Run With The Hunted. (tentative and kifed.)

the start of what was(is)(going to be)(whatever) a much longer story. lifted title, fitting for a work in progress. i promsie ill come up with something clever.

 

In high school, it’s all about who you run with. The people you call friends determine what the rest of the world, as far as you’re concerned, thinks of you. People treat you differently when you’re with and/or around certain people. Your friends can help you get out of a situation, or drop you right in the middle of one.

 

It was lunchtime, and Denis was sitting by himself, as per usual. With him, he had his notebooks, and his backpack. He was quiet; minding his business, thinking about the bowling tournament his two teammates had signed them up for. Denis was the lowest average on the team, but they liked him on the team. His low average helped their handicap. As he strolled through the annals of his memory and thought about last weekend when he bowled his first 200 game, he was interrupted by a chicken sandwich.

 

It hit the left side of his head, and stuck.

The side with the mayonnaise had hit him.

 

“Hey man,” he could hear laughter all around, he refused to look up and meet the snickers. He knew damn well who it was. It didn’t matter which one of them it was, it was them. “Think I could get my sandwich back?” The laughter erupted all around him as he peeled the sandwich off of his face, and stood himself up. “C’mon Duncan, toss the sandwich over.” Denis knew the voice. Denis heard it everyday.

 

Frankie Federico.

Scumbag.

Lady-killer.

Football Player.

D********g.

 

For some reason, most likely his refusal to stand up for himself, Frankie had chosen Denis as his everyday scratching post.

 

Denis reached down and picked up his trombone, and turned around to face the crowd. In his head, they were all laughing. Most of them were just looking on agreeing that Frankie Federico was an a*****e, but there were enough laughing to justify the thought. The lunch aides just stood by and shook their heads, wondering to themselves when Denis Duncan would finally snap.

 

            “Here’s your sandwich Frankie.” Denis walked by with his head down, and dropped half of a chicken sandwich (no mayo) onto the table and started to walk out of the cafeteria. He heard one the crew saying something like “ No man, ha-ha, no way not again.” No sooner did he hear the voice hushed, he felt the chicken sandwich hit him again. This time it didn’t stick to him, thank god, it just kind of bounced off to the side, and Denis completed another day of lunch. He had survived once more, to make it to his next class for more.

 

            Not today, he thought.

 

            Today he had simply had it.

 

            He knew the burnouts and losers hung out across the street behind the franchise doughnut seller, in a field. There were power lines, and pipelines out there. If there was somewhere he’d be left alone, he was sure it would be there. He walked straight past his Math 2A class, which started in 10 minutes, and went right out the side entrance of the school. With his trombone in hand, he knew the school security guards wouldn’t give him any trouble.

 

            What kind of shenanigans could a band geek get himself into?

 

            He walked straight through the parking lot, his head down, trying to keep it together. People always talked about the quiet kid blowing the school up to get back at all the people, and Denis did not want to be him. He only wished to be left alone. Left to live out these four years as he saw fit and not be bothered or mocked for it.

 

            This, he would learn, is impossible.

 

            He made it to the Dunkin’ Donuts, and settled for sitting down outside for a while. He laid down his trombone and sat down on the case.

 

            “He’s an a*****e. Nothing more.” he told himself this every time Frankie, or any other member of the cadre that followed him, pulled this s**t. It wasn’t much, but it helped. It helped him deal, and it helped him stay afloat. He knew he didn’t fit in with them, and he didn’t care. It never bothered him, that they wouldn’t accept him into their society, he wanted his own. He smiled for a moment, and said to himself, “The future holds a f**k you for them all.” He felt satisfied with that thought.

 

            “Who holds what?” a voice he had heard before, but did not know. Denis looked up to see a girl standing in front of him. It was Kara. Kara Fitzpatrick. Everyone at John Jay knew who Kara Fitzpatrick was. Everyone thought she was a stripper. Denis doubted she was actually a stripper…but understood where the misconception had come from. Denis had heard several ridiculous rumors about himself around his own high school, generated by nothing more than his refusal to socialize with the people around him. Denis didn’t know much about Kara, but he knew she was the only girl he’d ever seen with so many tattoos. He also knew that he had watched Kara punch Mike Martin square in the face once in the cafeteria.

           

            She had red hair too. He knew that. He knew he liked that.

 

            “Nothing. I was talking to myself.” he had to squint, she was standing in front of the sun.

 

            “I saw what Frankie did to you. I saw you walk out, figured you could use some company.” She smiled at him and sat down on the curb next to his makeshift trombone case/chair.

            “I do alright by myself.” It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but it was too late so he left it at that.

 

            “Well, okay then.” She seemed surprised, taken aback. She kind of scoffed and pulled out a pack of Camel Lights. “You smoke?”

 

            “No.” Denis wasn’t sure what to make of this. Generally, when people talked to him, he was either with his bowling team, or he was being set up. He was always on guard. “I never really tried.” She laughed and spit out some smoke.

 

            “Well it’s not really that hard. You want one?” she extended the pack and smiled at Denis with her cigarette dangling from her bottom lip.

           

            “No, thanks.” he looked at her, forced a smile, and returned his focus to the gravel beneath his feet.

 

            “Well I can sure see that you’re just ready and waiting for a party,” with that, she got up and started to walk away. “Same time tomorrow then?”  His only response was a look of puzzlement. Kara said whatever man with a giggle, and that was that.

 

            So there was Denis, by himself, sitting on a curb. Everything he’d always wanted.

 

            He got up, picked up his trombone and headed back to the school. He had to get back for English.       

 

How little he knew.

            How little he knew, indeed.

 

           

 

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            “What do you mean Kara Fitzpatrick sat down next to you!?!?!” Nick, apparently though this was quite a thing.

 

            “What does it matter? Yes she sat down with me. Now bowl, close the frame up.” These were the people Denis consorted with; Nick Murphy and Bill Puglisi. His bowling team.

 

            His friends.

 

            “It f*****g matters Denis, because she’s a senior. Even if she is socially scoffed upon by the rest of the high school world, it remains that you, Denis Duncan, are a sophomore, you’re on a bowling team, and you play trombone. All these things withstanding, you were conversing with a senior.” Nick let the ball go, and took down all but two pins. “ She has a f****n car man. Her own.”

 

            “I’m aware of this, thank you,” Denis laced up his bowling shoes and slid on his wrist guard. “Which is why it is absolutely ridiculous that she would talk to me for any other reason than there was someone watching, waiting for an opportunity to hit me with a steak or something” He got up and walked over to the lane ball rack, and began thumbing through to find a fit. “End of story.”

 

            “First off man, it was a chicken sandwich from what I heard, don’t exaggerate. Bill told me all about it in Social Studies.” He stifled a laugh. “Sorry dude, but that is kind of funny. Why’d you give it back to him? Just f****n kill him man. You’re like twice his size.” Nick wiped the grease from the ball on his shirt, shoveled a handful of cheese puffs into his mouth…and rubbed his hands across his shirt again. “Where is Bill anyway. F****r’s always late.”

             

            “Exactly, he’s always late. He’ll be here.” Denis settled on a blue ball labeled “SDB110”. “And pardon me, but f**k you Nick. What did you do last time Frankie fucked with you?”

 

            “I survived with my manhood in tact.” Nick turned around, “I’m going to get a soda.”

 

            “What manhood?!?” Denis yelled to be sure Nick heard him, “You fell to the ground screaming ‘I’m a bleeder!!’ you a*s!”

 

            “Gotcha Denis. No diet.”

 

            As Nick walked away trying to save what was left of what little pride he did indeed have, Bill walked up to the lane.

 

            “Hey Denis.”

 

            “Hey man, what’s up?”

 

            “Nothing man, sorry I’m late. Heard about the chicken thing man.”

 

            “F**k man. It was nothing. Can’t we just leave it all alone?” Denis took his roll, strike.

 

            “Good roll man. Anyway, the kid hit you in the face with a chicken sandwich, and you did nothing.”

 

            “What would people have liked me to do? Start a brawl? Break his nose? Then he’s just an a*****e with a broken nose. Doesn’t change a damn thing.” Nick was back from the soda machine.

 

            “There he is. Jesus Christ man, you’re always late. Without fail.” the soda fizzed and he downed half the 20oz in one gulp, spilling a but on the shirt he wiped everything on. “So did Denis tell you?”

 

            “About the chicken?” Bill was pulling his shoes on.

 

            “LEAVE THE CHICKEN ALONE!”

 

            “Shut up you p***y, not the chicken. Denis was talking to Kara Fitzpatrick today.”

 

            “Are you serious!?” Bill’s eyes popped and he dropped his wrist guard. “Kara Fitzpatrick, the senior Kara Fitzpatrick?”

 

            “No…the other one. Of course the senior you f****n idiot.” Nick prepared for his next shot.

 

            “It wasn’t a big deal man. She came over and asked me if I wanted a smoke that’s all.” Denis held his hands over the fan to dry the oil from the lanes.

 

            “Did you take it?” Bill was eager.

 

            “No man, I don’t smoke.”

 

            “Do you know she keeps them in her back pocket? That’s almost touching her a*s. If you weren’t such a p***y you could have almost, kind of smoked her a*s.” Nick shrugged, said it was a fair argument.

 

            “You are both, morons.” Denis had given up. “Close your frame and let’s start league.”

 

 

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            After league, Denis made the walk from the bowling alley, trombone in hand, back to his house. It was about 5:30 pm and his mother would be home around 7pm, this gave Denis time to use his father’s record player before anyone would know.

 

            The records, and their player, were sacred. Not to be used without proper supervision, and never after dinner.

 

            If he made it home by 6pm, he could have almost one whole hour of uninterrupted rock. Led Zepplin, Uriah Heap, and Freddie Mercury waited for no man.

 

            He stopped, only once, to pick up a pack of the new set released for the card game he loved to play, The Gathering. Demons, Goblins and men with swords; the world he loved to escape to.

 

            “Never get anything good when the new set comes out.” he muttered as he tossed the useless additions onto the game table on his way out of the store.

 

            Oh if only he could bring his mighty Volcanic Hammer out in front of Frankie Federico, wielding fire and brimstone in front of his sworn enemy.

           

            Denis decided the first song he’d play once he got home, would in fact be “Hammer of the Gods”. Quite a selection.

 

            As he left Diamond Jack’s Card Store, he turned right to head up the hill back to his house, he saw a group of people sitting outside of the King Kone. The losers. The Down and Outers. Some of them had very strange colored hair; blue or pink, and they listened to something called punk rock. They listened to metal that hurt Denis’ ears. He saw them sitting there, and wanted desperately to know what they stood for. He saw them sitting there all the time. More importantly, he saw Kara Fitzpatrick sitting outside the King Kone today. Smoking her cigarette with practiced bravado, begging for someone to notice how old, and cool she was. Denis noticed, and Denis wanted it. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was he wanted, but he knew it involved Kara. As he realized he was standing still, outside of Diamond Jack’s holding a trombone, staring at the group of miscreants across the street.

 

            Apparently, they had noticed as well.

 

            Denis put his head down and began hurriedly shuffling down Fishkill Main St, hoping that nothing would strike him.