The Symmetry of Life- Book 1: To See, To Know, To Be Human - 7. Chapter 7: Learning To Fight Right

Chapter 7: Learning To Fight Right

September of 1954 was a fearful time for me. I was entering high school and losing my childhood. In terms of education, my mom had preferred we went to public school rather than parochial or the snobby private schools in the area. In 1954, Sacramento had two public high schools within the district, Sacramento High School and C.K. McClatchy High School. I attended the C.K. McClatchy.

The entire thing should be no big deal, except I looked like a dork. Seriously, the glasses, the lack of muscles, and the height factor just screamed it. I never did develop an interest in sports, nor cared much about stuff like girls for obvious reasons, so very few guys ever came over to talk. I was doomed to be an outcast from the very start. For my first few months, I was completely isolated. Bullies would pick on me from time to time, which I impulsively countered with my fists and ended up with many broken pairs of eye glasses. Brian did not openly say anything about the bruises or the black eyes, which I came home with. He probably knew what happened, but he didn’t react openly for those first months. Our housekeeper, Maggie, would usually offer wet wash cloths and some ointment to relieve my pain, plus pack an extra lunch in my book bag in case I lose my lunch money. She was a nice middle age woman, who was recommended to us through secret channels, only known to Brian. She was taller than average, had a strong nasal voice, and held an almost masculine demeanor. Maggie had a few skill sets and secrets of her own that I didn’t know about until later that year. She taught me some wrestling moves and a few tricks that proved extremely handy in fights.

You have to understand something about bullying in the 50’s versus bullying in the modern world, it was meant to be a sign of growing up. Barbaric as it was, the entire thing was not really based on anything tangible. Most 14 to 18 year old bullies didn’t really care about “hot button issues”; they just wanted to pick fights with someone weaker to show their dominance. The teachers understood this idea and let the bullying continue uninterrupted, because they had gone through the same. After a few months of the fights with me, I finally was getting decent results and beating up a few of them in turn, I gained grudging respect with the other boys, because I proved my worth. I began to become more like them, picking fights with other kids. Around Thanksgiving, I was able to get a pair of corneal contacts, which were extremely expensive at the time. Most kids in school thought I just grew out of my glasses, but I still kept my old pair just in case anything happened to my contacts. I became just like those that had bullied me at first. As I said, I don’t like sports or girls, so fighting was my connection with other boys and bullying seemed to give me real control over my own destiny that I have been desperately seeking. I just felt like it was my right after all that I lost and everything in my dysfunctional family that I should have something for myself. Brian did take notice in my change of heart, but he only joked about me trying to look tougher, when I was really scared inside. If anyone else were that forthright with me, I’d have beaten the crap out of them, but Brian knew me better than I knew myself.

After Christmas break, we had a round of transfer kids in our school. They were all unimpressive to me, except for one. He was Bobby. When he came into homeroom, I took a good look at him from head to toe. He had short brown hair like Brian, but he held an expression of worldly experience. His body was magnificent, at least to the standards of my day. He had a modestly tight chest, exposed muscular forearms, and long muscular legs. Wearing an old white T-Shirt and battered jeans, he was only missing the leather jacket or else he would be a splitting clone of James Dean. I will freely admit it; I fell for him like a ton of bricks at my first sight. However, I did several really stupid things throughout the day. First, when he was introduced and I made fun of him for looking like a commie. I got a laugh from everyone, except Bobby, who flushed red which didn’t help his cause. Then, after our physical education class, I stole his underwear, when he was in the showers.

Of course, Bobby was no wimp and he confronted me at the end of the day, when we were let out. I admit that I was itching to face off against him at that moment. When he started approaching me outside the school, I took out the pair of briefs that I had stolen from him earlier and baited him to follow me towards the field area. A dozen kids also came to see the show, like a boxing match. Some were placing bets and others were taunting for their own fights. There were no girls at these types of events, it was only boys and it suited me just fine.

Bobby angrily slurred at me, “Give me back my underwear, you turd.”

I smirked at him, “Come and get it, Comrade.”

Despite a combination of experience and some dirty below the belt fighting, I lost to Bobby. I like to say this to clear the record, I got distracted, when I was about to deliver a painful uppercut to his perfectly shaped face. Seriously, he was just too hot to really damage, but at that point, he didn’t have the same opinion of me. He beat me so badly that I couldn’t even stand up without falling back down at least a dozen times. Being beaten by Bobby was a social status downgrade. I had gone from prominent new kid to yesterday’s news in a flash. Bobby on the other hand had gained huge social standing and several other boys tried to befriend him right on the spot. He ignored all of them, grabbed his underwear and left.

When I came home extremely late that day from school, Brian was waiting for me on the front steps. I’ve been late before, but I was never this badly injured or shaken up by anyone. Brian lifted my arm and helped guide me to my room. Maggie took a look at me and shook her head in dismay. She went to the kitchen’s medicine cabinet to grab some items for me. Brian guided me up to our room and laid me out on my bed. He was very careful removing my shoes, sox and unbuttoning my shirt. After he did that stuff; I lost consciousness.

In that state, I saw my dad again. He was just standing there without any words. I figured I must have died due to the fight.

I stared at him squarely in the eye, “Damn it, I screwed up didn’t I! Look, I’m not Brian. You didn’t give me any magic powers or titles other than that stupid “Protector” thing and those words that have absolutely no meaning at all. Why can’t I throw a fireball at people or be super smart. Hell, I’d give anything to at least get a bigger dick. You screwed me over, dad. Why don’t you condemn me to hell, it would be the first thing you given me that sticks.”

He came over to me and ruffled my hair, “Actually, I am not here. Josh, look at me,” he turned into a mirror image of me, “See dreams are open ended things. You get to see parts of your consciousness that you don’t know existed and you get to see ideas that you never realized were thought. The “First” operates in the realm of dreams and thought, but you’re here, too. He can offer you inspiration, but you have to be inspired to think. Don’t you know yourself?”

I angrily shook my fist, “Screw you!”

He laughed hysterically, “Hey, you can’t screw yourself; it’d be impossible.”

I was exasperated, “So what I get it’s a wonderful life in my head now. Terrific on top of everything, I am going looney.”

He smiled, “I know myself, so here’s the direct point without playing flashbacks. You are unable to cope with what life has given you. You fear being your little brother’s protector, holding this deep secret in your head, or having to hide that you like boys. I am here just to tell you that all those things are eating you up inside and you are venting in a way that you just don’t accept. You’re not a bully, nor do you really like to fight kids. Just listen to your conscience and the rest will be easy. That’s it”

With that, I woke up. I had a lot of thinking to do as I saw Brian by my bed side gently napping. It was probably 2 or 3 AM as I made out the hands on the clock. I saw that Maggie had bandaged me up very well and the pain seemed to have subsided. I lifted my right hand and nudged Brian. He awoke very quickly.

Brian smiled, “Good dreams.”

I looked over at him, “Was that you in my head?”

Brian shook his head in a firm negative, “Nope, I know what you saw though. You just had an epiphany Josh.”

I tried to focus my mind at the term, “Epiphany, I don’t know who that is Brian, is it another one of your guys like the agents of death.”

Brian giggled softly, “No, it’s a self realization after a traumatic event. Don’t you read?”

I retorted quickly, “Yeah, I do read. Look at all my Amazing Stories magazines, Heinlein’s Red Planet, and Asimov’s Foundation trilogy on our bookshelf.”

Brian stood up and pulled out Red Planet and flipped through the book, “I swear if I didn’t know better, I think he was a Ainur based on his ideals. Reading his stories is sort of nostalgic,” he placed the book back on the shelf and grabbed Foundation, “Now this guy would probably love to meet an Arknor, his robots are the closest things in the human imagination that comes close to them. Still he has a long way to go to understand universal logic.”

I was struck by a question, “Brian, Can you tell me how the world was? When you were an Ainur and folks didn’t really care about two guys liking each other that way?”

Brian looked at me understandingly, “I really don’t know Josh. Those memories are locked away from me. I get feelings, like the world was upside down. Regular humans were slaves; Ainur were a third sex outside of male and female. The regular humans were the freaks back then and I get the feeling that the Ainur were not nice to them, either. They fought back and I got stuck in between the two sides, trying to seek peace, while simultaneously preventing outside forces from influencing the outcome.”

I nodded, “I guess bullying really doesn’t work out in the end. It makes you feel good for some time, but you’ll eventually lose yourself.”

Brian nodded and placed the book back on the shelf, “Sounds like you learned a lesson. You shouldn’t try to force yourself to do something that you don’t want to. Fighting isn’t a bad thing, it teaches you to be more adaptive and help you grow stronger. You just need to have a good reason to fight.”

I blinked at Brian, “A good reason, what is that?”

Brian was getting into his bed and pulling the covers over, “It’s a reason you find from others that flow through you, not the reasons you tell yourself that flow to others. Good night, Josh.”