10

Jump to the moment after the coach, the man of worship, burned rubber.

             Coach Gregson's soul burned like lye on damp human flesh. It yearned like a thirsty being searching for water. He stamped the brakes causing a full force stop within ten yards. He huffed, puffed, and almost blew out the windshield. The anger caused him to grip the steering wheel with a strength that rivaled Officer Bud White and it nearly shattered in his hands.

            The gaze was menacing to the point of being demonic. The seething within almost required a liberal spritzing of holy water and priest directly connected with the spirit in the sky to be extinguished.  The dragon's soul inside of Coach Jerkoff suddenly mellowed in order to gather the body's thoughts. Beneath the dashboard was a well-worn photograph. The fraying piece of photo paper was a memento so close and so dear to his heart, he would literally turn to dust if he ever lost it. He stared, he glared, and almost willed himself to breathe fire. He took the picture from its place below the dashboard and then glanced out the back window of the pick-up cab. Coach Gregson noticed that the youngsters had not left the gravel parking lot.

            He shrugged and gazed intently at the photograph once more.  A sneer emerged that might win the coach a medal in a scary face contest. He crumpled the photograph and tossed it on the floor by the passenger seat. He couldn't live with this drawn-out drama any longer. It was time for some needed soulful release and it was an end he would receive it by an obvious set of means. A phone call to his best friend in town would set the ball bouncing. He put the truck back in gear and stared ahead through the windshield.

            Coach Gregson voiced out loud only within earshot of himself, "Time to put you bed, young man. Time to put you to bed too, my dear."  He peeped at the floor below the passenger seat and then back at the road.

            Jump back to when the young couple departed the parking lot. 

            As they strolled, an interesting correlation came into Kyle's head. Everything connected to back to four like a railroad. Railroads connected cities and spelling out the monikers of the cities led back to four. Kyle smiled as the thought echoed through his head. Mary still had the paper with the school budget in her hand. She turned it over and read the shorthand scrawl.

            "What did you write here?" she asked Kyle and she showed him the paper.

            "Oh, that's the song that lulled me to sleep last night. It is the best song I have ever listened to," he responded.

            Mary rolled her eyes, "Pretty depressing tune if you ask me."

            They reached her house and Mary opened the front door. 

            Kyle felt the need to defend his musical tastes, "I think is speaking about abuse in general. The real genius of the song is in the chorus. That is some of the sweetest poetry I have ever read."

            Mary analyzed the lyrics further, "It seems to come from the point of view of the abuser. That seems hardly genius to me if the songwriter is intending to glorify abuse."

            Kyle leaned against the door as Mary handed him the paper, "No, not at all. The singer, who I believe wrote this song, is demeaning abuse. It's meant to get inside the mind of an abuse victim and portray the depression and angst of that person's plight and the hatred that person has for their abuser. If you heard it, I think you would agree with me."

            Mary had closed the closet door, she had put her coat away, "I don't know, Kyle. I am not really a big fan of downtrodden music. I try to find very mellow tunes to listen to when I am down. That sort of music makes all the more melancholy and angry."

            Kyle shrugged as he took his coat off, "To each their own, I guess. I love this song very much."

            Mary decided to put Kyle on the spot, "What is so appealing about gloomy poetry anyway?"

            Kyle dodged her question, "This particular poem was written by an Indiana native. He got right at the heart of the way I feel about my home and school life. I made a connection with a musician who knew how probably hundreds of others and I felt about abuse and life in general. The first time I heard that song I went to sleep for the first time in a long time without crying."

            Mary sat down on the couch and sighed loudly, "I am glad you made a connection to someone who knows how to strum a guitar and write with a pen at the same time. I am really happy for you but I am not personally a fan of disheartening poetry especially disheartening poetry set to music."

            Kyle sat down beside her, "Okay, you win."

            Mary smiled on the inside, "What game were we playing?"

            Kyle raised an eyebrow, "I don't know. Were we playing a game?"

            "If we were, I wasn't playing anyway. Come here." Mary grabbed her boyfriend and they kissed for several minutes without ceasing. 

            As they pecked, Kyle couldn't help but connect two things Mary said earlier.  "Every word spelled out comes back to four' and 'the leash…has been loosened ever further' kept striking bells.  Kyle suddenly quit kissing her on the lips. He smooched Mary on the nose and she looked at him.

            "What?" Mary asked.

            "Everything comes back to four means four is the root, right?" Kyle inquired cryptically.

            Mary repeated herself and Kyle repeated himself.

            Mary verbalized, "I don't think so. I think it is either the event of counting the letters or spelling the words that is the root to that pattern. It could be both."

            Kyle rejoined, "No, it is both the number and the event."

            She felt further to the left of left field, "Now I am really lost. Care to explain?"

            He felt obliged to answer truthfully, "Four people are responsible for misery. They are my mother, my father, my coach, and my field general."

            Still lost, she had to ask, "Field general?"

            He divulged the obscure knowledge, "Weezer is the field general. The quarterback is considered the field general by some military freaks that are also football freaks. It turns out that there are subset of freaks that are known as armchair generals. They think of everything in terms of military tactics. I read it somewhere online a while ago."

            Mary remarked with a laugh, "Your mind works in mysterious ways, Kyle."

            Kyle smiled slightly, "Yeah, not only am I a nerd, I am a certified dork but that is not the matter at hand. Four people are the root cause of the abuse and suffering in my life. The event that started this off was my family's initial footing here in Mayfield. Both the number and the event are now explained. It's now time for the railroads."

            Mary felt like a fascist promoting diversity and tolerance, "Railroads?"

            Kyle was in the center of this proverbial political spectrum, which was his own view of the world, "Yes, railroads, the connections between things."

            "Okay," Mary nodded.  She had never seen this side of Kyle's personality before and it brought forth an almost intense emotional mix.

            Kyle intently continued with the outlandish sounding connections, "Coach Jerkoff and Captain Asthma are almost bed buddies since they are so close. Coach Jerkoff has the citizenry or rather the sheep of this town eating out of the palm of his hand. Because of this, Captain Asthma can run around and do whatever the f**k he wants and get away with it, including metaphorically pissing on yours truly. Jerkoff has the spineless educators in a sling and Asthma and his cronies can therefore run amok. The railroad between Coach Jerkoff and Captain Asthma has been built."

            Mary shook her head in complete awe, "I truly don't understand how your mind functions, Kyle."

            Kyle observed sheepishly, "I don't either sometimes, it's so spooky. I mean I hadn't completely and totally realized that the causes of my pain were linked together in that fashion."     

            Mary suddenly comprehended it all, "Nor did I. According to your newfound logic, your parents form the other railroad. Am I right?"

            Kyle nuzzled up to her neck, "You are right." 

            He kissed her softly on the neck and moved to her cheek.  She just melted as he continued her lips and they were smooching heavily for the next few moments.  Kyle had found himself on top of her and they smiled at each other.

            "You are the epitome of male kindness, Kyle," Mary stated as she put her right hand through his short brown hair.

            Kyle was shocked and he smiled, "Thank you very much, Mary. You are too kind to me."

            Mary commented as she held onto her man, "I still can't believe that you are so abused. You are too good for such s**t."

            Kyle nodded in agreement as he held onto his girl, "Four people have four abuse lines. It's like being the cross point in a crude four-line hourglass drawing."

            She was stumped once more, "What now?"

            He asked back, "Have your taken your pencil and drawn a crude hourglass in your notebook because you were board?"

            Mary gave him a look of loss, "I guess I haven't."

            Kyle immediately remembered a prior geometry lesson, "Think two straight line segments that are parallel to one another.  The other two line segments connect the opposite ends of the parallel segments.  The second set of lines cross at a point and you have a crude hourglass."

            The image immediately came to her mind, "Ah! I have done that. You think too abstractly, Kyle."

            He voiced the truth, "Hey, it's cake to me. It's rolling a boulder up a hill for others."

            Mary finally had a grasp on a subject she had extensive knowledge and experience with, "Yeah, I know how it feels."

            Kyle queried, "You have pushed a boulder up a hill?"

            Mary became philosophical, "Metaphorically yes but physically no.  We are doing it now even without realizing it."

            Kyle moved down to the floor and sat facing her, "What makes you think that?"

            Mary put her right arm under her head and revealed the wisdom, "Everyday, Kyle, we take over that boulder that has been plopped before us and we just keep pushing it and pushing it hoping someday it will get over that hill and roll down the other side. Our cases seem to defy that logic easily. Our boulders never seem to go over that hill. Day in and day out, we attend the hell we call secondary school. We get taunted, we get shoved around, and we get our books knocked over. We are knocked on because we don't fit the definition of normal in the eyes of those who are on top. This is the existence that has been handed to us. This is our boulder we have to keep pushing."

            Sisyphus couldn't have been prouder and Kyle understood what she was getting at but something else entered his mind, "What about the when?"

            "When will the boulder go over the top of the hill?" Mary replied.

            Kyle nodded, "Yeah, when will it go over the top is my question. I have pondered the answer to the why to every possible extent and I have come away empty-handed. I think the when is a much more attainable answer than the why."

            Mary laid down her stomach and stared at her boyfriend, "In every story I have ever read and every movie I have ever seen, all the questions are usually answered at the end. Life isn't as simple or as giving at that. There are always questions which will be left unanswered. That is the way things are and it applies universally. Movies and stories are kind of an extension of real life though. Things always change in life and there are always questions that are left unanswered."

            Kyle stared toward the television set, "I know that. I just remember being taught the six words that start out of a question in second grade. It was always 'why' that was the most difficult question to answer. The logical secondary questions that followed were always of the form 'when can I have my answer?' and/or 'how do I get my answer?' It fits here considering the way things are now. Three years is a long time to suffer at the hands of any abuser. I would just like it to end if I have to do it myself or if some outside force will do it for me."

            Mary's reflection in the TV set beamed and Kyle beamed back at it. He turned around and they stared face-to-face.

            Mary's voice took on an edifying tone, "You are a really good man, Kyle Dawson. I don't want to see you hurt. You should get rid of that football and hopefully the non-parental railway will give you a reprieve from the abuse."

            Kyle's soul ached knowing that remark would never come true. He nodded at her like an obeying puppy. They both sighed and Mary stared over at the TV set and Kyle followed suit. "Dogfight" was still in the VCR waiting to be rewound and replayed. Kyle caught on to her wants and he jumped at the opportunity. A few moments later, they were watching the film snuggled with one another on the couch.  They watched the entire film this time and did not get into any make-out sessions. After the film ended, Kyle got up and shut off the VCR. He looked at the time on the VCR and it read 11:30am. Kyle yawned and sighed loudly and comprehended that he couldn't procrastinate anymore.  Mary got up off the couch and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

            "What's up?" she asked.

            "I need to go home," he replied.

            Mary playfully pouted, "Why? It's only 11:30am."

            Kyle screamed on the inside, "Yeah, I have a lot of homework to do though. I have to rewrite a paper for biology. I have to do all the editing and rewriting myself."

            Mary joked easily, "Isn't that the point?"

            Kyle didn't see it as a joke, "Yeah, but my parents don't love me so I don't get any homework help of any sort. If they at least do a quick edit check then that would save me some time and toil."

            Mary jested some more, "I could do it for you. My paper is done already because Dad helped me out last night since I really had nothing to do. Somebody was sleeping soundly at the time apparently."

            Kyle became somewhat defensive, "Well, that was just one night, Mary. Tonight, I plan to be over here so we can do something special. Maybe we could convince your dad to take us out to a movie, out to eat, or to do some other fun activity."

            Kyle turned around and took his girl around the shoulders and she nodded with ease. 

            "Sure, that sounds like an idea. I think my dad will be up for that," Mary came back with.

            They kissed each other for several seconds and smiled at each other. 

            "I have to go, dear. I will call you before I come over. It shouldn't be gone more than a few hours anyway since I can type around forty-some words a minute and my computer has a grammar check function," Kyle iterated.

            "Okay, I will be waiting for you," Mary responded with a smile.

            Mary walked Kyle to the front door. They kissed once more and they waved to one another. Mary mouthed the words "I love you" to her beloved and Kyle did the same back. They smiled and she closed the front door. Kyle turned toward the street and proceeded to make his way home. It didn't hit Kyle that was too calm and cold for comfort.

            About twenty yards from Mary's place, an eerie feeling appeared in the stillness.  Kyle scanned the street wondering if there was a blue convertible anywhere in sight. The youngster continued along the route that he had initially taken that day. He had walked only an eighth of the distance when a normal noise brought Kyle back to his senses. His focus shifted from the upcoming biology homework to the source of the sound. Through the sycamores that lined the lane, he saw a red junk-mobile approach at a creep and it suddenly shot at him without any sort of warning. 

            As fast as he could, Kyle raced off the road into a nearby alley. That particular alleyway ran right behind Kyle's house. As if the vehicle was reading his mind, it turned into in the alley and continued pursuit. Kyle ran like hell was on his heels. In his initial try-outs for the team, Kyle had done the forty-yard dash in 4.8 seconds. With the brainpower to boot, Kyle then cut between two houses and ran to the sidewalk. Another obstacle had made itself known to Kyle. It was the infamous blue convertible and it was parked at the upcoming intersection. Feeling as if he had no other choice, Kyle ran like hell one more time.

            Like a nameless narrator, he ran purely exhausted and his muscles burned with lactic acid. He saw Weezer standing where the sidewalks crossed. Not seeing any obvious means of escape, he opted for the less than obvious means. He ran with the fervor of a convict seeking freedom. Weezer could not have been more enraged at Kyle's suddenness.  With the right foot following the left, Kyle jumped onto the front bumper of Weezer's convertible. In two easy strides, he went from the hood to the roof to the trunk. He landed on the street with almost no loss in momentum.

            Weezer's reaction was instantaneous. He leapt at the offender as soon as the left shoe touched the pavement. The aim was off by a fraction of a second and Weezer smashed chin-first onto the blacktop. Kyle didn't even glance back and was a quarter of the way down the block. With two and a half blocks to go, he wasn't ready to cry uncle.  The path to his home appeared unobstructed so Kyle almost took it to mean that he was in the free and clear. The red junk-mobile had stopped at the final street before Kyle's home. The fatigue he was feeling almost overpowered him. With all the energy he could muster, he cut through the yard of the corner residence. The white lights came on the junk-mobile and the engine was gunned. Kyle hit the street as the junk-mobile came within five yards of him. Kyle swerved a yard or two to the left and ran back forward.  He was safe on the other side as the junk-mobile hit the curb at thirty miles per hour. Kyle bolted for the alley one more time while the junk-mobile tried to continue over the curb. 

            Cold fear swept over Kyle as he ran past three houses to reach the safety of his backyard. He scorched through the back door and went straight for the drawer that held the cutlery. Huffing and puffing as he never had before, Kyle grabbed very sharp filet knife. Creeping to the back window, Kyle scanned hastily for any threatening faces that were in the backyard or back alley. Something from the other side almost caused him to die from fright.

            "KYLE!" a male voice screamed uneasily.

Author's Note