Short story Steady

          This short story was inspired by a song written and sung by the band For King and Country called Steady (lyrics below). This story is currently quite raw and unedited. It needs to be fine tuned and perfected, but I want my blog to be a safe place for me to record my writing even when it’s in the rough stages of creation. I hope this story encourages you today, particularly in light of the events that will happen tomorrow as election season comes to a close, likely filling all of us with uncertainty.

Steady

The wind blew rusty colored leaves like a leaf blower on full blast as the pale faced boy peddled feverishly down the street. His feet spun in frantic circles as he rounded the corner at top speed. He took his hands off the handlebars and flung his arms wide open, letting the air bathe him in relaxation. No amount of rich oxygen could fully relieve the occasional empty feelings squatting on his heart, but the momentary freedom flying on his bicycle was a good start.

The sky was powder blue that day with white streaks of clouds that looked like lightening bolts made of cotton. An airplane was a black dot over head moving in fluid motion racing across the sky. The boy tried to keep up with it while he gazed up toward heaven pedaling even faster as he went. He fought back the urge to yell “yee haw” up into the abyss but stopped himself when reality hit as a car horn blasted hard and fast behind him.

“Get on your side of the road kid!” an angry voice yelled from his side. He saw a tight fist shaking out the open window as it zoomed away.

“Keep driving!” he shouted as the car disappeared from view. Bravery often shows its face when danger makes its exit.

“Who are you yelling at Dylan?” a raspy voice called from behind him. It was his best friend Stanley who lived just a few streets over. Stanley’s mom didn’t care where he was going so long as Dylan was with him. He often stayed perched on his front stoop waiting patiently for Dylan to come sailing by his house so he could join up with him.

“I dunno. Some guy who doesn’t know how to look out for kids on bikes.” His sun kissed blonde hair blew across his face and eyes. He lifted a hand up carefully to brush it away. He once tried to flip it out of his face with a jerk while still on his bike, like the popular boys did, but he’d lost control and fallen off so hard he walked with a limp for a week.

“Where we going today? The usual spot?” Stanley asked out of breath. He had trouble keeping up with Dylan as they glided from the road onto the secret path in the trees. He wore black rimmed glasses with a red strap that wrapped around his head even though he was too old for it. His mom was tired of replacing lost glasses over and over, so the dorky red strap became her solution. After his initial embarrassment faded, his glasses became his trademark; his secret connection to Clark Kent that would make him tough like the man of steel.

Two years prior the best friends built a hideout in the woods made of surrounding fallen limbs and branches. They built it because they wanted a retreat; a place to hideaway from the adults and responsibilities of their young lives. The secret space was not an actual tree house, but the boys felt high above their lives when they were in it. They sat comfortably in their imaginations in the hideout, resting away from the tensions of puberty.

The only danger they faced was a nearby neighborhood bully who would often pester them in their sanctuary. The previous summer Billy had followed them to their secret spot and severely heckled them, making it a riskier adventure now when they visited it. Deep down the boys enjoyed the added thrill of going there without detection.

“Do you think he saw us?” Stanley huffed as they threw down their bikes upon arrival.

“I don’t care if he did,” Dylan said with a shrug.

“What’s your problem today? You seem grumpy.” Stanley pulled out a crumpled magazine he’d shoved in his back pocket and started thumbing through it.

“I’m not grumpy, geez. Just leave me alone.” Dylan covered his face with his arm as he laid down on the crunchy leaves. He gazed up at the clearing of branches above him and followed the shadows as they danced across the leaves. He didn’t know or understand what he felt. His life was good. He was well loved. Nothing should make him sad, but sometimes he was convinced the stars were going to drop. Deep within his stomach there was a drum beat of uncertainty faintly banging. On many days the dread was quiet, while on others he could hear the banging so deep within his body that he swore his eyeballs were vibrating. At thirteen he wasn’t a boy, but he also wasn’t a man yet either. He didn’t know what he was or who he would become and that was disconcerting.

“Did you get your grades for the end of the quarter yet?” Stanley peeked out from behind his Sports Illustrated.

“Nah. I don’t care. My mom will check um when she gets a chance I guess.” He rubbed his head with his thumb to scratch the tickle dancing across his forehead.

“Come on, you know you want to do good.” Stanley’s face was nestled behind the flimsy magazine as he continued to stare at the picture of the ageless female soccer player featured in the main story. Dylan didn’t answer because he knew he didn’t have to with Stanley and it was nice not to have to do things sometimes.  

The boys sat in a pregnant pause together, hearing only the echo of birds chirping and the distant hum of the nearby highway.

“Hey Sta-” Dylan began before chopping off the rest of his words.

“What? Did you say something?” Stanley mumbled. Dylan didn’t answer.

“Hello? What were you goin’ to say?” Stanley sat up on his elbow and cocked his head to the side with an irritated sigh.

“I dunno really. I was just gonna ask you a question I’ve been thinkin’ about. It’s stupid.” He draped his sweatshirt over his face causing his words to mesh together the same as if he had a mouthful of potato salad.

“Spit it out. It’s me. I’m not gonna think you’re weird or anything, at least I don’t think I will. I guess that depends on what you’re gonna to say.” Stanley sat up with his legs crossed like a kindergartener alert with attention.

Dylan sniffed in the pungent odor from his shirt of detergent and fabric softener before looking up at his patient, but annoyed friend. He started to push the words from his voice box with a slow whistle.

“Do you ever wonder if something big will ever happen? Like, what you would do? I mean, have you ever wondered what you’d do if like the stars just dropped out of the sky?” He turned his face in the direction of his friend and felt his stomach lurch with nervousness.  His voice cracked slightly as he forced out the question.

Stanley furrowed his brow and sat up straighter like he did in class when he wanted to look extra studious.

“I’m not sure I get it. What are you talking about? Stars dropping? What are you? Chicken little?” he chuckled lightly.

“I dunno. I think about weird things sometimes, like, what if the stars just started plopping on the ground around us? Or, like the sun came hurling out of the sky and landed right on our school? What would I do?” Dylan felt safe with Stanley, so once the words started they flowed.

“You mean, like, what would I do if bad stuff happened? Like if aliens came and attacked our city? That’d be cool.” He pulled his knees close to himself and looked at Dylan with a smile.

“Sort uh. I guess I just wanna quiz myself and think about how I would react to stuff like that. I mean, we don’t have any guarantees in this life. Shoot, look at Mr. Ryder down the street. He went out to the end of his driveway and got hit by a UPS truck. One step too far into the road and boom, gone. Now, if he actually saw that truck coming maybe he would’ve moved out of the way or maybe not. Who’s to say he didn’t want to get hit?”

“Dude, I think you’re losing it. I mean, you really think he purposely stayed in that spot to get hit? No way. I don’t think so.”

“I told you Stan, I like to think about weird stuff like that. What would we do in that situation?” Dylan looked up to the sky as he squinted, sun shining bright.

“Can the sun be shining when the stars drop?” Stanley asked.

“Yeah, sure. Why not? It can be daytime when the stars drop. That makes it even more weird, I love it. I like the way you think.”

“Okay so the stars are dropping like fire balls one morning and what would I do?” Stanley rubbed his chin like he had a beard.

“Exac–" Dylan began before an ear-piercing scream blazed through the woods to where the boys relaxed.

“What the heck was that?” he asked jolting up.

“I dunno. Sounds like somebody in-”

“Ahhhhhh!” A terror filled scream traveled through the woods with a pulse of intensity that brought both boys to their feet.

Suddenly a flash of bright orange flew past a nearby tree followed by the rotund body of the neighborhood bully close behind. He was carrying a pair of pants above his head, letting them soar above him like a kite of shame.

“Give me back my pants!” a small voice shouted from the ground.

“No way dork. You’re gonna have to make me give um back to you. Come on. Don’t you want to fight me?” Billy twirled the holey sweatpants in a circle, draping them on his sweaty head.

“Dang, it’s Billy. What do we do now? Have you ever thought about this kind of situation in your pretend weird scenarios?” Stanley whispered to Dylan from behind the protective walls of their hideout.

“What can we do? Who even is that?” Dylan squinted to see if he could make out who the innocent victim was. He had often been at the receiving end of Billy’s torture, but he hadn’t yet figured out the best way to escape him. Billy was dumb as a bag of dirty rocks and just as heavy.

“Maybe we should try to-” A branch cracked under Dylan’s foot causing a snapping sound vibrate through the woods.

“Hey! Stupid one and Stupid two! You guys in your special hideout today? Why don’t you guys come out and fight for little ole’ Macon. I bet he’d ‘preciate the help!” Billy yelled out loudly into the treetops causing the birds to fly away abruptly.

Dylan and Stanley looked at each other with eyes wide open as they heard the challenge fly through the woods. Stanley shrugged and gave a nervous grin to his friend in hopes he’d lead the way so he wouldn’t have to decide what to do next. Dylan jabbed him with his elbow and pointed at Billy as he began moving closer to where they were.

“Just give me back my pants…please,” a small voice whimpered causing Billy to turn back.

“No way. Not until somebody fights me for them. It doesn’t have to be you, but it’s gotta be somebody who wants to see if they can beat me.. but won’t.” Billy spat the words at Macon who tucked tighter into a ball on the ground.

Dylan felt fury that tasted like the bitter bourbon he’d once stolen a sip of from his uncle’s liquor cabinet. Macon was a new kid in the neighborhood and half the size of Billy. Picking on he and Stanley was one thing but going after the new kid was low, even for Billy. He heard himself praying for bravery at the same time his feet gathered traction to run. Before he could stop himself he flew out of the hideout and stopped hard in front of Billy.

“Well look who’s finally showed up. It’s another little pathetic dork of the neighborhood. Come to fight me?” Billy hissed.

“I, well uh, I came over here to tell you to leave him alone. He didn’t do anything to you so…so…so-”

“So..so..so what? Stop?! Come on! Make me,” Billy mocked loudly.

Dylan’s brain was racing at top speed the same way it did on the first day of school when he saw Lucy, the curly haired brunette on the bus who’d stolen his heart in third grade. Scenarios played in his mind as he weighed the pros and cons of attempting to take out the neighborhood monstrosity. All his mental practice with crazy scenarios and he still didn’t know the right thing to do.

Suddenly a pinecone hit the back of Billy’s head with a thud. He grunted as he put his hand where it hit and looked around puzzled.

“What the–” Billy began before another pinecone hit him on the back from a different side of the woods.

“The stars are dropping! Dropping from the daggum sky! Run! Run Billy! Run! Don’t let the stars get you!” Stanley shouted as he shot out from behind a pine tree hurling pinecones one after another right at Billy.

Billy growled at Dylan as he glared at him with angry fire behind his eyes. Dylan was frozen in place like an immovable tower. He couldn’t find the same urgency in his feet that had gotten him in front of the angry giant in the first place.

“Run Billy, I said. Run! What are you going to do Dylan?” Stanley continued to yell as he scrambled to gather more pinecones for ammo.

“Looks like stars are actually dropping so I guess I better go. Come on Macon, let’s get out of here.” Dylan grabbed Macon under the arm and lifted him to his feet in one swift hurried motion. Before fully turning away he snatched the pants from Billy’s hand surprising himself.

“Now RUN!!” he hollered as he pulled Macon beside him dragging in the direction of his bike. Stanley threw his remaining two pinecones at Billy and sprinted off to catch up to the boys. Macon ran as fast as his spindly legs could carry him behind the boys as they petaled with urgency. Billy stood like a stunned animal clenching his fists by his sides. Somehow they had outsmarted him with their pinecone antics. He stood frozen in the moment suffocating in confusion.

The three boys panted in unison as they reached the edge of the woods where the road came into view. Dylan noticed Macon still didn’t have pants on as a car whizzed by honking in acknowledgment of the lost looking boys. He threw the pants at him and they flopped on his head like a parachute.

“What in the world just happened back there?” Stanley draped over his handlebars to catch his breath.

“You lost your marbles and turned pinecones into stars or grenades is what happened!” Dylan laughed as he slapped his friend on the back. Endorphins charged through the boys causing them to laugh in unison as Macon battled to get his pants back on.

“Having some issues there?” Stanley asked.

“Guys, I don’t really know how to, well, how to thank you for what you did back there.” Macon spoke his gratitude to the ground.

“Listen, we weren’t planning any of it, that’s for sure. I guess we got so mad at that stupid kid we finally snapped,” Dylan rubbed his head in a rhythmic motion.

“I appreciate your help guys, really,” he said as he broke off from the boys to head in the direction of his house. His shoulders were slumped like usual, but his steps were bouncy. He glanced up at the sky with a smirk as he processed escaping the terrorizing hands of Billy.

“No problem. Hopefully we all taught him a lesson about messing with us.” He stood up on his bike to pull up his pants with a giant yank causing him to swerve and run over old Mrs. Goldman’s daisy flowers. Dylan giggled at his friend who was a fierce combination of bravery and klutz.

“See you later Dyl. I’m gonna go change my shorts now. I think I crapped in them back there!” He cackled loudly.

“Thanks man. I didn’t know what you were doing back there, but it worked.” Dylan picked up a nearby stick and chucked it in Stanley’s general direction but missed.

“Ha! Nice try. You have bad aim, plus I’ve got reflexes like a cat,” Stanley laughed as he rolled down his street.

Dylan felt the moist cool air prickle his cheeks as he made his way down the hill to his house. He replayed the events of the day like a movie where he was the hero. He and Stanley had been a unified duo, linked together by their joint desire to take on the world in bravery.

Once at his house he parked his bike next to his mother’s dying rose bushes. She always said she would get back to gardening when she was feeling better, but that never seemed to actually happen. His cold sweaty fingers pulled off two dead blossoms that had withered down to a pathetic handful of wrinkled hot pink petals.

            Dylan quietly opened the kitchen door with small movements, peaking around the cupboards to check for his mother. She was often napping or resting when he got home from galavanting in the neighborhood, so he liked to be careful not to disturb her.

            “Is that you Dylan?” a faint raspy voice called from the nearby living room. Dylan sighed with relief when he heard his mom call for him.

            “Yes ma’am, it’s me.” He shuffled his feet on the carpet feeling the many particles of dirt rub on the bottom of his feet. His counselor told him to ground himself when he was anxious. He was to use his surroundings to find the inner quiet and calm down.

            “How was your day?” she asked from her faded recliner that was covered in duct taped holes.

            “Good mom, it was good. How was your day?” Dylan took a seat next to her on the couch with slow deliberate movements as to not jostle her. She had her bald head covered with a neon pink scarf that was the same color as the roses in the front yard. It was her favorite color and she wore it well even with her pale white skin.

            “Treatment is treatment, nothing new. I did get to have a grape popsicle today, which is my favorite flavor as you know.” She rested her rough hand on top of his, jolting him out of his grounded feet and back into the heavy reality of the room.

            “What would you like for dinner tonight mom? I feel like cooking something else that is your favorite. I think I’ve got some chicken I could fry. I know you like that.” He pulled himself forward in his seat and rested his chin in his hands as he waited for her to reply.

            “Oh, that sounds lovely dear.” She said as she pulled her arms in close under her blanket and began to close her eyes. As Dylan rose to go to the kitchen he heard her small voice project faintly from the other room saying the phrase she said to him all too often.

“You are always so ready for the stars to drop my sweet boy. God gave me such a steady young man. What would I ever do without you?”

Dylan shrugged as he thought, “If there is a God, I hope he helps me. Please, I help me.”