Monday, October 20, 2008

NBA Dramatique, Prelude 20

The child had been having the dreams for weeks. Each night he went to bed hopeful. Each night his hopes were answered in his dreams. Each morning he awoke, sad to find that he had only been dreaming. Not today.

Most mornings when his alarm went off he got himself out of bed. He casually checked to be sure both of his parents had already left for work. He took a shower and dressed himself. He walked out of his bedroom and poured himself a bowl of cereal which he ate in front of the television. When the time came, he turned off the television, picked up his backpack, and walked out the front door, locking it with the key he wore around his neck.

As he walked to the bus stop, he usually got his first beating of the day.

There were older kids who hid in the woods and smoked cigarettes that knew he would be walking by each day on his way to the bus. They made a game of finding a different way to torture him, some days pushing him down, some days smacking his face, some days stealing from him.

On the bus ride to school he was not spoken to, and if he didn’t sit by himself he sat with another kid who had no friends.

During the school day he was usually assaulted two or three times between classes. Kids would shove him against the wall or knock his books out of his hands and kick them down the hallway. They would corner him in the bathroom and punch his stomach. They would throw food at him or steal food from him in the cafeteria.

On his way home, the smoking kids would get their kicks again by tripping him or punching him in the back. They laughed at him as he pretended to ignore them all.

Three weeks ago, he had been hit until he vomited twice during the course of the school day. The thought of getting on the bus with his tormentors for the afternoon ride home was more than he could handle, so he got on a different bus, not knowing where it would take him. He cried in the seat, sitting alone. He cried because he was hurt. He cried because he couldn’t understand why he was treated so badly. He cried because he didn’t know how he would get home. Because of his tears he had not paid attention to the route of the bus, and only got off at a stop because it was the last one and the driver told him he had to.

A few strange things happened to him that afternoon, and now is not the time to talk about them (the time will come), but he did find something that day that became very important. When he eventually got home, and after his parents had gone hoarse from yelling (out of love, he knew), he went to bed with the important something forgotten in his backpack. And that night was the first dream.

In his dreams, Dwight was incredibly tall. His muscles were well-defined and powerful. He had friends! But most importantly, he could do amazing things. He could fly. He could make things happen that no normal person could. His friends were always with him, helping him save the world with powers of their own. They fought against entire armies that actually feared his strength. He was happy in his dreams and loved his dream life. So most days that he woke up, he was depressed with reality.

Not today.

Today he awoke to find his legs hanging well over the bottom edge of the bed. He looked at his pajamas, shredded to tatters on his muscular frame. He held his hand to his face and saw a mystical glow surrounding his fingers. He stood up, and everything looked different in his room. Then he realized that he was looking at it all from about two feet higher, due to his increased height. He took two great strides toward his bathroom and looked in the mirror. Looking back at him from the glass was his dream self. Tall. Strong. Powerful. He could feel energy boiling within his muscled limbs. Miniature fireworks sparked in the palms of his hands. He smiled at himself, and actually found his own smile charming. He spoke a single word, with tremendous gratitude.

“Magic!”

4 comments:

  1. Nice storyline for the Magic. I like to think of the bullies as the Pistons that the Magic will hopefully overcome.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I love what you're doing, keep up the good work.

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