Part I – Small Town Story
Dragon’s Lair
*
The young squire Jacob woke up and looked at his alarm clock, the red digits reading 8:00. He had slept in a bit and his respite from school time mornings had finally arrived. Today was officially the first day of his summer, the sun coating his young face with her warm touch.
He rubbed his eyes and sat on the edge of his bed. His feet touched the cold, wood floor and it sent a bit of a shock through his system. He proceeded to get up and walk to the door and open it, every so slightly, trying not to make too much noise. The warden of the house, the one he liked to call Dragon, was sleeping off another alcoholic binge, and the last thing he wanted to do was wake him.
Jacob walked slowly on the hallway floor, which creaked slightly but not enough to wake up anyone sleeping as hard as the Dragon probably was. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen where mom was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands covering a coffee mug. Her eyes looked tired and worn out, circles appeared under her pretty brown eyes and Jacob knew it had been a rough night for his mother, his hero, and the only one in this place who cared about him.
He figured it had been a night not filled with the Dragon’s claws, but his venom. There were not bruises on her face, nor marks on her arms. He felt good about that, mom wasn’t in physical pain and that at least was something to be thankful for.
Jacob smiled grimly and asked her for cereal and maybe a cup of juice.
“Sure my boy, give me a second.” Mom got up and went to the cupboard to find some cereal for her boy. She was wearing a worn out blue bathrobe that she had kept around for ages, it kept her warm, and even though it was tattered and torn from years of use, she couldn’t let herself throw it away. Jacob liked that about his mom, it made him feel secure, and living in a cave like this, anything that made you feel this way kept you sane.
She put a bowl of cereal on the table; Jacob took a seat and ate in silence, the only sounds the crunch of the oat as the boy and mother stared blankly at the cheap kitchen table. Mom watched him as he ate; her face in a slight smile, she loved this boy more than anything; it’s just too bad she couldn’t bring herself to leave this bleak castle.
Jacob ate fast as he always did and finished everything, a lesson learned from many brow beatings at the kitchen table from the sleeping Dragon, and slurped up the remaining milk,
After he was done, Mom took his bowl and rinsed it off in the sink. His mother, as she had done for many years, walked to the TV set and turned it on for the Saturday routine of morning cartoons. Like clock work, Jacob sleepily trudged his way to the front of the television, the blue blanket with Linus of Peanuts fame sucking his thumb in black outline covering him like a cape, and sat down Indian style to watch.
*
This Saturday ritual of theirs had started when Jacob was 6, his first time seeing cartoons a revelation to him, immediately transfixed by the make believe world. He had always enjoyed the slapstick jokes, but his favorite was the hero elements, the good guys defeating the bad guys. Heroes in capes, woodsmen with swords riding a steed into battle; these are the images that spoke to him.
His mother, seeing him grow from diapers to a tall, broad shouldered boy soon to be eleven, was waiting for that time when the magic would fade a bit, and her son would start to part ways from his little boy ways. But his love for this imagery never waned, and she loved this.
Her weakness was evident, she couldn’t leave the man upstairs, a cliché in the cycle of abuse, like so many others. She tried to be the role model and teach him right from wrong, and she did a fine job considering the life. He did need more though, someone strong, noble, and brave. The code of the hero was there. If he got that from the make believe he saw on that damn screen, it was better than nothing.
Beth, name for a too soon taken mother, looked out the dirty window, the clank of the almost finished dishes and running water helping to ease the sad thoughts she too often had; a good woman; a good son; in a bad situation.
The last plate was dried and she had turned off the water when a creak from up above signaled the entrance of the Dragon. Both son and mother tensed immediately; she sat down at the kitchen table and cupped around her hands around the coffee; he pulled his blanket a bit tighter; and both prayed for a good day.
*
Today’s prayer as always was a crapshoot. Jacob snuggled up into the warmth of the blanket’s protection and stared at the TV; on edge, not really watching , but waiting… waiting..waiting for something to happen, hopefully good, please be good.
The Dragon shuffled into the kitchen, slowly, still recovering from a Friday hangover at one of his local haunts. He stepped close to one of the chairs around the kitchen table, let out a great sigh, and set down with a hard thump that made Jacob jump.
Mom kept her cool demeanor, just continued to look at her cup of coffee and didn’t say anything. She felt the same way her boy did. She didn’t know what to expect, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. They were in tune now, mother and son, both anticipating what; maybe an explosion of Dragon breath that would leave flakes of ash on the kitchen floor. Maybe nothing more than a snort, a few puffs of smoke, then a quiet day that they both could enjoy. But wait, was enjoy the right word? No, not enjoy…it was more of hazy mist that would exist between them and this man, a shield made of plywood that could easily be burnt to a crisp if the Dragon felt like showing his scorn. But it was better than nothing. It kept them in a conscious state of worry, but not outright panic. In this cave that feeling was like bliss.
He didn’t say anything for a minute, just held his hands in front of him at the table, his breath that stale smell of smoke and booze that so many men in town had when going home to a family that needed something something better; but unfortunately never got.
“Could you get me a cup of coffee and a couple aspirin, my head is killing me. And do it NOW.” It was a pretty understated sentence for a mother more accustomed to explosions on Saturday morning, rather than this blip on the communication radar.
She quietly walked over to the coffee machine, took a mug out of the cabinet and poured the black liquid into the mug, and then added a bit of creamer and a spoonful of sugar…to make the medicine to down….the medicine go down…make the medicine go down. Sometimes when going through this caffeinated routine with her hung over husband, that famous Disney song would pop into her head. It was such a cathartic happening, the tune would lift a bit of the fog that covered her stony beach day after day. Living in this house with a Dragon tyrant for a keeper was a dangerous game they played every day. Her brave little knight who was there in rainstorms and sunshine; the drudgery of the dysfunctional cycle.
As soon as the coffee started pouring Jacob looked at his mother and knew exactly what she was thinking in her head, that same song appeared in his mind; a series of multi-colored patterns of music; he was tapping into that part of his brain that only he and his mother knew about; an unnatural gift that few if anyone else possessed. Not quite mind reading; not quite telepathy, more of reading the patterns of human energy; at least that is how Beth thought of it.
The gift had been a work in progress, still not where it needed to be. He often could sense his father’s mood quickly, read the current and tell mom to be on her guard. He had done this often as a baby, warned his mother before her husband made his way back from the bar in a foul mood. It was easier as a toddler, before the Dragon had gotten a hold of the boy and thought he was old enough to lay down the heavy hand.
But at the age of 6, the father began to use the harsh words and intimidation that clouded Jacob’s gift. Yes, it was supernatural, but still a young child’s thoughts and the tyrant’s constant berating created anxiety in the boy and dulled his awareness.
Mother and son’s energy traveled back and forth, that cavern between them the jagged stone of anger. She continued to sing in her mind, Jacob caught the wave; she had errands to run, he had his own agenda of summertime fun in mind, and hopefully the man wouldn’t thwart their plans.
She turned around to take the coffee to the man, a cheap smile hiding the real feelings. He reached up to snatch the coffee from her hand and said gruffly, “It’s about time.” He slowly slipped the coffee and stared at the table, not saying anything. Mom and Jacob looked at each other, the energy disturbed, but still flowing.
*
The Dragon had finished his coffee and walked up stairs to sleep the day away, holed up in his cave and not caring about what the peasants in the village were doing. Jacob was thankful and quietly finished watching his shows. He got up after the last one was finished and heard the rattle of keys and watched as mom walked down the hall to the door.
“I’m going to run some errands,” she said to Jacob. “Be good my boy and don’t wake up your father.” Of course they both knew that that didn’t have to be said as this routine had been going on for years and Jacob knew exactly how to act while mom was away. But he nodded in agreement and watched as his protector closed the door behind her.
He turned off the TV and slowly crept up the stairs, Lucky Linus still wrapped tightly around him. The old house had its creaks here and there, like any old box of wood and dirt on the neighborhood, but he didn’t make any noise out of the ordinary for he was always cautious. There is always that worry that he might drop something or knock something over that would create enough of a stir to wake up the snoring in the bedroom.
But he didn’t and he made his way into his room, one of two sanctuaries in his life.
Jacob’s room was small, but cozy. A small single bed was on one side of the room next to the wall. A simple dresser and lamp stood next to his bed. In the dresser were four pairs of pants, four long sleeve shirts, four short sleeve, underwear and socks. Jacob knew they didn’t have a lot, other kids at school dressed flashier than him, had cooler shoes and brand name labels sparkled on the shirts and jeans of so many of his classmates.
But Jacob respected what his mom did every year. She made sure he had just enough to get through every school week. They weren’t expensive and his wardrobe consisted of dark muted colors like black and grey and dark green. Mom knew how kids at school could be and no matter what he wore some cruel little Jimmy at school would make some comment about Jacob’s clothes. But buying them in dark colors with little flash or pomp made life a little easier for him. Jacob knew why she did this and he appreciated how his mom paid attention to these details.
There was a never a tear or spot on his clothes, Jacob cared for them as much as a medieval knight cared for the shiny armor they wore around every meeting of the round table. Jacob picked out a short sleeve shirt and jeans and dressed quickly, anxious to start his day.
On one side of his room on the floor was a small toy box. Not chock full of too much, but he had what he needed. One of the items in it was a blue case with a yellow handle on it that contained 20 matchbox cars. Mom knew how he liked to play with them and had been a big fan of them as a toddler and he collected a few here and there over the years.
But other than that the mainstay in that box was action figures. Superman, Spiderman, Batman, they were all represented in this collection. A little boy’s treasure chest of color uniforms, some with capes, some without, armed with super power and gadgets of good, waiting to see the signal in the sky to take on the powers of evil.
But his pride and joy in that box were the medieval toys. The knights in their coated armor, armed with shield and sword ready for the next quest. Black knights, red knights, blue knights. Some with battle axes, some with a lance ready to joust another would be hero. A few had horses to ride on and Jacob loved to stage a jousting scene with the loyal kingdom cheering from the stands for their favorite champion.
Even from a small age he was fixated on the fantasy lands of a hero on a white horse racing across the plains to slay a man eating dragon, hording over a cave full of jewels and damsels in distress in need of saving. Mom made it a point when she had a little extra money in the wallet to pick up any of these figures that she could find.
As he carefully took his toys out of his toy box and decided what he would be playing with for the day, he heard something stirring in the house. The floor of the house creaked with each step and he could swear he could smell the breath of the Dragon before he was even at the door. Dad was up, earlier than normal on an after bar day and he had decided to visit his dear old sonny boy. Jacob immediately tensed as the serpent opened the door.
“Where’s your mom at?” he said with edge and venom in his voice. Jacob stood up from his toys on the ground and clearly said to his dad, “She went to run some errands, she said she would be back in a couple hours.”
The lack of waver in his voice took bravery from the boy; just answering a question when the Dragon asked could easily turn ugly and create a domestic storm of epic proportions. He had looked the man in the eye when saying this, a skill he had just learned; he still had lapses though and the Dragon pointed this out constantly.
“You need to quit being such a pussy and playing with those toys. A bunch of bullshit, that’s what it is. You think a knight from your fantasy world is going to come in here and buy you a boatload of new stuff to play with? Your a real idiot kid.”
Jacob heard that quite a bit in this house. He wasn’t good enough; he was a pussy, a mama’s boy who wasn’t a real man. The list went on and on; anything to put Jacob in his place. It started when he was six, just a little boy who loved his mama, at the age when you would think cuddling and taking Jacob trick or treating would be the norm.
But normal was not meant to be; when Jacob came into this world it was with a naive mother, impregnated by man who at the time had potential; just out of the military, clean and crisp, he said all the right things to charm his way into her heart.
The first couple years were okay, but the darkness crept in, the personal demons that haunted him; himself abused as a child by his booze loving father, and this unfortunately seeped into his new life with this wife and child. And Jacob’s hero was now trapped, not strong enough to leave, holding onto a previous man who was now non-existent.
It was a tough life for the young squire; endless insults, the occasional smack on the mouth, being pushed on the sidewalk because he was walking to slow. There was even the time he came home drunker than usual and threw the boy against the wall, not sure why, just because. This happened six months ago, luckily Jacob was a bigger and stronger kid than most and was able to take the blow with some amount of bravery, just like Lancelot would.
It had happened so fast, that Jacob almost didn’t have time to cry. And he did, but silent tears, so that no one would hear him. Not mom, who had been sleeping when it happened but was awakened that night by a loud thump. She would have raised a ruckus if she had known what really happened, would have yelled and screamed and banged at the lean but strong build of the monster that stalked the dungeons of this castle.
An incident like this had happened once before and Jacob knew that mom would have been beaten too, bruises on her face from the powerful blows, red and purple marks on her arms from the grabbing and throwing that dad sometimes did. No way, there is no way Jacob would let that happen to his mother, not that night. So Jacob cried that night in a silent flow of tears that moistened the pillow on his bed and released the sadness from his bitter ten year bruised body
It was such a weird feeling for Jacob that night, the Dragon casually threw him like a sack of potatoes, than left. Not a word, not an insult, nothing……It was like it was something that needed to be done when he came back from his alcoholic bliss. Probably just needed to feel like the king of his castle after talking with the other deadbeats at the bar, Jacob thought while looking at his dad this Saturday morning.
His dad stared at him for a bit. “Such a little fairy, I hope someday you grow up and throw this crap away; and keep it quiet today and don’t bother me.”
The words that flowed out of that mouth were wicked and pierced him like an assassin’s blade. On some nights after the drunk barrage of niceties Jacob would go to sleep early, not feeling like reading his favorite stories, not feeling like playing with his toys, not hungry, just defeated.
But today Jacob was stoic and defiant and quietly said, “Okay dad.”
Dad mumbled something incoherently and turned around to slump back to his room. Jacob watched him walk away. He was still on edge, but defiant and strong, a small victory. He turned around and finished picking out his toys for the day. “Time to play boys,” he thought in his head, “Time to visit the magic place.” Jacob walked down the stairs, opened the back door, and gazed at his tree house.