Memories (Of Dreams and Demons)

The Mangy Dog (Part 1)

A stroke of good fortune leaves the second bus mostly empty this morning. Slinkering down on one of the front seats, I hide from the group up back. This journey's final leg about forty-five minutes; plenty of time to get lost in a good book and a head full of imagination. Tucked away in my makeshift fort of bus seats and imaginary barriers, everything outside my little fortress dims. Vuitton peeks out warily from the side pocket of my schoolbag. His eyes are full of questions.

"You're getting much stronger," he begins, "so why do you let the bullies get away with this?"

"Not strong enough, I guess," I say through clenched teeth, my eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up. "What am I meant to do? It's me versus them."

Vuitton shakes his head, "I'm sure you have friends here. Where's your group?"

"I have a group I can hang out with at school," I reply, "but most... well, you'll see."

"If no one will put those bullies in their place," Vuitton says. "We are going to have to do it ourselves then, aren't we?"

I laugh, a hint of bitterness, "I'm too small, too young, too weak. What could I do?"

"I don't mean just you and I," Vuitton's stubborn voice trails off.

"I'd sooner cry than be able to fight anyone," I continue.

"No," Vuitton disagrees. "You fought in the Realm. For Naoko, you fought a demon!"

"And lost," I respond sharply. "Besides, the Realm was a fantasy, a story full of lies Naoko and I told ourselves to make our childhood happier."

"Where did I come from then?" Vuitton snaps. "You really believe that?"

I frown, "I have nothing else to believe."

He looks down and to the side, seeming lost in thought for a long time. I leave him be to ponder the harsh truths of the real world. I can just make out pieces of sentences under his breath as he holds a discussion with himself.

"...not be tamed... if not the... come. It will... revenge not love and..."

His words trail off, leaving me unable to make much sense of whatever he is running over inside his head. The quiet becomes somber, so I turn on my music and look out the window. Endless farmland passes by, rolling hills and country fields, drenched by a constant downpour of rain.

"I have two sessions after lunch with a teacher who won't even notice my absence," I tell Vuitton as we near our destination. "We sneak out at the start of lunch, and that gives us a few hours."

He simply nods in reply, his lips still pursed in thought.

"We just need to survive until then," I finish.

The bus finally pulls up to the school where I had spent the last three and a half years. It's a downtrodden place, but full of activity; a beehive trying to thrive without a queen. Groups of children sit and play chaotically scattered about the outer field and inner cement area. When we moved here I had no history or background, no story, with anyone. Year seven was the start of a fresh chapter; an exciting year you and your childhood friends get to move on to high school. I didn't grow up with any of these kids through pre or primary school. Year seven I was an outsider from the city in an old-fashioned town; same for year eight and nine. With no childhood bonds, fitting in had been a constant struggle, no matter how many years passed.

The group I sit with during recess and lunch is nearby. They shift about, changing seats to talk to someone new on a whim, sharing boasts and threats to feed the growing egos of teenage boys. We have bonds of sorts, friendships even, but they are transient. My social status changes like the tide as children play the game of popularity, but barely rises higher than the lowest. The best I could hope for was to be left alone. And why? Well, Vuitton was about to find out why.

"Morning!" One of the larger boys says cheerfully at me as I waddle unenthusiastically over to the edge of the seat. The cycle continues.

"Hey," I reply without thinking, setting my bag down and reaching inside for my book. I have about fifteen minutes to kill before the first class starts.

"Say scissors," the boy says suddenly. I can sense the wave of confusion emanating from Vuitton huddled within my bag.

I scowl at myself. Only self-degradation offers the promise of peace. I prepare to mentally slam my self-worth into the ground for the amusement of small-minded children. Soon enough it will stop, they will tire of this joke and find something else to entertain themselves with.

"Yeah," a second boy chimes in. "Say scissors!"

"Scissors," I say, keeping my voice neutral and ignoring the heat in my cheeks as I focus on my bag.

This won't last long; just get it over and done with. A harsh malocclusion, an abnormal alignment, of my back teeth causes me to strongly slur my s's; an unlucky roll of the dice leaving me with a speech impediment that has only gotten worse as the years passed. When I am self-conscious, and force the word for a crowd, it tends to be even worse. Both boys burst into laughter, the first slapping me on the back as if he were proud of me. A mocked dog able to do circus tricks and in return granted the gift of their company. The group push me to say it a few more times, showering me with laughter and cheers for each repeat. Soon enough, they grow bored of my arrival and return to their previous game. Left alone at the edge of the seat, red-faced and stubbornly holding back tears, I bury myself in my book. This isn't real, don't think about it.

Vuitton peeks out, looking confused, "is that it? But that will be gone soon, esp-"

"What do you mean gone soon?" I interrupt.

Vuitton stammers around his next words a little, "well, I guess, umm, Alia once mentioned something about it going away?"

Alia. As soon as I find Naoko, we're coming for you too.

"My bracers might straighten my teeth enough to clear it up," I shrug. "That's what the dentist says might happen, but I'm not getting my hopes up."

The minutes pass slowly, and my group gets noisier and disorderly the closer we get to school starting. As if every moment needs to be milked to its fullest before another day of classes begin. I pretend not to hear those who call my name, casually reading my pages as if the outside world does not exist. For a time instead, they turn their attention to a rival group sitting on the other side of the courtyard. A daily ritual begins, and taunts are hurled across both sides. Like so many other days, things quickly escalate. Soon it is not just words being thrown back and forth between both groups, fruit and eggs appear from schoolbags like ammunition pre-loaded for teenage war.

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