Human - phan

Knuckles' Story: Happiness is owed

There was something almost ceremonial about the return to his old house, Knuckles decided as he walked down the familiar concrete path. Matt flanked him half a step behind, and Knuckles could tell that he too was sensing the importance of the occasion. It was a moment for Knuckles, a defining moment in his life that he would probably remember clearly for years to come. He took in the yellow-green of the shrubbery fading into its autumn browns and the pattern in the corkboard that covered the left window.

The door was just as it always had been. Knuckles wasn't going to go inside. The new owners would have painted over all his work by now, and much as he adopted an air of apathy he wasn't sure that was something he wanted to see first-hand just yet. The knuckle duster, his first and only, still hung from the door, rough with rust and blunted beyond any use other than as a door knocker.

It took a few knocks to get it off the nail, the metal so corroded into the iron, and for a moment Knuckles was scared he would alert the residents of the small house; but then it was in his palm and in his pocket and walking quickly back down the path. It wasn't really stealing. It didn't belong to the council, he had installed it himself, and it certainly wouldn't be in the inventory should the new owners complain.

Matt had waited at the end of the path, and now he slipped his hand into Knuckles'.

"Are you going to tell me the story now?" He murmured.

"It's not really a story," Knuckles grunted, his tone a little coarser than he'd intended. "Not an interesting one least ways." They rounded the corner and set the course for home. Knuckles paused for a moment before beginning.

"I was walking back from the shops with my sister. I was only like, seven or eight. Some guy yelled something awful at her. The same thing she probably hears every time she leaves the house, but it was the first time little me had ever heard anything like that. I was horrified, more so that my sister didn't say anything to defend herself and the guy's friends just laughed along with him. So little me marched straight up to the guy who'd yelled and punched him square in the stomach. Had I been a little taller I'd have probably aimed for his face.

"I think my sister just about shit her pants, she thought we were both dead right then and there, but the guy just laughed. He said 'you got quite a set of knuckles on you, little man. Felt like I was being jabbed with a fork. What's your name?' I said Ned, because like I said, I was only young then and that's what everyone used to call me. Just a baby name. So the guy goes, 'Knuckles Ned. All you need now is to learn how to throw a punch.' Obviously I completely forgot the original problem and was over the moon. This big ass guy with tattoos and a cigarette had given me a nickname. I told all my friends at school, and they were dead impressed. I punched an adult. That's not taken lightly at primary school. And the name stuck. I dropped the 'Ned' part as soon as I realised how appalling it was. Honestly, I started to hate the name pretty quickly, but trying to revert back from 'Knuckles' to 'Edward' in this part of town isn't exactly easy."

They walked in thoughtful silence, Matt digesting the information in his slow, thorough way. "What about Ed?" He asked after a while. "Not as formal. Edward doesn't really suit you, anyway. You're too cool for Edward. But Ed, Ed is like a cool uncle name."

Knuckles snorted. "You can call me whatever you want."

"Eddy?"

"Don't push it."

*

Ed felt like he'd signed enough paperwork to fell a forest, but finally he was here, in the white-walled corridors with Matt at his side and a baby car seat hanging awkwardly off one arm. He was jumpy and trembling ever so slightly, but Matt rubbed his arm soothingly. They met the midwife at the door, rubbing sanitizer through her fingers, and she smiled at the pair with tired but triumphant eyes.