A Boy and His Dragon

by Michael J. Bowler

  It seemed as though they were all just waiting for him to buzz out again, like the morbid rubberneckers at the scene of a car wreck hoping to catch just a glimpse of the mangled and bloody body within.

  The boy’s initial embarrassment was soon replaced by a burning anger. Who were they to single him out in this way? He was sick and tired of always being the odd man out, and he glared viciously at anyone who so much as glanced his way. That even included Janet, though he relented in her case when she told him that the others were just acting childish and to ignore them. That sounded strange to him, because she was no older than the rest.

  Immediately after science class Mr. Baldie took him aside to inquire about his health and to assure him that the curiosity of the other kids was just “nat’ral,” and not malicious. Bradley Wallace felt strangely touched by his elderly teacher’s concern, which he knew to be genuine.

  But grownups just didn’t understand some things about kids, and one of those things was how vile they could be to each other. Their staring was malicious, but he was too angry and hurt to try to explain this to Mr. Baldie. He rather sullenly informed the teacher that he was seeing a doctor after school, and then blurted out his desire that everyone just leave him alone. Ashamed of his rude behavior to someone he knew had his best interests at heart, Bradley Wallace turned and bolted from the classroom.

  He waited until everyone else boarded the bus before embarking himself, and then he slipped into the seat closest to the front, which no one ever wanted because it was too near the driver and he wouldn’t let them mess around.

  In Bradley Wallace’s case, it made for a quicker getaway. But to his extreme relief, no one taunted him, or even spoke to him. He just sat and glared sullenly out the window. They all probably think I’ll bite them, he thought fiercely. And in his present mood, he just might.

  Dr. Daniel Cooke was a big, jolly man whose white smock exactly matched his white hair and eyebrows. He’d always reminded Bradley Wallace of the Pillsbury Doughboy, except the Pillsbury Doughboy didn’t wear glasses or wield a needle. Cooke had been the Murphy family physician ever since Bradley Wallace was three years old, and he was pretty nice “for a doctor,” Bradley Wallace used to say. But he was still a doctor, and that made him someone to avoid. Cooke also happened to be the county coroner, and the knowledge that this doctor spent half his time among dead bodies did not improve his standing with an imaginative boy like Bradley Wallace.

  As usual, the boy was poked and prodded, had blood drawn from his arm, had his knees clobbered with that stupid rubber hammer, and got the familiar mint-flavored (which actually tasted like Milk of Magnesia) Popsicle stick shoved down his throat. He felt like some kind of pincushion. When all these tests and examinations were completed, Cooke instructed Bradley Wallace to put his clothes back on, observing closely under his glasses as the boy pulled on his cords and reached for his shirt.

  “Well, Bradey” (unfortunately he’d adopted the “cute” nickname, too), the doctor remarked heartily, his voice deep and resonant like a bass drum, “You certainly have grown since I last saw you, especially in the shoulders. Gonna play football in high school?”

  Bradley Wallace swallowed the scowl that immediately rose to his lips, and shrugged noncommittally. Why did everyone automatically assume that because he had big shoulders he would play football?

  Suddenly feeling oddly exposed in his half-nakedness, Bradley Wallace quickly slipped on his shirt and awaited the doctor’s next question. He knew the white-haired man was leading up to the matter of his buzz-out, but determined not to offer anything until asked.

  “Tell me,” the doctor said conversationally, “have you ever had any of these lapses before?”

  “No,” the boy lied. He had intended to tell about the other time with Wagner in the Gully, but decided such an admission might cause more trouble than it was worth.

  Cooke raised a bulky, but well manicured, hand to remove his horn-rimmed glasses, and gently massaged the bridge of his nose with the other hand. His manner suggested nonchalance, and Bradley Wallace dropped his guard slightly. Apparently, the good doctor didn’t consider the matter too serious, which was good for his side.

  “Have you had a lot on your mind lately?” Cooke went on, unintentionally making (for the boy, at least) the understatement of the year. “Maybe some problem you can’t seem to solve?”

  Bradley Wallace fought back the wry smile he felt, and shook his head. “No, Dr. Cooke, everything’s the same as always.” Jeez, he still

  hated lying. Grownups seemed to do it without a thought, but he just couldn’t shut off his conscience, even if the lie was a tiny one.

  He always expected his nose to start growing, like Pinocchio’s, and then hear the Blue Fairy’s words flit through his mind: “A lie keeps growing and growing until it’s as plain as the nose on your face.” He unconsciously reached up and touched his nose, just to make sure it hadn’t grown. It hadn’t.

  And then another thought came to mind, one of Mr. O’Conner’s favorite sayings (old people always seemed to have one for everything): “A lie is like a snowball rolling down a hill - it might start out small, but it keeps getting bigger and bigger until it eventually becomes an avalanche.” If this were true, he was liable to start a new ice age.

  “I really feel fine, Doctor,” he insisted, hoping to convince Cooke that he was okay and end this pointless discussion. It was getting later by the minute. He’d already missed “Dark Shadows,” and if he didn’t get home soon he’d be too late to call City Hall about hunting areas. And Whilly was getting hungry.

  “I just started thinking about Hawaii while we were doing that experiment, you know, about how I almost died and all.” Appeal to the man’s sympathy, Bradley Wallace thought. Maybe that’ll work. “I guess I just thought too deeply and didn’t hear everybody talking to me. Hasn’t something like that ever happened to you?” he finally suggested, hopeful.

  The snow-capped, cherub-faced man replaced his glasses and smiled. “Yeah, I guess it has. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, Bradey. I took some blood and urine samples, more for your mother’s peace of mind than because I think anything’s wrong,” smiling knowingly and Bradley Wallace couldn’t help but return it, “and those’ll take a few days to come back. But I think I can safely say right now that you’re in excellent physical shape.“

  He moved to the boy’s side and gripped his upper arm with those huge hands, feeling along Bradley Wallace’s solid stretch of muscle and shaking his white-topped head. “Yep, you’ll make a helluva football player,” he concluded, leading his young patient toward the door. Yeah, Bradley Wallace thought as they stepped from his cold, clinical-looking

  office into the cold, clinical looking hallway, I only lack two things - ability and desire. Grownups!

  Out in the waiting room they found Marge chain-smoking her way to an early grave, and she was visibly relieved when Cooke repeated his diagnosis. The boy was perfectly healthy, he assured her. His mind had simply wandered, probably, the doctor added, nudging Bradley Wallace slyly, “thinking about some pretty girl.” Bradley Wallace blushed, mainly because it was true. He had been thinking about Josette, and much as he hated to admit it, she was pretty.

  Upon returning home, he made a mad dash for the family room. It was three minutes to five. He hurriedly let his fingers do the walking through the white pages and located the number for City Hall. He dialed and asked the switchboard operator for the office where they “give out the hunting licenses.” He sure hoped no one thought he wanted one. After being transferred to the “License and Permits” office, Bradley Wallace was informed that there were some hunting areas in Stanislaus National Forest near a town called Murphys (the irony of the name was not lost on Bradley Wallace). “And where is Murphys?” he asked.

  About 100 to 120 miles east of San Rafael, he was told. He thanked the husky-voiced woman and hung up quickly, irrationally thinking someone might try to trace the call. He really was getting para
noid (another new word). As he replaced the phone atop the directory, he suddenly remembered he forgot to ask if it was deer season. But then, that didn’t really matter in this case. Whilly was hungry now. At least in the forest they’d have more freedom, and the dragon wouldn’t be filching somebody’s fatted calf (in the Bible, all the calves were fatted, he’d noted with a certain confusion - who liked eating fatty steak, anyway?)

  He sent Whilly a hurried message to hold out until later that night, when they would meet and plot strategy.

  Right now, he informed the dragon with disgust, he had homework to do - twice as much as usual since he’d forgotten his books yesterday, and there was still his own dinner to get through.

  He managed to get some of his math finished before he was called to the table, but still had some English, reading, and civics to do. As he sat down to the table, his father expressed his pleasure that Doctor Cooke gave

  him a clean bill of health. And of course his mother was very relieved, which gave Bradley Wallace hope that they’d soon go back to ignoring him. He hadn’t appreciated the way he’d seen them watching him yesterday, as though they suspected he was having some kind of mental breakdown or something.

  Naturally Katie had to toss in her usual two bits, commenting cheerfully that his incident at school was “just the King of the Weirdoes acting normal.” He swallowed his acerbic retort with a mouthful of spinach soufflé, deciding the best course of action was to lay low for a while and avoid any further familial conflicts. Besides, Katie still suspected he was up to something, and it wouldn’t do to antagonize her any more than necessary.

  He had to work fast and furious to complete his two days worth of homework before bedtime, and his handwriting was worse than usual. He knew Sister Myra would have a spaz and mark his grade down, but it couldn’t be helped. Being careful not to be seen, Bradley Wallace searched the house for a map of California. He rifled through every drawer in the kitchen and his father’s office before locating one. It would be hard enough finding Murphys in the dark, but he’d get lost for sure if he didn’t even know where it was.

  Tonight was Friday, and he’d gotten all his homework for the weekend out of the way. His parents thought it strange he seemed so intent on working instead of watching his usual television shows, but he knew tonight would be long and exhausting and he didn’t want to wake up tomorrow, tired and bleary eyed, with two days of homework staring him in the face.

  Waiting until the house was dark and silent, Bradley Wallace bundled up in his warmest jacket and pulled on an old pair of ski gloves (he’d only been skiing once, a couple of years ago, and very nearly killed himself and some woman he crashed into). He stepped into the almost oppressive silence of the darkened hallway and slipped out the side door into the back yard quietly and, he thought, unnoticed. But another figure crept catlike from a room just up the hall and followed the boy outside. Katie smiled with mischievous delight as she observed her younger brother easing the back gate closed, and hurried after him.

  As he wended his way up the dimly lit street, with the light of a hazy full moon providing the only real illumination, Bradley Wallace’s senses seemed unusually heightened, like those of an animal. He felt that curious, but by now familiar, tickling sensation at the back of his mind, and his inner voice told him he was being followed. Jerking his head around quickly, he scanned the suddenly ominous, shadowy street behind him. There was nothing to see save the leafless tree limbs reaching out to one another in the chill breeze. But the feeling persisted, and he couldn’t take any chances. Silently contacting Whilly, he asked the dragon to fly overhead and try to spot his surreptitious pursuer. Whilly, irritable and distracted from hunger, readily agreed, anxious that they get going so he could eat.

  Bradley Wallace continued walking, slowly, deliberately, to give the dragon enough time to scout the area without tipping off his mysterious tracker that he had been discovered. He held his breath, stepping from one long, tenuous shadow to the next, never daring to look up for Whilly or back over his shoulder, either. He could sense the dragon overhead. What was taking so long?

  Finally Whilly’s voice pierced his rapidly speculating mind.

  I see you, Bradley Wallace, but no one else.

  Someone’s there, the boy asserted, knowing full well he had no real proof of this claim. I feel it, was all he could truthfully offer.

  And I feel your feeling, the dragon acceded, somewhat irritably, Bradley Wallace thought. He attributed that to hunger, which he felt in his own mind and stomach. Another few moments passed as the boy continued leading his pursuer in the opposite direction of the water tower. Who could it be? Then a sudden insight struck him - Katie!

  As though on cue, Whilly entered his mind with, You’re right. It’s Katie. She’s being very careful, keeping to the shadows. What shall we do now?

  Relieved that it was not some horrible, demonic creature after him, Bradley Wallace smiled mischievously. As they say on television, he relayed to the circling dragon, we’re going to give her the slip. His adrenalin began to pump with excitement and his heart pounded expectantly. This would be fun. A chance at last to put one over on big

  sister. And as he approached a rather sharp corner, an idea began to gestate in his mind, a very devious idea.

  Whilly, how far behind is she? he asked, again not daring to look back himself.

  She’s about four dragon lengths behind, was the response. Whilly always measured distance in terms of his own body length, a very logical system and quite simple. Nonetheless, Bradley Wallace had often tried to teach his friend at least the rudiments of the U.S. system of weights and measures. The dragon, however, felt it was much too complicated and unnecessary, expressing constant dissatisfaction with the human penchant for making everything more difficult than it had to be.

  But four dragon lengths meant about 50 yards, the boy calculated quickly in his head, assuming he did his math correctly. It’ll work. Her over-caution would be her undoing. He chuckled silently to himself. Quickening his pace ever so slightly, Bradley Wallace hurriedly explained his plan to Whilly, who approved the idea wholeheartedly. Anything so he could eat.

  Smiling to himself, Bradley Wallace continued sauntering up the street, hands in his jacket pockets, nearing the spot where the sidewalk angled off sharply to the left. Once he turned that corner, he’d be completely hidden from view of his sister until she also turned after him. And she was far enough back that he’d have a few seconds completely to himself. A few seconds were all he needed.

  He signalled Whilly to get ready, and then he rounded the corner. He instantly bolted past the darkened houses as fast as his legs would carry him.

  Just ahead, Whilly popped into view, hovering above the street. Bradley Wallace then did something he’d always wanted to do - he imitated Superman.

  With a running start, he leapt into the air, hands outstretched, as though taking off to rescue Lois Lane. But instead of falling back to earth, as he normally would have, the boy was gripped hard around the wrists and pulled rapidly skyward by powerful strokes of dragon wings. In seconds, the companions hovered high amidst the lazy, glowing clouds, effectively

  obscured from view of anyone on the ground. And that included Katie. Bradley Wallace clambered like a gymnast up the dragon’s side, gripping the hard, rough scales like rungs of a ladder, and settled into his usual perch. Then he peered through the billowy clouds at the sleepy neighborhood far below. Unfortunately, his eyes weren’t as strong, or sharply attuned to night viewing as Whilly’s, and he silently cursed his human weakness. He wanted to see the exasperated look on Katie’s face for himself.

  “Can you see her?” he whispered aloud, at least enjoying the fact he’d finally put her tyranny in its place. She must be ready to bust her bra, he thought with amusement.

  She is there, the dragon responded, gazing intently downward through the eerily glowing clouds, standing in the street with her hands on her hips. She looks very confused and very angry.


  Bradley Wallace searched the dragon’s mind until he located the image of the bewildered Katie, and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Thanks, Whilly. You were great.”

  I’m also hungry, came the dragon’s reply. And for good measure he nearly sent the boy reeling from his back with several brutal waves of ravenous hunger.

  “Okay, okay,” Bradley Wallace almost shouted, feeling nauseated. “I get the message. Stop making me sick!”

  Whilly immediately retracted the sensations of hunger he’d fed into the boy’s mind, and Bradley Wallace’s stomach began to settle down. Thank God the dragon could now control those desires so Bradley Wallace didn’t have to suffer through them like he had in the beginning.

  “Well,” the boy sighed a bit apprehensively, “I guess it’s off to Murphys.” He tried to block out the distaste he was feeling toward his excursion, still haunted by memories of his last hunting expedition with Whilly. But he knew he couldn’t let his friend fly off to some strange place in the middle of the night alone. Something could happen. It was, after all, unfamiliar territory.

  Bradley Wallace. The dragon’s tone seemed hesitant. I don’t think you should accompany me. Just show me the location and I’ll go alone.

  The boy had to admit the temptation to do just that was very strong. And it would be so easy. Whilly even suggested it himself. But was that what friends did? He didn’t think so. Friends stick together no matter what.

  I don’t want you to be upset again, Whilly continued, obviously reading the boy’s doubts.

  But Bradley Wallace shook his head emphatically.

  “I’m going,” he declared with a firmness that surprised him. “I’ve studied the map real carefully, so just read my mind and get the direction from there. It’s about 120 miles away, or, let’s see,” he tried to calculate in his head, “about . . .” His lameness at math took over and he couldn’t figure out the answer. Silently cursing his stupidity, he said, “It’s a long way, so let’s get going.” Whilly dipped out of the cloud cover and struck out over the sleeping suburban town due east.