1996

Chapter 2

Barry “Flash” Anderson

The clock ticked by, each second feeling like a minute as he waited for the day to end. Unlike most days he managed to make it through the day without being confronted by Ryan Murphy, the linebacker for the school’s football team that everyone called Rhino, or any of his crew. No trashcans over the head, or bruised shoulders from being shoved into a locker, and he didn’t even stop by the table in the cafeteria to collect his daily extortion fee. The measly five dollars that Barry paid every day that according to Rhino was mercy. As long as he paid, Ryan and his goons would be the only bullies in the entire school with rights to antagonize him.

     He never really knew why he’d actually paid to get his ass kicked. As if to say, thank you for making my life a living hell, by the way here’s five bucks, see you tomorrow. It always reminded him of that scene from that eighties movie Animal House when Kevin Bacon is getting paddled and says, “Thank you sir, may I have another.”

His mom told him it was a coming age thing and to stand up for himself and fight back which is a lot easier in theory than it is in practice. He tried once, but all that he got out of it was trapped in a locker for forty-five minutes until third period was over, and the knowledge that he wasn’t Mike Tyson in the punching department. Rhino had actually laughed when he hit him square in the nose, drawing only a few drops of blood, and the pain in his own fist was excruciating. But the girl that the locker belonged to was thankfully one of those bookworms that rucks around school all day with every subject in her bookbag giving it a little more space, and she had pretty good taste in perfume. The broken bottle that lay at his feet gave the locker a fruity smell that somewhat masked the musky smell produced when a human is stuffed in a sardine can for extended periods of time.

But today was different. Every second that passed was another added to what was so far, the best day of his whole high school experience. The anticipation for what could happen was beginning to wear off now that he was within reach of the days end. Three more minutes of reading the X-Men comic he had placed in the heart of his Algebra book and he would be in the home stretch. Then it was just a two-minute walk to his bike, chained up to the bike rack just outside of D-Hall where his Algebra class was, and then he would be home free. Five more minutes was all he needed.

     He was far more interested in the clock than the fate of the X-Men at the hands of Apocalypse, because unlike in comics, in high school the good guys never win the fight, and the ticks of the clock were beginning to echo in his mind. He was locked in. Twenty more clicks… ten… three… one. His books were already packed, and his hand was clutched around the strap of his backpack, legs turned in his wooden desk chair, already facing the door. RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING. He was at the door and heading into the hallway before any of the other students had the chance to stand. His mind was tunneled into the exit sign at the end of the hall. He moved with speed, close enough to walking to not get stopped by a teacher accusing him of breaking the rules but fast enough to get him where he needed to be as the swarm of other students’ eager to join the exodus began to fill the hallway.

Out of nowhere he found himself on the ground being covered in a shower of loose leaf paper exploding out of a Lisa Frank neon puppy covered folder. Discombobulated on the ground he tried to regain his bearing and set his internal compass, that’s needle seemed to be swirling out of control, back on path for the exit. When he finally discovered which way he was looking, he saw her. The florescent school lights above her gave her an aura, like an angelic halo. In his eyes she was an angel, she was beautiful, she was beauty. Kelly Lucas was the most popular girl in school. She was smart, quick witted, and not to mention she was wicked hot, and everybody loved her. She was the type of girl that would get a slow-motion intro with theme music every time she walked into a scene in a movie and everyone would stare and admire, thanking God for putting her wherever they were.

“Barry, are you alright?” She asked.

“Huh, who?”

“Your name’s Barry, right, Lilly’s brother? We have Ms. Abner’s Social Studies class together, I’ve been your sisters best friend since like, always.” As the words came out of her mouth he stared at her and his jaw dropped, catching fly’s as his mother would have said, in awe that she knew who he was as he picked up her papers that lay scattered on the ground all about them.

“Oh, yeah Barry. Sorry I’m an idiot, everyone calls me Flash, not cause I’m fast or anything, they just do. I guess I’m not used to hearing Barry from someone that’s not a teacher or my mom.”

“Flash huh?” she threw her shining brown hair back as she smirked to try and ease Barry’s nerves that were obviously going berserk. “That’s like a comic book thing, right? The red guy with the lightning bolt?”

“Hey, speedbag, how about I teach you not to run into females.” Ryan’s voice bellowed from down the hall. “Don’t make me chase you queerbag, or you’ll regret it.”  He was always one for humiliating nicknames and speedbag was actually kind of cleverly derived from Flash for a kid who Barry guessed hasn’t ever picked up a book in fear that his head would probably explode. Queerbag on the other hand was a little less original.

“Shit, I gotta go, I’m glad I ran into you.” He grabbed his bag and began to run. “Yeah, the red guy.” As he ran he couldn’t help but think how stupid his last words with Kelly were. Why would he be glad to run into her? She’s going to think he’s some weird dirt bag that targets girls to run into, or something. That was his curse though, always saying the wrong thing before thinking about what others might think.

The door was within view and freedom with it. He threw the door open and burst through the threshold. When he finally got to the bike rack Ryan was blasting through to door and into the parking lot. The combination lock seemed impossible to place as he ran his fingers over the four tumblers of numbers. It was a number he knew by heart, 1031, his birthday. But his hands were covered in sweat from the run, talking to Kelly, not to mention his body’s natural reaction of sweating buckets every time his Spidey-senses started tingling and he knew he was getting ready to become a human punching bag.

The lock clicked and popped open. He pulled the bike out of the rack with swiftness that he did not know that he possessed. He threw his leg over the bike and prepared to pedal as fast as he possibly could. Then all went black. He awoke on the ground trapped beneath the All-American asshole Ryan Murphy.

“Run from me again and I’ll kill you. Do you hear me geek?” Ryan said intensely pointing a large finger into Barry’s face and glaring down at his victim. He slapped him on the side of the face in attempt to force an answer out of him. “I said, do you hear me?”

“Yeah, Rhino, I hear you. Fuck off.”

“What did you say?” Ryan asked just to have the final word. He obviously knew what Barry had said and it was predetermined that he was going to slap him again hard on the cheek. After doing so he rose from his position of power atop his kill. “Get out of here loser, I’ll see you again later.”

He sat up and began to dust himself off. The left arm of his shirt was halfway torn, and his jeans had a new hole in the right leg that had not been there prior, but no blood. Which was good, because Barry couldn’t handle the sight of his own blood. He passed out when his first tooth fell out because he thought it would kill him. It was a rational fear to him though. Blood isn’t supposed to leave the body and if it does he should be scared. Which is why he hated school, he had to face that fear almost every day.

#

He could hear the guitar riff from “Tom Sawyer” by Rush getting louder and louder the closer to Frank Thompson’s house he got. Frankie always considered himself a mix between Alex Lifeson and Eddie Van Halen, a future guitar god, and he was truly a talented guitarist. Frank was a hefty kid that everyone called Fat Frankie. He owned that name though, even though he insisted on Frank Castle, or The Punisher, which was as far from his actual personality that you could possibly get. Frankie wouldn’t punish a fly for landing on his plate at a picnic. He was Fat Frankie and he always tried telling the members of the band he was large and in charge. He was Fat Frankie that didn’t care much for attending class the later into the day it got, and his parents smoked enough pot that they would tell him it was his prerogative to stand up to his authority. Sometimes Barry wished his mom was as lenient of him leaving school early as Moonflower Thompson was with Frankie. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to flee for his life at every bell.

     “What is up Flash Anderson?” Frankie said from his red and white plastic weaved folding lawn chair, followed by riff on his Fender Stratocaster. “Dude, what happened to your clothes? You look grungier than usual. Like if Kurt Cobain, if he lived in a heart shaped box under a bridge”

     “Thanks for letting me know I look like shit, I also feel fantastic, thanks for asking. I enjoy a good pummeling to finish up a day. Really makes me feel alive.” Laughing about it helped, it really did. At least here he could be around friends. They can feel his pain. Fat Frankie’s garage was a sanctuary for the underdogs and rejects of Westminster Falls High, a refuge for likeminded outcasts that couldn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the cookie cutter boys and girls.

     “Did that great white ape break out of his cage in Coach Martin’s zoo again and beat you up? You’d think they’d shorten his leash after a year and a half of being a dick to people. But I guess even the teachers are a little scared of the big bad Rhino, huh? I heard he beat up Mr. Allen the Biology teacher. I believe it too.”

     “At least Mr. Allen is too big for a locker.”

     “Yeah dude, cause Coach Martin would have saved Rhino the trouble and shoved him in one for him semesters ago. Can you believe that douche bag Martin failed me?”

     “Frankie, you were never there.” He said causing them both to break into laughter and not notice Finney struggling to skitch a ride from Red’s teal and pink Geo Tracker as her board swayed back and forth.

#

The neighbors hated the sound. In a town where National Public Radio and country stations blaring Garth Brooks songs and “Achy Breaky Heart” were the overwhelming majority, a garage band playing rock music and singing about shenanigans and crude misbehavior was considered noise pollution. But to the Freaks it was art, a way to convey how they feel to the rest of the world. If their music pissed off the everyday average Joe and his quaint little existence, good, maybe he could understand that they were always pissed. If they weren’t treated like lepers in society, maybe the town wouldn’t have to worry about their garages getting egged or waking up to toilet paper throughout their trees.

     Flash turned off his microphone, placed his guitar on the stand, and took a seat on the worn-out couch that Mr. and Mrs. Thompson had thrown out last year. It was lime green with a yellow floral pattern and a permanently worn spot that was a perfect fit for Barry from the countless times he had jumped back into the very spot. He watched the rest of the band shut down and begin to relax as he took deep breaths trying to relax after jamming out covering the newest Green Day album Insomniac that had just came out almost a year before, giving them plenty of time to memorize each note. Lucky for Barry and the Freaks, Frankie was musically gifted and was able to write out the music from songs for both his guitar and Barry’s bass. Barry was good with feeling lyrics and could play a bass well enough, but didn’t have an ear for it like Frankie, or even Finney on the drums, who could mirror a beat with her eyes closed. But what his fingers and ears lacked, his voice and heart for the music made up for. His voice was unique and had a soul that just couldn’t be taught.

     The Freaks were a band of six. Frankie, Josephine “Finney” Eisenberg, and himself were the only ones that actually played music. Phoenix “Red” Roberts was the biggest fan and the only audience they ever had other than Mr. and Mrs. Thompson reliving their hippy concert days. Jerry Smith was the Manager, that never happened to get them a gig, but made a great Dungeon Master when they played their personal version of Dungeons and Dragons once a month. Then finally there was Eyez, Allen Leibowitz, with his thick black military issued glasses that looked like they had pop bottles for lenses. He was the song writer for the band even though he only had half the lyrics finished on their only song “Wallflower Bouquet,” that Frankie had actually helped him write by giving him all the words.

     As far as Barry was convinced though, being in a band was more than just the music, it was a bond, a lifestyle, and the family that accompanied it. Just because Red sang like nails on a chalkboard and couldn’t play a cow bell, didn’t make her any less a part of the group. They all had their place and it couldn’t work without the band as a whole.

     “That. Was. Awesome. You guys sounded just like Billy Joe and the boys.” Red said combing her frizzy auburn curls back into a ponytail that looked like an explosion in a comic book you would expect to see Kaboom in yellow box letters through with a dozen exclamation points following. “You should add some of those songs to the set when we get a gig.”

     “Yeah Jerry.” Finney laughed, spinning a drumstick in one hand and messing with the gel in her short, bleached hair that she cut herself to look like Lori Petty’s in Tank Girl. “When is that first gig again?”

     “I’m working on it, ok. It’s not as easy as you think. All the people in this town and the towns around us want to hear is that howdey-dudey Hee Haw country music like they heard on the good ol’ Grand Ol’ Opry. I swear it man, I will never understand white people.” Jerry said.

     “Dude, you’re the whitest black kid I know. I think you understand white people better than I do.” Frankie chimed in.

     “He has a point.” Eyez said as he pushed his thick black glasses from the middle of his nose back to where they belong. “But then again, you are the only one in town, so he doesn’t have a wide pool to draw from.”

     “Ya’ll white folks are crazy, but you are probably right. I hate to admit it, but I love some white people shit. By the way when are we going to get down on some D&D action?”

     “Sunday?” Barry asked, and everyone nodded in agreement. “Cool we’ll give the townsfolk’s ears a little break Sunday and get a session in. You got something in mind Dungeon Master?”

     “You bet your broad sword.” Said Jerry.

     “So, snacks, then right? There’s going to be snacks, I assume?” Everyone stared at Frankie with smiles on their faces. Leave it to Fat Frankie to question what food was going to be available. “What? I’m hungry, rocking out builds my appetite. I couldn’t have been the only one thinking it.”

     “Dude, standing still works up your appetite.” Finney laughed. “But I bet we can all grab some grub on the way over.”

     “On that subject, anyone got the time?” Barry asked.

     “Yeah, 7:00.” Eyez said glancing at his red-faced Fossil watch that he was so proud of

     “Shit, I gotta jet. I was supposed to be home for dinner thirty minutes ago. Catch you guys later. Stay big Frankie.”

#

Wind threw his unbuttoned, ripped flannel about behind him like Superman’s cape as he peddled at his legs maximum speed. His mother was going to kill him for being late again. Since his dad passed away thirteen years ago she had really cut down on her leniency towards Barry and his sister, especially in October. At least that’s how Lilly felt. His dad passed away when his sister was five, two years older than Barry, and she remembered everything a little better. Barry at only three just remembered dressing in black and everyone crying, and the rain. The rain was the most vivid memory. It rained hard enough that day to flood the streets and keep most people home. Just his mother, his uncle, Lilly, and him stood at the gravesite, and one more man at the tree line. There was no open casket, and it bothered him that those were the only things he could remember. He’d like to think that he could remember his dad’s smile or his laugh, hell, even his dads face would be an improvement, but when he thought about his dad all he remembered was goodbye.

     He knew his dad was a fire fighter, and that it was supposedly a dire need to do the right thing that made him do it. His crew still came around to check on Barry every once and a while. They would ask about school, and pretend to be interested in his band, even tell him he reminded them of his old man. It was all bullshit though. There was no way he was like his father. His father was a hero. He loved hearing the B-shift crew talking about saves he made and the people who were still around because he risked himself to bring them out alive. There was even a kid in his English class that was named after him because his dad delivered him at the Grocery store on main. Well kind of, his father’s name had been Gabe, for Gabriel, and the mother in her labored state thought he said Abe, for Abraham. It was still a kind sentiment.

     No, there was no way his dad was like him. He wished it was true, but it couldn’t be. His dad was cool, and he was a loser. People looked up to his dad, and down on him. Maybe someday he could be like his dad, but he didn’t know when or how.

     He slowly opened the door in hopes that his mother wouldn’t hear him sneak in, but he knew she had senses that were practically magic. He counted out the moments until his mother yelled at him from the dining room in the air with one finger. Three was his guess, and just before he could get to four he heard it.

     “Suppers cold now you know.”

     “Yeah mom, I know. Sorry I was at Frankie’s with the band and lost track of time.”

     “I’ve told you how many times not to be late for dinner in October? I’ve lost your father; you and Lilly are all I have left.” She began to tear up as her voice cracked and she struggled to get the rest out. “Not in October.”

     He walked over and hugged her, ashamed in himself for letting her down and breaking her trust. He felt sick having hurt her. He brought her in close as she squeezed and clutched his flannel at the shoulder causing her to notice the rip he received from getting blindsided by Rhino.

     “Why do you look like a hobo? This was a good shirt. I can probably fix it but try to be a little gentler on your things Barry, ok?”

     “Yeah ma, I’ll work on it. I promise.”

     He walked away still feeling terrible about making his mother worry. But he felt worse for wanting to correct her. They didn’t lose dad, he wasn’t taken. He made the choice to go.

Next Chapter: Chapter Three: The Rhino and the Stag