The Birth of a Republican

What creates them? How are they made? In this story we will follow poor Timothy Reyes on his first adventure to understand the birth of a republican.

The Birth of a Republican

Short story by Lane Boyd

Poor little Timothy Reyes lived a boring little life. From the very beginning, he was ordinary. The only tragedy in his life was that he never had a tragedy. There were no deaths he could avenge or grave illnesses he could set out to cure. All he had was a happy but average childhood to set him up for his average life. You may have seen him before, you might have even met him or hung out with him one night, but you don’t remember him. No one remembers Timothy. He eats sandwiches, wears polo shirts, drinks miller light, and never touches his hair except with a comb. He works in an office but couldn’t tell you what he actually accomplishes in those long, bland days. Most of his nights are spent in bars--correction, bar. That little pub is his second skin. Perhaps the only person who actually does remember little Timothy is the bartender. The bartender is a big, gentle man named Redgy. Day after day, he makes small talk with Timothy while he serves him miller light after miller light.

Timothy was no prince charming. He has very little charisma. He has maybe fifty friends on facebook and when he updates his status, it’s always to say “Happy saint patrick’s day!!!”, “TGIF”, or some other mild mannered statement. He wanted nothing more than to be a hero, even if for just a day. He spent far too much time dreaming about it. At every shooting star and loose eyelash, he wishes for just a chance to be brave. Perhaps this is the fateful night for our poor Timothy.

Sweet little Timothy was just walking out of his bar on a nice friday night after a few beers and simple conversation with Redgy. By the door, a woman was leaning against the wall. She had choppy black shocks of hair and murder in her eyes. The daggers of her gaze were being directed at a scrawny guy who was far too close to her for comfort. The scary woman shoved the man away and into kind Timothy’s way. His reflexes are less than average, so he bumps into the guy. Being the soft spoken man he is, he profusely apologized to which the man quickly dismissed, stating that it was in fact his own fault. Nice Timothy bid the man a good night and gave him a smile that was returned. The large man made his way back to the woman who had been watching the exchange with eyebrow raised. Timothy had just walked out of the door when he realized what caused the guy to end up in front of him. The woman shoved him off of her, but he went right back to her. He was completely disregarding boundaries.

This could quite possibly be his one and only shot at being a hero. No way would he let it slip through his little fingers. Timothy got a flutter of excitement in his chest as he turned around and walked back into the bar. He saw that the man, as predicted, was right back where he started. The woman kept not-so-subtly backing away, but the man was either ignorant of her discomfort or genuinely didn’t care because he kept closing the distance. Timothy thought about confronting him verbally but thought that might get rid of his chance to punch him and he really wanted to be a shoot first, ask questions later kind of hero.

So, our naively brave Timothy gently tapped the big man on the shoulder. He turned his sleazy smirk to Timothy. Timothy found himself losing his nerve. The big man started losing his smirk to trade it for a confused look. He lost his smirk completely when simple Timothy wound back and threw his right fist into the man’s cheek with all his weight. The brute stumbled back while little Timothy whimpered and shook his hand. But like a boomerang, the man was back with nothing but a slightly reddened cheek. His smirk had been replaced by rage. He drew back his right side and bam! He whacked our poor Timothy straight in the nose. Our hero fell flat on his back like a ragdoll. His frail hands flew to his face. His own sad little whine lulled him into unconsciousness. Lucky for Timothy, who's attacker was now winding back for a good ol fashion rib-kick, the bartender sympathizes with sweet Timothy just as much as you and I do. Within moments, he was in between the two of them and shooing the large man out the door. With no immediate danger to Timothy’s health, the bartender slung little Timothy over his shoulder and took him into the back room to sleep of his day of adventure. He plopped him down and shook his head like a worried mother before walking out of the room.

When sweet Timothy woke, he had a crushing headache, actually it was more of a face-ache. His little nose was throbbing. It took him a while to remember what happened but when he did he started smiling. He had been the hero for once. His smiled widened and he scrunched his nose to laugh. But it was more of a shout when his poor nose tried to move.

The door opened and the bartender sauntered in. “Mornin’ sunshine,” He said. Gesturing to his face, he continued, “Sorry about the blood. I run a bar, I’m not a nurse,” Timothy’s eyes widened as he moved his hand to rub under his nose. Flakes of dried blood fell onto his hand from under his nose like a blood moustache. He looked down to see the front of his shirt had a large splotch of blood on it. “Look, I hate to be inhospitable,” but. “but you gotta get out of here man. I wanna go home. You should do the same.”

Timothy nodded and sat up from his spot on the floor and tried unsuccessfully to ignore the pounding in his head and nose. He cleaned himself up in the bathroom before walking out the door and into his car.

He spent the rest of the day wallowing between pride and self-pity. He felt himself a martyr and rightfully so. Seriously have you seen the guy’s nose? He deserves some title for effort. However by evening his nose looked much better than it did before. It was saturday night and on most saturday nights he went to the bar. He truly didn’t feel like going back but in the end tradition trumps all so he let his pathetic muscle memory take over and drive him to the bar. Within the hour, he was at the bar drinking a glass of miller light, on tap for some reason.

Timothy heard a woman order a drink from a few seats over. He perked up and cautiously looked over like if he looked too quickly she would run off like a startled deer. He was right. It was the woman from the other night. She had the same edgy black hair, the same ‘I don’t care’ expression except it was softer and a little less ‘I will kill you in your sleep’. She pulled out her phone while she waited for her drink.

Normally sweet Timothy would cower into his drink and try not to look ugly when faced with an attractive female, but this wasn’t normally. He had been a hero, her savior. Finally, for once in his sad little life, the princess wasn’t in another castle, she was right here. So, once more channelling his naive bravery, he slid his drink over and sat on the seat next to her. The girl didn't even look up from her phone.

“Hi, I’m Tim,” He said, mustering as much confidence as he could.

The girl looked at him briefly and then back to her phone before saying, “Hi”

“Can I” Timothy let of a little cough before continuing, “Can I maybe buy you a drink?”

She nodded her head towards the full glass the bartender had just brought over.

Timothy laughed nervously , “I meant..after that,”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting someone so,” she said trailing off.

He hadn’t planned on playing the ‘I got punched in the face for you’ card so soon. He had planned on playing it around the time they had gotten a joint-checking account, but he was at a loss here. “Do you really not remember me?”

For the first time since the conversation started, she actually really looked at him. She made a confused face until “Oh yeah! You were the guy who got decked after one hit!”

Little Timothy’s face fell. That wasn’t quite how he wanted to be remembered. Quickly, Timothy changed the subject. “So,” he said placing his hand on her knee, “do you maybe want-”

Bam! A swift punch set his freshly healed nose on fire again. He let out a yell that was half pain half exasperation.

“Oh my god, babe! You didn’t have to punch him. He’s an ok guy.” the girl said. However, the entertained smirk on her face showed her true feelings.

“You know this guy?” a woman with curly blonde hair asked shaking her hand slightly like Timothy had but in a more manly way.

“Yeah” the dark haired girl said taking the other girl’s hand in her own, rubbing soft circles over the knuckles, “He took a beating from a creep for me yesterday,”

“Really?” the blonde asked smiling incredulously.

Timothy only nodded with his hand pressed to his face.

“Oh,” she pulled her lips tight together, “Oh, then my bad,” She flashed a sparkling smile towards the other woman, “You ready to go?” she asked.

She pushed herself off the stool and kissed her on the cheek, “Of course,” They started walking off. “Thanks again, Tom!” she called over her shoulder.

Poor little Timothy dropped his head onto the bar defeated. He decided being a hero was overrated and swore to himself that he would never act brave again. Being brave had gotten him punched in the face twice in the last 24 hours, all for a lesbian at that. From that point on he made an oath that he would make life as hard for all lesbians in America, and that, ladies and gentlemen and everything in between, is how our little Timothy became a republican

The End

Author's Note

I hope you got a laugh out of this. It was hella fun to write. Yes, I just said hella.

Reviews

[Kyle Doud]

I liked this story! Your narrator's tone in particular really set the mood for me, and I think it can be even better--you might consider exploring the idea of the narrator's presence in the story (as a sort of Nick Carroway in the Great Gatsby kind of way) to give him even more connection with Timothy. I also appreciated that you took a character that might be summarily dismissed as uninteresting and gave him an actual human motivation/emotion. Good story!

[Gus Cotter]

Pretty good story. I like Kyle's idea of the Great Gatsby sort of narrator, or you might think of giving us the same information you currently give through the narrator in Tom's voice or actions. Still, pretty good stuff.

[Ellay]

Such an interesting and amusing story :D I thoroughly enjoyed reading this!

[Stan Lee]

I really liked it. I thought it was very funny and I enjoyed the way you told it. :)

[Confused Canteloupe]

Thanks! I'll be sure to check out some of your work too.

[Patricksan]

You write a great short story, confused. You lulled me to waking with language describing a very boring person in such a way that I couldn't wait for the next sentence. Many memorable lines here: "At every shooting star loose eyelash, He wishes for a chance just to be brave;" "He had planned on playing it around the time they had gotten a joint-checking account, but he was at a loss here;""Being brave had gotten him punched in the face twice in the last 24 hours, all for a lesbian at that. From that point on he made an oath that he would make life as hard for all lesbians in America, and that, ladies and gentlemen and everything in between, is how our little Timothy became a republican." This character needs to be in a book of short stories – – he reminds me of Walter Mitty.

[Confused Canteloupe]

Thanks! I'm not sure who that is, but I'll have to look him up. I'm glad you enjoyed Timothy and I look forward to reading more of your poems.