopes were certainly up. He was actually thinking of asking a girl out! All those crushes, the ones he was always too timid to act upon, seemed like child's play. Had he been crushing on her, with these new-found feelings, he'd have had no problem. But this was something different. This was something more.
Oh, you may laugh and say 'what does a sixteen-year-old know of love?' To you I'd say 'love knows no age.'� He may have been young and he may have held a complete lack of romantic experience, but love is something that makes itself known when the time is right. It can sneak up or it can bugle in its coming. Either way, no matter if you're sixteen or sixty-six when love comes a-knocking you can't help but answer. You may not be able to handle it or it may not last but you can't help but be swept away in its wake. Love is fickle. You must accept it when it comes floating by, for better or for worse. For it truly is 'better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all'�. It's not always a fairy-tale ending but no matter how it ends, you'll be glad you were along for the ride. Even though it was a rough ride at times, Peter Watson surely was.

Hurtful Words
Before he knew what was happening he was on the floor with a rapidly swelling eye and a busted lip. Not that he was surprised or even oblivious to whom his attackers were. Oh no, the rope of ice he tied around his heart after 'accidentally'� dumping his lunch tray [She knew it was on purpose] onto Moose's lap made it perfectly clear who was flogging him with Atlas Shrugged. Even if, by some inconceivable notion, he had unknotted the apprehension around his heart and forgotten about it, the hyena laugh of his sidekick would have clued him in.
'Hehehehehhe! I guess words can hurt!'� The littlest bully guffawedchuckled.
Ever the efficient bully, Moose hit him with both hands. With his left an empty hand worked the ribs and with his right, a copy of the Ayn Rand behemoth concentrated on the old noggin. Oddly enough he was able to put the beating in perspective. Getting hit with a hard cover book of that size is akin to a belly-flop; the sound the large surface area makes lends to a deceptively large small amount of pain. It made an odd clapping sound and each time he clapped him on the ear, Pete felt a pop and in the echo he heard ringing. However, The heavy spine was responsible for the black eye that was to form and the fat lip that had formed.
His ribs faired far better. He heard him approach but the first hit blindsided him. It encompassed his face and did the aforementioned damage. It was, after all, a large book. Peter immediately dropped to the floor and curled up in the fetal position, he hugged himself and covered his ribs. He was successful in deflecting the first few blows. But once it was clear Moose was focusing on his head he covered that.
No sooner than exposing his ribs, did the blows migrate there. Peter rolled over a little to try to protect the tender area. He received a book-spine-breaking blow to his own spine. Yelping in pain, he arched away from the blow. That left his head exposed and, again, that's where Moose attacked.
He started to feel the panic that accompanies complete helplessness. His fight or flight response kicked in. Much to his surprise it was the former and not that latter that won. It was another first for young Pete Watson. Unfortunately it didn't manifest itself in some overwhelming confident manner. He didn't stand up, shrug off a couple of blows, and floor his attacker his a single Hollywood-style knockout punch.
Much more in tune with reality he flailed his arms and legs wildly. He hit the wall with the bulge of his ankle, not realizing how badly it was hurt until much later.[FORESHADOW: HAVE HIM LIMP LATER as proof that his was an imp action as well] He rapped his knuckles against the floor and even got lucky; giving Mooselanding a glancing blow with a leg. It was enough to make Moose pause and wait for a pattern to the flailing. None came.
What did come was a Doc Martin to the wrist. They both cried out in surprise. Fortunately, for Pete, the flailing continued. He was lucky enough to knock the book out of Moose's hand. The solid smacking sound snapped Peter out of his panic state. He stopped swinging and rolled into a sitting position. He wiped blood from his lip and rubbed his ribs. Moose was standing over him rubbing his wrist, but far enough away that Pete had time to stand up before he Moose could shove him to the ground again.
Moose glared and his sidekick stood away from the action with eyes wide. A small crowd had formed. Unbeknownst to our lucky hero, a certain young lady was among the on-lookers. He heard whispering but caught few words. Something about how stupid kids were and how bigger ones always picked on the smaller ones.
As Moose closed the distance between them, Peter knew that he didn't have to win this fight. Simply standing up to him would be enough. One blow to the face would be proof that Pete stood up to him, a lucky shot to the wrist wouldn't do it. So as Moose bumped the smaller boy into the shelves and got in his face, Peter stood his ground.
Moose was breathing heavy, bullying was tough work. His victim could tell he had the pepperoni pizza for lunch. Peter's heart was beating so hard and fast that it rattled in his his ears. His hands were shaking and drenched in nervous sweat. His legs turned to Jell-o and shook in unison with his hands. Moose curled his lip, baring his yellowing teeth, and shifted to swing his arm. Peter saw his chance.
He pushed forward and thrust his head up. The world exploded in stars of pain. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Peter landed just one more shot; a knee to the gut that rushed the air from his chest. But the sore belly and the bloody nose was all he was able to manage.
Moose rolled them over and a rain of books descended upon them. Bartlett's Quotationary hit him in the back of the head but he was able to blink away the pain before Peter could capitalize. The big bully sat on his chest and took to slapping him in the face. The massive man only got in a few shots before Pete's boss and a spectator pulled Moose off him.
'If I see either of you in here again,'� Pam warned, 'I'm calling the cops.'�
'Oh, yeah,'� Rocky said, finally contributing something to the event besides a laugh, 'Well you have to get the little nerd in trouble, too! He was fighting, too!'�
'I'm not going to call about the fight. Your friend wrecked at least three books,'� He said holding up the bent Rand book and nodded to the pool of books on the floor. 'I can get you for destruction of property. '
Rocky stood next to Moose, both their mouths hanging open. They knew they had nothing to say. So Moose shoved his partner in crime and they made their exit. Peter was feeling awfully confident as his eyes followed them out the door. Then they hetrailed and caught sight of something that would change his life. There, by the door, stood Mary; a gleam in her eye and a smirk on her face.
Pam saw her and told him to go wash up, knowing that it would be a long time yet before he hit the bathroom. She knew, too, that the fight did wonders for his confidence. He'll no longer have to worry about the meat-head. At the same time he also may have solidified his chances with Mary. She knew now, that Peter would stand up for himself should the need arise. Judging by the way she was almost hugging her books to her chest and the one bent knee, Mary needed someone to lean of for confidence. Shame, Pam thought, for she's a beautiful girl. At least she didn't lean the other way and, because of her beauty, become cocky.
This ran through Pam's mind as she gathered up the fallen books and Peter made his way slowly over to the object of his heart's desire. If Pete thought as Pam did, he might never have gone through with it. For when you put your heart in someone else's hands you always think that they're not as nervous as you. All you think about is your heart getting squeezed under a rejecting fist. While her body language did indeed portray her timidness, Mary was in for quite a change. She was indeed impressed by Pete's confrontation. She'd take that strength and use it to go through her own confrontation. But first, she had to go through this.
'Um, hi,'� Pete managed to say around his heart which now appeared to be sitting on his Adam's Apple, 'what are you doing here?'�
She slid her armful of books behind her back and said, 'Hi Peter. I'm, uh, looking for Macbeth.'�
His heart fluttered at the use of his full name. Normally he'd correct her, but her using it didn't bother him. He stood a little straighter and his heart slowed down a bit, not much but a little.
'You have to read that, too?'� He asked feigning surprise.
'Peter, I'm in your class,'� She admonished lightly grinning and tucking a rogue lock behind her ear.
'O'�o'�oh, yeah,'� he stammered and slouched a little, face turned five shades of red. 'I just thought that everyone, uh, already had the book.'�
This time Mary blushed and from her new spot behind the register, Pam saw that very book neatly tucked between History of the United States and her Five Star Notebook. Pam broke into a big grin and quickly covered her mouth with a hand.
'I, uh, lost mine,'� she fibbed and to cover the tell-tale 'uh' she quickly added 'I think someone stole it at lunch the other day.'�
'Oh,'� he so gullibly believed and straightened his back again. 'Well walk this and I'll show you what we have.'�
He took off, a little too fast, with a slight hitch in his step; which Mary matched. Pam, again, was the only one to notice this. Pete had his back to her and was going on about not liking the edition the teacher picked. Mary's face was illuminated by a smile. She turned her head to see if anyone was watching her gag and saw Pam giggling. Mary's smile got wider and Pam just shook her head.
'So this is it,'� he said picking up three different editions, 'This smaller one is the one we're using in class. It's not bad, cheap, but doesn't have much in the way of commentary. It's got footnotes, which I hate, instead of endnotes. With footnotes your eyes almost automatically drop down to the end of the page immediately after you read the line that's footnoted. I just have trouble keeping the flow of the story that way. It's not like Shakespeare is easy to read in the first place. Don't get me wrong I think he's a genius, but the footnotes interrupt the flow of the story. And I already have trouble keeping the flow flowing. Y'know because off all the apostrophed words and all the words that he coined. Which I think is amazing. To not be tied down by the language while writing and just make up words as you need them. Amazing'�'�
He trailed off at the sight of Mary's increasing smile. There was a twinkle in her eyes that cut short Pete's feeling of being laughed at. He blushed, yet again, and chuckled nervously.
'Sorry. I get carried away sometimes.'�
'It's ok, I think it's cute,'� she said surprise them both, again causing both their faces to catch fire. They exchanged an uncomfortable laugh and he murmured something about no, that would be her. He tried to get his hand to stop shaking as he went to hand her the book.
'Um, anyway, you'll probably what to get this edition. Since it's the same one we'll be using in class when he tells us to turn to a certain page, you'll be on the, um same page as the rest of us,'� he wanted to kick himself for using such a stupid pun.
She shook her head slightly with mock disapproval, clearly catching the pun, as she reached for the outstretched book. That's when her copy slipped out from its hiding place and onto the floor. They both looked in shock at the betrayal. He looked at the book and then up to her. She was blushing most fiercely, her eyes wide with horror. He laughed. They both relaxed and bent down for the book. Unlike most teenage romance stories, they did not bump heads as they leaned over at the waist.
She got the book a split-second before she did and instead of book, his hand closed over Mary's hand. They sparks were all but visible. The sensation shot out from their hands and ran up their arms and engulfed their entire bodies. They both pulled their hands back and straightened up. The look in their eyes was one of wonder. It was a serious, yet dumbfounded, look.
He quickly bent at the knees and scooped up the book. He handed it to her with a confidence that would waver in the months to come, but would never revert to its original hiding place. She took it back a little sheepishly, once again blushing. She was caught and scared but that same confidence was hiding in the shadows of her mind.
'Um, would you, ah, like to uh, go to a movie this Saturday?'� He managed.
'I'd love to!'� She said a little too loudly; not to mention a little too quickly.
'Great!'� He returned the loud favor, 'I'll um, meet you at the Cinema at 7?'�
'Sounds good,'� she returned but with more control.
'We'll see what playing and make up our minds there.'� He said as more a question than fact.
'Sounds good,'� she echoed herself, 'I'll see in class tomorrow; with my non-stolen book.'�
He appreciated the subtle self deprivation. He nodded and smiled. She returned the smile. She turned, heart still beating as fast as his, and walked out of the store. He followed her with his eyes, watching those hips pendulum. She saw him watching in the reflection of the glass-door and her step became slightly more self-assured.

***


The rest of that night, Pam saw her youngest charge flying on autopilot. There was a far-away look in his eyes. There was a small smile stuck on his face. There was a bounce in his step. She couldn't help but smile herself. Oh, to be young again. When your heart hasn't been weighed down with the burdens of loss. When the sky really is the limit to what your love can bring. The innocence of youth is beautiful. But dangerous.
She knew of his self-esteem problems. The stupid little things, like calling customers to remind them of special orders always gave the occasion surly refusal. They claim to have never placed the order and Pete would get flustered and acquiesce. It frustrated her. In the store he could deal with just about anything, but like most men she knew, he had this phone-phobia. All the assurance in the world couldn't help him overcome it. He just went to pieces if there were any problems over the phone. He caused the store to be stuck with such gems as A History of Engineering in Classical and Medieval Times or Major Problems in the History of the Vietnam War. Not as ridiculous as some of the myriad self-help books that flow through the store, but with a very idiosyncratic audience it was highly unlikely that they'll be leaving the premises.
First love also fits the idiosyncratic bill. It is a dangerous thing, a powerful thing. Both people can swing out of control at any moment. They're washed away in the outpouring of unfettered emotions. Should they hit an eddy, there's no guarantee they'll both go the same way. You can't force anything. You have to go with the flow. Sometimes the lack of control over the situation proves more than one of them can take. This self-esteem issue Pete has could prove his undoing.
Mary was a lovely young lady, she may not realize to what extent herself. Judging by the stumbling conversation they shared, Pam thought it not likely that her demeanor would prove too strong for him. Yet, being so young, there's no telling what might happen. Both being so inexperienced should they hit rough waters they'll have to learn together.


Beating Around the Bush
We now turn our tale to a not-so-pleasant environment. The room smells of cheap smokes and even cheaper (and skunky) beer. The days-old smoke lingers in the stuffy room. Beer cans litter the floor, the coffee table, and even the TV top itself. The blinds are drawn and the only light comes from the TV and a small reading lamp in the corner by the very obviously 70's style couch. The shag carpeting used to be a vibrant rainbow of colors, but is now dull and dirty. The fake wood paneling is randomly graced with mystery stains. The ceiling fan, which is missing a blade, stands still.
The room has two occupants; our young red-headed heroine and her balding father. She is on the previously mentioned couch and he is slumping (and snoring) on a plaid recliner. A half empty beer can dangerously teeters in his slack hand. On the TV, which is blaring, is one of the omnipresent reality shows. This one happens to have a fitting connection to our situation. It seems a young lady is trying to pick out her father, whom she's never met, out of a group of middle-aged men.
The studious girl on the couch hasn't looked over her history book once. Even with her I-pod's ear-buds stuck in her ears, she can make out every word. She's grown far too skilled in listening to two things at once.
She has just finished the section that describes the plethora of reasons for the Civil War when her limitations catch up to her. Unfortunately, she can't split her attention into thirds. A commercial has awakened her father. The pickup races across the screen and the announcer's voice is much louder than even the blaring show's volume and has awakened the large lad from his drink-induced slumber .
He loses his beer. It fell to the shag and created another stain. Then he loses his temper. He needs a new beer but doesn't feel like getting up.
'Gimmet me a'nother beer,'� he slurs. But doesn't see his daughter leap to her feet in obedience. He looks over and finds her hunched over the book. He tries again.
'I said 'Gimme a'nother fuckin' beer!''� and he punctuates his command by picking up the fallen beer can and flinging the remoteg at his daughter's head. For an inebriated man he has astonishingly good aim. The remote'scan's edge smacks the bridge of her nose and there comes a shower of blood and beer. It covers her face and chest as well as her book and couch.
She bends over covering her face and moaning in pain. He is incensed that she still isn't getting his beer. As he falls out of his chair and stumbles over to the bent-over form of his daughter he might have heard the one thing that is different this time, had he not been enraged. She isn't crying. The moan is only for her split nose. She isn't crying in fear or pain. She is calm and confident. She is also peering up over her hands, which are cupping her bloodied nose. And as he closes the distance, tugging at his belt, she stands.
He is so intent in getting his belt freed from the belt-loops that at first he doesn't notice. With a final tug the stubborn loop tears away and the belt is freed. He turns his attention to his girl and stops with his arm over his head. She's standing straight and looking him in the eyes. There is a determination in them. Too drunk, and frankly too stupid, he doesn't notice the fear that's there as well. All he sees is his disobedient little whelp standing her ground. She pleads with him in a quiet and wavering voice.
'Please,'� she implores with a shaking voice, 'daddy, don't.'� It's not the panicky voice with which he is so familiar. It has none of that misplaced guilt that adorned her earlier pleadings.
His glassy eyes go wide with disbelief. His jaw drops open in surprise. For a moment his arm lowers. That's all she needs. She stands quickly and steadies herself. and The she kicks him in the crotch. The belt falls out of his hand and he doubles over in pain. On the way down to the floor his head catches the edge of the table knocking the lamp over and himself out. He rolls over onto his back and blood trickles down his face.
Mary stands over her fallen father. She looks down at his bloated body and feels none of the guilt, none of the fear, not even happiness. She feels pity. All of the anger, all the loathing she felt melts away. Her life as she knows it is over. Her father is mentally maladjusted. Her father is no longer her enemy. She has stood up to her fear and won.
These thoughts speed through her mind and she collapses in a weeping heap. She holds the fallen form of her remaining parent and sobs. There she stays for quite some time, grieving the life she can no longer have. After a while she collects herself and picks up the phone.
'911 operator, what's the emergency?'�
***
They were sitting on the couch. Pete's mom was in the kitchen, making Rice Krispie Treats. It's three days later. The cop that knocked on door that night nearly scared Mrs. Watson out of her skin. Then he stepped aside and there stood Mary. Band-aid fixed ton her nose and eyes fixed on the ground. A quick glance at the house next door told her all she needed.
Her father was being dragged, literally kicking and screaming, towards a cruiser. He shouted over and over, 'She fell! I didn' do nuthin'!'� in a slur that revealed the truth.
She was sleeping in the guest bedroom. Peter had to accompany her the first couple of times she needed to go back into her house for something. She's ventured alone the last couple, but she was in and out at a quick clip.
It was scary how neat she was. Peter could stand to learn a few things from her. The bed was made, her shower taken, and herself dressed before the sun was up. Dirty clothes were always in the hamper, never on the floor like her darling son's. Mrs. Watson even found her making breakfast for the three of them each morning. She said it's the only way she can say 'thank you'�. She even did the dishes before she sat down to eat with them.
Now the two of them sat together and spoke softly to each other. It took twohree days before the perma-blush left Pete's face. Not like a mother needed a blush to tell when her son was in love. She was relieved to see the feeling was mutual. As they spoke below the hearing of the cooking mother, she hummed a tune softly to herself; glad to be more than just a mother and a son. Glad to have this makeshift family. Even if it was just until Mary's Aunt could get down from Maine.
'What do you mean?'� Pete asked incredulously, 'How in the world could you be thanking me when you're the one who got the strength to kick the habit of being abused?'�
'You,'� she said as a smile lit her face, 'found the strength to stand up to the jug-head, Moose. I saw that. I knew how much he had been bothering you. If you could stand up to your bully, then I could stand up to mine.'�
'But,'� he said eyes going even wider, 'that's completely different! He was someone that I only see a few times a day and will most likely never see again once we graduate. You did it to your father! The man who has raised you since your mother died. How did you overcome the fear of not having a parent anymore? I'm not saying what you did was wrong, oh no, but I don't see how our two situations are similar. My bully was just some punk kid. Yours was your father!'�
'There really is no difference Peter,'� she said and put a hand on his forearm, exciting them both, 'a bully is a bully no matter if he helped give you a real life or helped give you a rough school life.'�
Their whispering grew loud enough to make Pete's mom pop her head through the kitchen door.
'Did you call, sweetie?'�
'No, mom. We were just talking about bullies.'�
'Well, bullies come in all shapes and size, unfortunately. You never know who will wind up being one.'�
'We're finding that out.'�
She smiled a sad smile, said the snack was almost ready, and disappeared back into the kitchen.
'Sounds like my mom agrees with you,'� he said uneasily.
'Don't worry so much about it, hon.'�
'I just don't think I could ever be that strong.'�
'You are, you just don't know it.'�
He shook his head and she put her head against his chest. They watched the two mice's antics for a while. She listened to the rapid beat of his heart and he basked in the scent of her hair. As his heart's pace slowed, her smile grew. He put his arms around her shoulders and they settled in comfortably. Homework done, another area where they found each other hugely helpful, they sat and ate the sweet squares. He relaxed and all his worries went away, for the time being.
'Are we still on for tomorrow night, Emerald Eyes?'� he asked glibly.
'Saturday night? What's going on then?'� she asked without looking up. She heard his heart speed up again and he stumbled over his tongue saying something about 'minner and a dovie'�. She laughed her deep rich laugh and looked up at him. 'I'm kidding.'�
They looked at each other feeling the moment, living the moment. If her head was still on his chest she would have heard his heart take off again. Both of their smiles slowly shrank. He leaned down and kissed her. The soft, slightly wet feeling flooded their bodies with happiness. Their hearts got the most of it and felt as if they were going to burst. After a time, they pulled apart. A tear fell out of her eye and his eyes weren't dry. They looked at each other differently. They were in a different world. They saw each other through eyes that only that magical feeling of sharing a first kiss can produce. They felt warm. They felt completely content. They were in a world without bullies.




Tough Love
We rejoin our happy couple three weeks later. Mary's Aunt proved to be like her brother; completely unreliable. Each call to her was greeted with a 'Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can. Work's crazy.'� Pete didn't understand how someone could be too busy to pick up her abused niece but said nothing to Mary. Besides, why would he? He got to spend everyday with her. They are slowly working their way around the bases, with the passionate timidity that first loves bring.
Her physical wounds were healing. She no longer coveres up with turtle-necks and knee socks. Her emotional ones were slower going. There would be tough nights, nights spendt sobbing in Pete's arms. He held her and just listened, tears of his own failing down his cheeks. He had no clue what to say. He couldn't know where she was coming from. He couldn't empathize. He'd never gone through something so serious. He lost his father but he was too young to truly remember that night when his old man went out for that proverbial pack of smokes. So he just listened as she poured out the soul-ache with her tears. He listened and tried to push away the feelings of insecurity.
Confidence can crack under the weight of time. Too much time alone with just thoughts can lead to doubts. All the what-ifs, all the maybes, seem to gain credibility. Even the strongest of wills can be cracked by time. Pete spent many a night lying awake in bed thinking about how strong she is. Thinking about how it took every once of strength he had to stand up to Moose. His hands still shook at the thought of what he had done. Yet how could he compare what he did to what Mary did? How could she?
But she did. He saw the thankfulness in her eyes every time he held her. He felt the gratitude in every kiss. She really did draw strength from his actions. She really did think of him as she stood up to her old man. She really did thank him with all her heart.
Such thoughts didn't preoccupy him when she was there but they invaded his thoughts when he was alone. The time they spent together was magical. Love is a magical cure-all. When you're on it all ailments, all doubts, vanish. With the exception of those few long nights spent staring at the ceiling, Peter Watson was indeed cured of all. Yet with that type of conflict, it was only a matter of time before things came to a head. There are some questions to which there are no answers no matter how many times you ask.

'What are you talking about?'� She asked, her voice breaking. The fear in her eyes froze Peter's heart. Once again, doubts rose to the surface of his turbulent mind. But he plugged on.
'I mean I just don't understand it. I don't understand how I could be your motivation. I had a childish problem. You, uh, well you had a much more real-world kind of problem. And if our relationship is built upon your feeling safe in my arms because of the strength I gave you, it's not going to work. Because I don't feel as you do. I don't feel'�I don't feel I'm worthy of your feelings. I feel'� I feel like a liar. I feel'�'�
'Wait,'� she interrupted collecting her thoughts. 'You are worthy of my feelings. You do make me feel safe. You did give me strength. Why is that so hard for you to believe?'� She pleaded with both her words and her eyes.
'Because,'� his voice flooded with tears of his own, 'because I stood up to a stranger. Moose will be out of my life in a few years. You father is'�is, well, he's your father. I never knew my father. All I have is pictures of the two of us. Pictures of a time I don't remember. No one should have to lose a father. You may not be able to choose who your father is but you only get one.'�
He was barely able to get the last word out before the tears took away his voice. Her eyes softened with understanding. She looked at his face, a face flooded with tears, and her love deepened. But it also scared her. She loved him but if he carried the burden of inferiority on his shoulders theirs wasn't a relationship that couldn't last. As he held his head in his hands and cried. She tried to think of someway, anyway, to comfort him.
She's told him that it was his act that spurred her on. It mattered not to whom he stood up. For a teenager, even one as mature as our Mary, all bullies fall into the same category; whether they are classmates or kin. She's told him not to worry. She's told him he is worthy of her love. All the words in the world have will have no effect. As she leaned over and drew his head onto her lap and watched him pour out his insecurities through his eyes, she realized there's nothing she can say to make him believe it. Sometimes there are no words.
Any time you see a loved one cry, tears tug at your own eyes. Mary was no different. She'd been fighting back those tears from the first appearance of Peter's tears. As the tears took his words from him her eyes filled. As she took his head into her lap and ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt at comfort, her eyes threatened to overflow. Now, as the realization that she didn't have the words to comfort him, they burst forth from the metal dam she'd built.
'Oh, Peter,'� she said weakly, her own tears ripping away her voice. 'Oh, Peter, baby,'� she choked out.
Her body began to shake. Her tears ran down her cheeks and dropped onto her hand. But as they continued, they missed her hand. From his spot in her lap he felt one fall on his cheek. He was starting to cry himself out of tears, but the sobs still wracked him. That's the only reason her shaking didn't snap him out of it; he thought it was his own body shaking. But as the tears gave way to dry sobs, he felt her tear on his own wet cheek. He sat up immediately. He wiped her tear from among his own and looked at it . He looked at it with complete confusion. He couldn't understand it. Then he looked up at her.
He looked at her red, swollen eyes and understood. The tears running down her cheeks, dripping off her chin, said what her words never could have. The fear in her eyes was the same fear he saw in the mirror that same morning. The jerks of her body that looked more like shivering out of fear than like shaking because of sobs were the same he had just felt rip through him. He wouldn't completely grasp it until much later, but what he saw was the fear, and what's more the knowledge, that you're losing a loved one. He saw all that and understood.
'Mary,'� he said softly, his voice still hoarse from the sobs, 'Mary, I'm'�I'm sorry.'�
'Peter,'� She said simply, her body hitching from the closing sobs.
'I don't know if I'll ever understand how I helped you. I'�I just know that I don't want to lose you. I just have these'�these insecurities. I've looked longingly at you for almost three years. I guess I've built you up in my mind so much. Then you find the strength to overcome your father. I don't think '�I don't think I can climb high enough to reach you.'�
Mary sighed and tilted her head in that concerned lover's tilt. She reached over and wiped the tears from his face. She smiled at him and drew him close. Then she kissed him deeply.
'You're already high enough,'� she told him when the eventually came up for air.
They held each other close and knew that everything was going to be alright. And it was, mostly. It's not an easy relationship to maintain. His insecurities nag him still. Oddly enough there's no jealousy. They have a shared maturity. When his naggings get the best of him, she's there to lend a shoulder. When the magnitude of her situation gets to her, his is the shoulder that is lent. And of course they go through the normal teenage angst and growing pains. As they grow into the adults they'll one day become they don't always see eye-to-eye. There are tiffs. There are shouting matches. There are periods of silence. No relationship is easy to keep up, they've reminded each other a myriad of times. They also remind each other, nothing that's easy is worth doing.

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