It was a fair description of Dave. We all laughed, but she wasn’t quite done with the subject of the dig, and started pressing us for details. We regaled her with tales from the mound for the next half hour or so. The explanations came through a bit disjointed, because everyone talked over and interrupted everyone else, but I think she got the gist of it.
Soon we’d had enough and I told everyone to get ready for the game. We all unpacked our gaming gear.
For those who have never played a game like this, think of it as interactive story telling. We used a game system called Ars Magica, which gave us the rules for magic and combat in the story. The story master, in this case me, created a world and then created adventures in that world. The players were usually the heroes and occasionally the anti-heroes of the adventures. Together the entire group told the story—the story master provided the skeleton; the players provided the flesh. It was a real kick and not anywhere near as geeky as it might sound to the uninitiated. Think of it as a creative way to spend time with friends, a way to tell stories and to explore teen angst and morality in a safe environment. It was also a way to feel powerful at a time in life when one had no power.
Augmented with the obligatory Nacho-Cheese Doritos and liters of Dr. Pepper—caffeine being our drug of choice—a good time was had by all as the team started their quest to save Seru from the invading forces of darkness.
It sounds cornier when I say it now than it did while we immersed ourselves in the game. The drama we created swept us all up, and we played into the wee hours of the morning.
The next day was grim. Without thinking, I'd agreed to take the morning shift at the Grease-Burger since Mark hadn’t given me a starting date to help man his shop yet. I walked around in a daze the whole time. Even at eighteen, it can be hard to function on two hours of sleep. I burnt the burgers, forgot to turn on the fryers before I opened up, and generally made a mess of things. I missed working in Uncle Mark’s rock shop, and that day cemented my enthusiasm for his offer.
When I finally made it through my shift, I hotfooted it home, walked in our front door, and called out my standard, “Mom, I'm home!” I tried to head up the stairs, planning on a long midsummer’s day nap, but didn’t get far. Mom called me from the backyard.
“Hey, Finn, honey! Come back here. You've got to see this!”
The lead in my limbs and eyelids continued demanding attention as I went back to see her. My eyelids became self-buoyant when I saw what she had called me back for.
My oak was blossoming, not just a few blossoms, but thousands!
She stared at the sight, her hand above her eyes like a visor. “I don’t know what you put on that tree, but it’s powerful stuff.”
I saw what she meant. Along with the blossoms, new buds were forming on the branches, which had been bare just days before.
It was totally impossible for a tree to grow like this, but such was the denial I shrouded myself in at that moment that I was only aware of the deep satisfaction filling me seeing my oak making such a strong comeback. It wouldn't get cut down on my watch.
I went to the gnarled trunk, patted the tree, and crooned, “That's my girl. Keep on growing, and mean old Dad won't cut you down.”
My little pep talk amused my Mom. I joined her back inside and chatted while I snarfed down a couple of sandwiches before climbing the stairs crashing back to bed.
I sank into the pure bliss of my cool pillow for about fifteen seconds.
“Finn!” my mom yelled up the stairs. “Don't forget, you promised your dad you'd mow the lawn this afternoon.”
I mumbled a curse under my breath as I pushed myself back out of bed.
“And watch your language, young man!”
Sheesh. I went out and sacrificed the grass to Phred for forty minutes. After about fifteen of those minutes, I fell into a deep meditation, somehow wrapped around the continuing tune in my mind. I hummed along while I pushed the mower back and forth and offered up my sacrifice.
When I finished, I actually felt a little better than I had when I started. The exercise lessened my need for a nap, so I practiced the moves that Uncle Mark had taught me and did some more sit-ups and pushups. Afterward, I cracked my books and got in some studying.
The zing from the exercise didn’t last long. I discovered that when my mom woke me up and called me down for supper. I made a, mostly unsuccessful, attempt to dry the book I had drooled on and headed downstairs. After dinner, I called Dave, bailed on bowling, and then headed up for an early bed and dreams of Spring.
***
For as long as I can remember, I have been infatuated with women. One of my first memories—I couldn’t have been more than five—was brushing my babysitter’s long blond hair. I loved it when my parents had to go out for the evening. They’ve told me that I often urged them to go out more. Her hair enchanted me, and she was just the first I remember.
Whether a pretty lifeguard at the pool or a friend of my mother’s, I loved women. I put on a show for any pretty girl I met so I could bask in the glow of their attention.
As I grew older, my infatuation didn't waiver, but I learned first hand how much power this gave women over me. My fear of rejection became crushing, and I could never work up the courage to risk it with a girl I liked.
With Spring, I never had that fear, because first, she visited me in my dreams, and second, Spring’s intentions always came through, loud and clear. She wanted me and never let me think otherwise. I had no chance to feel awkward or inadequate. That Saturday night, Spring again showed me how she felt and what she wanted.
It seemed I had just closed my eyes when the dream began. I felt a cool breeze flowing over me, carrying the scent of new leaves and honeysuckle. I opened my eyes.
Spring stood naked in front of the open window. The light coming in through the window highlighted her voluptuous features and star-shine glinted on her long dark hair as it fell all the way to her ankles. Some light from the hall shining though my open door lit her perfect pixie-like face and her generous, full lips.
Desire and need drove out all other thought, and I scrambled to the side of my bed. She strode forward, bringing along sharper scents of cloves and cinnamon, and presented me with her impossibly perfect breasts. I leaned forward to taste one dark aureole, but she put her hands on my shoulders, pushed me back, and followed me down till her lips met with mine.
She overwhelmed my senses as she took me. The soft, yielding warmth of her body, her chai tea scent, and the press of her breasts on my chest forced everything else from my mind. As her solid weight held me down, I submitted and gave myself to her, until I could give no more.
Our time together became an exploration of the limits of my stamina. It didn’t seem fair to me that I could get tired in my dreams, but I did. She wore me out.
***
I dragged myself out of bed Sunday morning, overwhelmed with the memory and aftereffects of my time with Spring. I was pretty worthless the whole day.
Even the thought of finals the next week was not enough to motivate me. I took time out of my attempts at studying to work on the exercise regimen recommended by Uncle Mark. I had to split it up over the day because I was so tired. Only thinking about Erik Parmely gave me the energy I needed to keep going. Sunday night I planned on getting some sleep so I went to bed early.
It’s good to have plans. Pretty much useless, but good.
Finals Week—Monday And Tuesday
Senior finals week, though it wouldn’t hold a candle to some of the weeks I’ve had since then, took the prize as the strangest and most stressful of my life to date. It was not at all how I had envisioned my last week of high school.
I woke up hungry and heavy on Monday morning with sheets and covers thrown all over the room. After a repeat of the previous night, my muscles were weak and achy, like I had run a marathon. I put away a double breakfast before heading to school. The only test I had that day was Western Civ., and I did okay on it, but only because it was a blow-
off class.
My finals schedule was actually pretty reasonable. In a normal semester, it would have been a breeze. I only had one day with two finals. The others had one each. There was no final for my Structured Programming class, just a final project. I hadn’t started it yet, but I hoped to pound it out in marathon sessions at the lab after each final.
After Western Civ., I headed home, spent a couple of moderately successful hours on my programming final project, and tried to do the same with French. French was as slippery as an eel. Everything I had learned that semester seemed to slither and slide around in my brain. The harder I tried to concentrate on it, the more it got away from me. By the time I quit studying, I couldn’t even remember how to conjugate “to be.’
I told myself that I just needed a break, leaned back in the chair, and took a few deep breaths. My mom’s call to dinner jolted me to awareness. With a start, I came back to the present and realized that I had been sitting there for hours fiddling with my stick. This was getting to be a habit.
Yeah, yeah, I know what that sounds like. Grow up!
It sat in my lap, and my eyes traced and retraced its smooth black lines while my mind drifted through strange dreamlike thoughts that left no evidence of their passage. When I headed downstairs, I started salivating at the smell of something garlicky and my stomach jumped for joy.
After a large dinner, I went out back, practiced, and exercised again, hoping it would help combat the growing fog in my brain. It helped a little, but not enough to give me a good block of study time. Tuesday, I struggled through my brutal French final. In the middle of it, I found my mind alternating between the test and my dreams of the night before. French may be the language of love, but love doesn’t necessarily help you speak French.
Tuesday afternoon, Gregg, Dave, and I headed over to Frankies. Pizza never tasted so good. I had just returned from the buffet with another three slices and started in on the first one when I noticed Gregg and Dave staring at me in wonder or amazement.
I stopped chewing and spoke around a mouthful of pizza. “What?”
Dave laughed, and referring to Monty Python’s The Meaning Of Life, said, “Save some room for your waaafer theeen dinner mint.”
Gregg added, “Finn, that’s like what, your tenth slice?”
I chewed a couple more times. “I don’t know, maybe. Why?”
“You’re going to explode. I’ve only seen Alan eat that much, and he’s twice your size.”
“I’m just hungry, all right?”
“Yeah, well, you’re eating like a zombie. You look like someone turned out all the lights and left your stomach running the show.”
“Come on, it’s not that bad. I’m just hungry.”
Gregg said, “You look like crap. Like you haven’t slept in a week or you are a terminal cancer patient. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
I swallowed another bite and nodded. “I’m just tired—and hungry. Between finals and everything else, I, uh, haven’t been getting much sleep.”
“Well, get yourself some more sleep before you start nodding off in finals.”
“Don’t worry, Gregg. I’ll catch up tonight.”
I didn’t mean it, because there was exactly one thing I wanted more than sleep, and I couldn’t wait to see her again.
Final’s Week—Wednesday
Wednesday started with my AP Physics final. One of my better classes, and if I hadn't been a walking zombie, I would have felt pretty good about my readiness for the test. I was, if not completely caught up, at least competent in the material. That morning, I caught a ride with Dave.
He wasn’t excited about finals, either, but he seemed to be doing better than me. We were walking through the parking lot when I spotted Erik Parmely’s old beater. He must have arrived early, because he had one of the cherry close-to-the-building parking spots. My heart skipped a beat. I felt pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be on the school premises, but wasn’t certain, and my brain had stopped working sometime the previous night. As we got closer, I spotted Erik in the car. Adrenalin pumped through me when I caught his eye.
Noting my agitation, Dave asked with a smirk, “What’s up, Finn? Just remembered you forgot to read the book?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s Parmely. He’s sitting in his car over there.”
“It looks like he has a crush on you or something.”
“Let’s go this way,” I said, pointing to a different entrance that wouldn’t take us right by his car.
“Sure, no need to stir that particular pot.”
We headed off to the left. I half expected Erik to get out of his car and follow me. As we got farther away, his gaze pricked on my back. I didn’t dare turn around, but I did try not to hunch my shoulders. After that, I did poorly on my physics final. I didn’t bomb it, but I couldn’t finish the exam. I kept wondering about Erik sitting out in the parking lot. The thought that he would wait around for me and jump me after school made me sick.
We had a break between finals. I didn’t dare leave the school, so I stayed in the science lab and finished my programming project. I met Dave there and begged him for a ride home after my second final. He didn’t have a final that period, but he agreed to meet me in the parking lot afterward. That helped me calm down a little before my Calculus final, but I didn’t do too well on that, either.
That afternoon, I had a lesson with Uncle Mark. I convinced my mom to let me use the car. If she hadn’t, I probably would have begged off. Erik’s appearance at the school had me constantly looking over my shoulder. This time, I arrived at the shop a little early. The sign on the window already said, “Closed,” but the door opened to my touch, so I walked in. I locked the front door behind me and then went searching for Mark.
I didn’t see Uncle Mark in the main store, so I went around the counter to the back. The small warehouse contained a lot of different specimens on wooden racks. I made my way through the racks and found him at his desk. My skin tingled when I saw that he had the misshapen skull in his hands. An adrenaline rush banished my exhaustion. He just sat there, staring at it.
Cold fear grabbed me. “Uncle Mark?” He didn’t seem to hear me so I raised my voice. “Uncle Mark?”
He started and then looked up at me with an odd expression, as if he didn’t recognize me. After a split second, he seemed to recognize me, and his half-open mouth turned into a smile.
“Hey, kiddo. Ready for your next lesson?”
“Uh, yeah.” I paused, deciding what to say. “You seemed pretty far away just now. What’s up?”
He looked down at the skull in his hands, shook his head, and put it back on the desk. He jumped up from the chair. “Okay, let’s do this.”
“I thought you were going to take that skull to the university.”
“I will. I wanted to study it a bit more before I gave it to the eggheads. I guess that thing just has its hooks in me.”
The visuals on that thought disturbed me. I hunched my shoulders and frowned.
Mark saw it. “That skull really has you spooked, doesn’t it?”
“I really wish you’d just get rid of it or lock it up somewhere. It’s bad news!”
“I won’t keep it forever, kiddo. I promise.”
We headed out back, and he showed me some stretches and then we got into it.
After a few minutes, my uncle stopped the lesson, glared at me, and said, “Finn, you’re really being pathetic here. I thought you were going to practice and work out?”
Shame filled me as I said, “I’m sorry, Uncle Mark. I’m just exhausted.”
His expression hardened, his lips compressed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “So, when someone jumps you when you’re tired, you’re just going to suggest they come back when you’re feeling better?”
I shook my head in slow turns. “No.”
“Oh, so you’ll just roll over and let them take a bat to you?”
“No!”
“So then what are you going to do next time Erik and his
buddies jump you and you’re too tired to fight?”
The thought of Erik’s hate-filled face looming above me flooded into my mind.
“That’s better. Come on, use that anger. Anger is fire. Anger will give you energy when you’ve got nothing else. Tap into it. Come on, I’m Erik! Show me what you think of me.”
I imagined Erik standing before me, and then I imagined what I wanted to do to him. Mark attacked with a punch to my gut, and I blocked it and made the counterattack. Mark blocked my arm without a problem. He grinned a nasty grin that disturbingly resembled Erik’s.
“That all you got, Morgenstern? You pussy. Come on, a little girl can hit harder than that.”
I knew exactly the reaction he was trying to provoke, but that didn’t stop it from being effective. My anger built and pushed out my exhaustion. Strength rushed into me. I yelled and swung with everything I had. My fist encountered empty air, and the momentum of my swing carried me around. That’s when Mark punched me in the stomach. I gasped and stumbled from the pain. The blow extinguished my anger like a birthday candle.
I struggled to stand up. The punch hadn’t knocked the wind out of me, but it hurt. “Ow, shit!” I looked over to Mark, feeling lamer than ever. I had nothing left.
Mark spat on the ground and said in a disgusted voice, “Finn, you were off to a good start, but you can’t let your anger disengage your reason and your cunning. When that happens to an opponent, we call that victory. You just completely tossed out everything you’ve learned to make that punch. That little love tap I gave you only served to get your attention. Now let’s go again! This time, when I’m through kicking the shit out of you, I’m going after your little nigger girlfriend.”
I was wrong about having nothing left. At the use of that vile word to describe Jen, my anger flared up bright and hot. This time, I would make him pay, and I wasn’t going to give that bastard an easy target.
I came in hard and controlled, determined not to open myself up. I started throwing punches with elbows and fists, but remained unable to get through his defenses. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Mark. He landed a couple of solid blows, and I ended up on my butt a few times. This time, instead of snuffing my anger, the pain just focused it, and I started drawing power from the rage. I stayed on the offensive, throwing blow after blow, trying to keep out of a rhythm, which would allow him to predict my moves.
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