A Boy and His Dragon

by Michael J. Bowler

  “That what?” Bradley Wallace piped up at once, the significance of the old man’s sudden silence arousing his curiosity.

  “That I think so highly of you,” Mr. O’Conner concluded smoothly, as though ironing the wrinkle out of a valuable shirt. Bradley Wallace felt certain the old man had intended to say something else, but obviously couldn’t press the matter. They rode the remainder of the way to their next destination in silence, and business went on as usual.

  May, being the month of Mary, was heralded each year at St. Raphael’s by the May Procession, in which all the students marched from the big playground into the church carrying bouquets of flowers that they laid at the feet of a large, beautifully carved statue of the Virgin Mary.

  The leader of the procession (this year’s choice was newcomer Janet, and for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, Bradley Wallace took pleasure in her selection when he’d never cared who got picked in previous

  years) crowned the statue with a woven wreath of spring flowers. Mass, of course, followed. Ordinarily, Bradley Wallace liked such events. But this one was to be after school on a day when “Dark Shadows” promised to be exceptionally good, and he’d missed too many episodes lately as it was. Angelique had saved Quentin from the guillotine, but in doing so had exposed herself as a witch and now faced execution herself. Bradley Wallace had to know whether or not Barnabas would try to save the life of his most persistent adversary. He had to know if it was possible to extend the hand of friendship to someone who had always been a hated enemy. And thus he had to get out of the mandatory procession. Somehow.

  Fortunately, Whilly, who seemed to grow smarter with each passing day, came up with a rather novel solution. He would simply watch the episode and “feed” the video images through his mind to that of Bradley Wallace, rather like a conduit. The boy expressed skepticism as to the success of this experiment. His doubts vanished completely, however, when, seated in the fourth pew from the altar listening to Father Kenny drone on endlessly about Mary, “Dark Shadows” (sound and all) began unreeling inside his head like he had his own private screening room.

  He was actually watching a television set that was over ten miles away! The effect was eerie, and for a while Bradley Wallace feared those around him might hear the show; it was that real.

  To his amazement, Barnabas did save Angelique, at great personal risk to himself, and even professed his love for her. After all their battles through time spanning almost two hundred years, after all the evil things she had done to him, Barnabas actually confessed that he loved her. Bradley Wallace couldn’t believe it. Moved deeply by this scene, he nearly burst into tears, and there would have been a lot of explaining to do if he had.

  So it was possible for enemies to become friends, he thought, glancing unconsciously over at John Wagner, who had returned to school today after, apparently, a serious bout with the flu. Could he and Wagner ever become friends? Bradley Wallace wondered this as he turned his attention to the almost radiant statue of Mary. It just didn’t seem possible. Certainly not if Wagner had anything to do with it. Upon arriving home that afternoon, Bradley Wallace immediately went to the water tower to make certain the “Dark Shadows” transfer hadn’t harmed Whilly in any way, and found it had not. He told the dragon that it “was a pretty neat trick,” one they’d have to remember for future use.

  And so, life continued on a reasonably smooth course. Summer vacation was approaching like heavy rains after a drought, and the kids at school grew ever more restless with anticipation. Whilly continued to hunt his calves every few days (he was still not large enough to heft a full-grown cow), though the subject was never discussed openly between dragon and boy. Bradley Wallace still had occasional nightmares in which he fell atop bloody, shredded animal carcasses. And he had yet to touch a morsel of meat since that horrible night. Even for lunch, he insisted on chopped olive, or butter and jelly sandwiches (he was the only kid he knew, probably in the world, who hated peanut butter).

  His parents questioned his vegetarian resolve a few more times before finally giving up in frustration. His mother even gave up her childish attempts to change his mind by preparing his most hated vegetables, and actually began to prepare good food for him as well as the others. He knew it was difficult for her to cook separately for him, but Bradley Wallace found he liked being a vegetarian, especially since he had a compatriot in Mr. O’Conner. His mother also insisted he balance out his diet with plenty of eggs and cheese for protein. She did care about him, after all.

  During those final weeks of school, Bradley Wallace also received numerous arm-wrestling challenges, but remained undefeated, a development he felt good about.

  It was really the first time he’d felt good about himself, the first time he’d been successful at something which made him acceptable and almost “one of the guys.” For those brief, shining moments, he actually felt normal. One night early in May, his dreams took him back to that day he’d defeated Jeff Kott and become champion.

  Only in his dream, he strained even harder than he actually had, felt his strength ebbing away, traveling rapidly through his body and down his arms to exit from his whitened, clenched fingers as though never to return.

  And all those faces leering at him, some open-mouthed, others tense, some cheering him on, some glaring evilly.

  And then there was Janet, set apart from the others, smiling a secret smile intended just for him. Something about her seemed so . . . different. Her gaze alone seemed to reach him, and he squirmed uncomfortably.

  As he continued to struggle and strain against his now faceless opponent, every part of his body felt hard, rigid with tension. Janet’s soft blue eyes caught his own just as a last vestige of strength enabled him to slam that other arm down to the desk. He suddenly froze with shock, as wet warmness flooded his pants.

  Oh, no, he thought desperately, I wet my pants! His first frantic thoughts were how to get out of that classroom before anyone found out. He felt the wetness in his pants, slowly oozing down the inside of his thigh. But it seemed strange, not like piss at all. Frightened and becoming frenzied, he sought an escape route. But then it was too late. Everyone was laughing at him, even Janet. They knew what he’d done. Oh, God, how humiliating! They kept calling him names and . . . he woke with a start.

  Sweat beaded across his forehead, and drenched his pajamas. His body was slick with perspiration, and his covers were tangled and twisted into knots, as though he’d been thrashing wildly about.

  As he shook the sleep from his befuddled mind, he realized, with growing horror that it hadn’t all been a dream. He really had wet his pants! He saw the stain on his pajama bottoms, and pulled them open to peer down into his jockey shorts. His mouth dropped open in horror and fear. He hadn’t wet his pants after all. It was some kind of sticky white goop smeared all over his crotch and underpants, and it had seeped through the cotton briefs to his pajamas. What was it, he worried frantically, afraid he might have some terrible disease only weird people like him could get. He considered waking his parents, but dismissed that idea immediately. After that vegetarian business, something this strange would only make things worse. They might even send him to one of those places for crazy people, or at least to a headshrinker. No way!

  Confused and embarrassed, Bradley Wallace slunk into the bathroom and wiped himself clean with toilet paper. Yuck! This stuff was really gross! He slipped into a fresh pair of underpants, and tried to wash

  off the messed ones in the sink. But water only seemed to make the goop stickier, and it stubbornly adhered to his Jockey shorts.

  He frantically rubbed and scrubbed until he finally managed to get most of the stuff washed down the drain. What was wrong with him now, he wondered as he tossed the wet shorts into the hamper in his closet and climbed back into bed, fearfully unraveling his sheets and blanket? He knew he wasn’t sick, at least, not in the usual feverish way. So what was that junk?

  His uncertainty and fear refused to allow him even the forgetf
ul respite of sleep. After all, it might happen again if he should drop off. He lay in bed for what seemed like forever, turning over and over in his mind possible explanations for what had happened, and how he could really find out what it was all about. Exhaustion finally overcame fear and he slept. Mercifully, it was a sleep without dreams, of any kind.

  Bradley Wallace was nervous and afraid all through the following day, fearful that he might ejaculate that sticky white stuff in the classroom or someplace equally as embarrassing. But when nothing of this nature even hinted at happening, the boy felt some measure of relief by the time he arrived at the haunted water tower to watch “Dark Shadows.”

  Whilly sensed his friend was troubled, and asked what was wrong. Bradley Wallace felt, for reasons he didn’t understand, more humiliated than anything else. But he needed to tell somebody or he’d burst, and Whilly was the only one in whom he could possibly confide. Unfortunately, the dragon could offer no suitable explanation and little solace. His knowledge of human anatomy was limited to Bradley Wallace, and since his was the body in question, Whilly had no basis for comparison. But he did assure the boy that he wasn’t sick. Any illness would be felt by both parties, and Whilly could sense no malady of any kind in the boy’s system.

  Perhaps, the dragon suggested after a heavy silence between them, What happened was just a part of humans growing up.

  Bradley Wallace thought this an interesting observation coming from a dragon, and considered it a possibility. But how could he find out for certain? He definitely couldn’t talk to his parents - they’d probably

  laugh, and he felt embarrassed enough already. Why, he wasn’t sure. But he felt intrinsically that it was a subject people just didn’t or even shouldn’t talk about. He might ask Mr. O’Conner, but couldn’t decide. Fortunately he had someone, even though that someone happened to be a dragon. Whilly might not know the answers to all Bradley Wallace’s questions, but at least he was there to lean on. That was important.

  He never did mention the humiliating incident to Mr. O’Conner, even though it happened twice more in those final weeks of school. Bradley Wallace continued to be disgusted and embarrassed, but since the dreams didn’t seem to harm him in any way, he lost his fear of them. And with school ending this week, and summer vacation practically within his grasp, the boy’s spirits buoyed and he accepted the “sticky dreams” as a matter of course. This summer would be the best ever, he’d told Whilly, not merely because it was their first together, but it also heralded the release of the first full-length “Dark Shadows” movie, entitled “House of Dark Shadows.” Both Whilly and Bradley Wallace eagerly awaited the film that, according to Famous Monsters magazine, would focus on the Barnabas-Josette love story and would reunite all their favorite characters from the series. How either of them would actually get to the film was a matter they hadn’t thought to worry about. Yet.

  During those last weeks when Bradley Wallace was worrying about his dreams (and the possibility of his mother finding traces of that goop on his underpants), John Wagner became even more sullen and aloof, even to the point of ignoring his cronies Smith and Raley. Ever since the Barnabas-Angelique reconciliation, Bradley Wallace had tried to view Wagner in a different light. But somehow, even though Wagner hadn’t been tormenting him (not even any arm wrestling challenges), Bradley Wallace suspected his enemy was not contemplating any sort of truce or reconciliation.

  Something deep and festering was troubling Wagner. That much was obvious. The precise nature of that something continued to elude Bradley Wallace. All he could discern from the malicious looks occasionally cast his way was that Wagner blamed him for that something. It was an unsettling situation. At least before Bradley Wallace knew where Wagner was coming from and what to expect. Now he didn’t know what to expect, and that scared him.

  At last the final school day of the year arrived. Of course it was only a half-day, and of course there was a party. Bradley Wallace bubbled with excitement and good humor, and a mischievous spirit.

  Since this was to be Sister Margaret Raphael’s last year there, and since Bradley Wallace had always liked her, he decided to play a harmless joke on her, something to remember him by.

  He’d purchased a bottle of “Scope” mouthwash and that morning at recess had planted it in her desk drawer, along with a hastily scrawled note which read: “Once in the morning does it!” and which he signed “The Green Phantom,” just like on those TV commercials. He made it a point to be in the classroom, rifling through his desk, when she returned, and watched from behind the upraised lid as she found his “present” and read the note silently.

  Her expression of befuddlement was so comical that Bradley Wallace giggled uncontrollably, and gave himself away. Fortunately, she had a sense of humor and joined him in laughter, asserting with genuine honesty that she would miss him next year.

  He felt strangely moved by her sentiment, and momentarily toyed with the idea of hugging her before anyone else entered the room. But were you allowed to hug a nun? He decided not to risk it.

  He had less success with Sister Rose in trying to get his book returned. She claimed she hadn’t had a chance to read it, yet, and would return it in the fall.

  Somehow, her sincerity seemed far less genuine and trustworthy than that of Sister Margaret Raphael, and he found himself doubting her word. But a nun wouldn’t lie, would she? He felt twinges of guilt just thinking such blasphemous thoughts. He did want his book back, but gave in to her “request.” What else could he do?

  The climax of that short day was the inevitable dispensing of report cards. Bradley Wallace knew that if his final grades weren’t good, he’d have to give up his job with Mr. O’Conner come fall. Thus he felt nervous and anxious as Sister Margaret Raphael passed out the dreaded progress reports.

  He sighed with audible relief at the columns of two A’s and the rest B’s (he’d even gotten a B-in math), and the omnipresent C in handwriting. But he always got a C in that. Whoever heard of giving grades for handwriting? How stupid! But he knew the grades were good enough to please his parents.

  Another familiar ritual was the end-of-the-year signing of report card covers, a ceremony for which Bradley Wallace had usually been more observer than participant. But this year, all the guys seemed intent on getting “The Champ’s” autograph.

  Startled and caught off-guard at first, Bradley Wallace signed each hesitantly, as though suspecting he was being set up for a joke. When he realized they were sincere, he began to feel flattered. After awhile it struck him as ironic, and rather annoying, that all of a sudden everyone knew he existed, just because of some silly test of strength, when he was all but ignored in previous years. He wasn’t any different, after all. Just more acceptable. The overwhelming aura of phoniness surrounding his popularity numbed the joy of it like a shot of painkillers.

  He was about to refuse the next “autograph hound,” when he heard a light, airy voice asking politely if he wouldn’t mind signing her card. He looked up into the smiling, softly pretty face of Janet. His irritation vanished instantly, to be replaced by an awkward skittishness.

  “Uh, sure,” he stammered. His hand shook slightly (I hope she doesn’t notice, he thought repeatedly) as he pressed the blunted pencil stub to her card cover and with almost painful care wrote his name so it would be legible.

  She smiled openly and disarmingly as she took back her card and displayed her own pencil. “Would you mind if I signed yours?

  Oh, jeez, he realized, how stupid! He quickly scooped up his own card, fumbling a moment with the cover, and thrust it at her.

  “Yeah. I mean, I’d like you to.” Drat! That really came out lame. Why was he so stupid?

  Struggling to think of something intelligent to say, he watched as her small, white hand (he’d never really watched a girl’s hand before)

  guided the perfectly sharpened pencil gracefully across the brown cover. He groaned inwardly. Her script was so neat and clean. His, despite an effort to be careful, st
ill looked like a bird with muddy feet-had scrabbled zig-zaggingly across her card. How humiliating! She finished and handed back the card. He tried to meet her deep, ingenuous brown eyes, but felt too uncertain and embarrassed. “Thanks,” he faltered. Why did his mind always go blank at times like these?

  “Well,” she said after a pause, “have a nice summer. You will be back next year, won’t you?”

  He nodded.

  She smiled. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  With a swoosh of her plaid skirt, she glided lightly from the classroom, which was rapidly emptying of excited children. Bradley Wallace exhaled deeply. At last that was over.

  He didn’t understand why he always felt more uncomfortable around girls these days, but then, he wasn’t accustomed to receiving much attention from any of his contemporaries, and had no natural instinct to handle it with aplomb (his latest word).

  He did wonder, however, what she would’ve said if he’d told her he wasn’t returning next fall. Would she have been disappointed? He liked to think so. Even if it wasn’t true.

  John Wagner merely glanced over the C’s and D’s on his report card emotionlessly. He didn’t care. His stomach was twisted up in knots, and all the attention Murphy was getting at card signing time didn’t help.

  Smith and Raley wanted to go off to “raise some Hell and lower some Heaven,” but Wagner dismissed them with a disinterested wave of his hand. He knew they thought he was flipping out or something, but he just didn’t care. Who knew for sure? Maybe he was flipping out.

  All he truly felt this day was an intense desire to get away from this school and Bradley Wallace Murphy. Somehow, in some way Wagner

  couldn’t begin to fathom, Murphy had turned the tables on him. He used to be the tormentor, but in the past two months had become the tormented. And he still didn’t know how Murphy had managed to accomplish that feat. All he knew for certain was an intense relief that he would not have to see the object of his festering hatred for almost three whole months. Perhaps after that time, things would get back to normal and he would once more be the one in control. Perhaps. Yet deep down John felt more than certain that things would never be the same for him ever again.