Defenders of Harmony

by chillbook2

Bullies

I walked down the street for 5 minutes until I reached the bus stop. I could have walked downtown, but I was feeling lazy. I waited for the #7 bus, which wouldn’t take too long. My urban city had amazing public transportation. Sure enough, I was paying for the bus about 3 minutes later. I sat down as near to the back as I could. After about 4 stops, I got off the bus. Turning to my right, I walked down the semi-busy street until I was in front of a humble building with a large neon Jackson’s sign. My home away from home. The door opened with a ring and I was met with a fist in the right arm.
WHAM!
WHAM!
WHAM!

Again and again I was decked in the arm. After 19 blows, it stopped. I turned to see my boss, friend, and father-figure, Mr. Jackson, bald and aproned, staring me in the face. He smiled then brung me in for a hug.

“Ow!” I said. “What was that for?”

“It’s your birthday, son! Your generation doesn’t seem to understand the concept of birthday punches.” said Mr. Jackson.

“I understand the concept, but why did you hit me 19 times?” I replied irritably.

“One for good luck.” he said with a grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I never go to school on the last day. I find it pointless.”

“But why did you come here? You should have gone out, saw a movie. Ya know, splurge. You’re young and you have a job. What is it you kids say again? YALO?”

“It’s Y.O.L.O, sir.” I said, aware he screwed up on purpose. He was in his forties and wasn’t oblivious to the world. “I just felt like coming in today. I still need to work off my debt.”

“Christian Michael Brooks. You don’t owe us anything. Understand this. You don’t have to be here today if you don’t want to.” He and Mrs. Jackson kept saying I didn’t owe them anything, but I really do. I have no idea what would have happened if they didn’t let me move in. After I ran away from home, I was lost, no clue on what to do. The Jacksons, who were close family friends, allowed me to move in for no rent and gave me a job. I moved out about two years after that when Isaiah and Robert felt like moving out of their respective homes. We moved in a nice, decent sized apartment, and split the rent 3 ways. I’m still trying to pay the Jacksons back for the support, love and the rent I would have had to pay.

“It’s alright, Mr. J. I didn’t have anything to do today besides wait for Isaiah and Rob to get home from school. Might as well do something worthwhile.” I said. But something wasn’t quite right. It was a little too quiet. “Wait. Where’s Mrs. J and Sarah?” I asked, looking around for his red headed wife and daughter. Not that I felt they should be bowing down to me, but I was kinda used to Mrs. Jackson chatting with me as if I was a normal person. And my mornings were never complete until their 15 year old daughter Sarah hit on me. She would say something smooth and casanova-ish, I would shoot her a look of fake attraction and her dad would fake threaten me that if I touched his daughter he’d get his shotgun, then we’d all laugh.

“Sarah went to nationals today. Her mother decided, under my persuasion, to accompany her.” he replied. Sarah was a master gymnast, the best I’ve ever seen. It was no question that she deserved to go to a national competition. “Later tonight she’ll call you though.”

“Cool, cool.” I say nonchalantly. “Well, let me go hang up my hoodie, then I’ll get working.” I walked to the backroom, put my phone, keys and hoodie in my locker, then grabbed an apron off of a nearby hook. If it was just me and Mr. J today, we’d have our work cut out for us. I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a rag, and began to wash the few dirty dishes from last night’s dinner service. When I was done there, I made sure the salt and pepper shakers were all full, neatened up the tables and went back to the kitchen to knead some dough. We made everything we could from scratch. When I finished there, I walked upstairs to the roof, where we had our vegetable garden. I grabbed a basket and began picking the various veggies; Eggplant, tomatoes, corn, and peppers. My basket full, I walked back to the kitchen to wash off the ingredients. By this time, a few people were trickling in. I grabbed my notepad and pen, walked over to each table, and took orders. It wasn’t much, only three people at this early hour.

I prepared their meals, 2 eggplant parmesan and our three-bean vegetarian chili. When everything was perfect, I brung them their food with a smile. Those were the only customers we had for a while. I wasn’t worried. It was only noon. We got the most business later at night anyway. It wasn’t until 1:30 did we get our next customers. I heard the familiar jingle of the door and rushed out of the kitchen, ready to take their order. I got to their table and, staring at my notepad, said the routine line: “Welcome to Jackson’s, the only completely vegetarian restaurant in town! May I take your order?”

“Yes. I’ll have the bacon cheese burger, the meatloaf with a side of beef gravy and the fried chicken.” said none other than Robert. He always said that when he ate here. He thought it was funny. It kinda was.

“Hey Rob.” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“Lunch.” he said simply.

“Ok. Well, what will you have?”

“Get me a slice of that veggie pizza with the goat cheese.” he said.

“Ok. Lucky for you, a pie should be coming out in a minute. Drink?” I replied, still in full waiter mode.

“Diet root beer, if you would.” said Robert, checking his phone.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“Hold on. Our dear friend Isaiah Simmons is still trying to decide what he wants.” he said. His phone went off. Checking it, he said, “He said to get him one of those cucumber and watercress sandwiches. He has a soda at school, so don’t worry.”

“Got it. Your pizza will be out in a second and then I’ll put together a sandwich for Simmons.” I said, walking to the kitchen. I pulled the pizza out of the oven. I took the time it would take to cool to fill up a glass with root beer for Robert and make a sandwich for Isaiah. I put Isaiah’s food in a take-home container, cut a slice of pizza out for Robert, plated it and brought it out for him. Setting his food down in front of him, I pulled up a chair.

“Mr. J! I’m on break!” I yelled over my shoulder. “So what’s up?” I said, turning my attention to Robert. “How come Isaiah didn’t come?”

“He’s studying to try to get in that fancy-schmancy medical college.” said Robert, pizza in his mouth. “I told him to relax, but he was like, ‘Noooo. I gotta study. I gotta do well and become a doctor, nyaah nyaah nyaah.’”

“Cut him some slack. He’s just trying to make something of himself.” I replied. “I think it’s kinda cool that he can even understand that crap.”

“I still think he’s crazy, but to each their own. That reminds me. We are going to that concert tonight. Make sure you’re home by 8:00 because that’s when we leave.”

“Tears of Plague plays tonight?” I asked. They were my favorite band.

“Yeah and we’re going. Be home by 8 or we will call the cops and report you missing.” said Robert, checking his phone once more. “Oh, crap! I gotta go if I wanna get yearbooks. See ya Chris.” He got up from the table, dropping a twenty dollar bill in my hand.

“Later Rob.” I said, walking back to the register to put the money away. The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. I only had a couple more customers before the dinner service at 7.

“Chris. Come over here.” called Mr. J from the backroom. I walked to the back room, curious as to what he wanted. I walk in the breakroom and see my boss standing in front of my locker.

“Yeah, Mr. J?” I asked, eager to start the service. “What is it?”

“A few things, actually. First off, Sarah called. She told me to wish you happy birthday. Second, you are going to stop calling me Mr. Jackson. You’re a man now. Call me Harrold or call me nothing. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr. J… erm, I mean Harrold.” I said. That’s going to be a hard habit to break, I thought. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. The last thing I want you to do is go home. It’s your birthday. You should be out with your friends, celebrating. So, you are going to hang up your apron, get your stuff, and go home. Got it?”

“B-but…” I said protesting.

“No buts. Go home. You’ll thank me later.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” I asked worriedly.

“I’ve been running this restaurant since before you were born. I’m sure I can handle one dinner service. Now. Go. Home.”

“Alright, alright, If it makes you feel better, I’ll leave. But I’m coming in early tomorrow.” I said boldly.

“If you say so. Just have fun.” replied my boss. I opened my locker, grabbed my stuff, and left. I still had an hour before we would leave for the concert, so I decided to wander town. I walked all over town, past cafes and pharmacies, with no real direction. I just let my mind wander as I walked. After a few minutes, my mind told me to stop. I looked up, and I saw my mother’s house. Way to go, brain, I thought to myself, You brung me to the one place I don’t want to be. Fantastic. I stood in front of the house for a minute, deciding whether or not I should go in. Why would she want to see me?, I thought, She made it very clear she doesn’t approve of me. I thought back to the day I ran away. My mom couldn’t deal with my being a brony, so she pestered me about it, trying to get me to stop. She called me everything in the book, until one day, I had enough. I told her to leave me alone, or she would lose a son. She chose the latter. She doesn’t want me, I said in my mind, And I don’t want her. I turned tail and walked away, trying to forget about it. I walked a few steps and was met with a fist in the ribs.

“What’s up, faggot ass broony?” said some unknown thug. At least, he was unknown for a second. There are only two people I know who pronounce ‘brony’ as ‘broony’. I didn’t expect to have to deal with them today.

“Mathew. What do you want?” I asked, trying to get breathe back into my lungs.

“Me and Pat heard it was your birthday and we wanted to see what faggot broony things you got. Not to mention we wanted to give you your present.” said my biggest bully, pulling out a squirt gun.

“Oh-no. Last time you guys brung out squirt guns, I smelled like cat piss for a week.” I said, stepping backwards. I had an agreement of sorts with Matt and Pat. They would mock me and beat me up, I would say something sarcastic that their low I.Q.s couldn’t understand, I’d run and we’d meet back up the next day to repeat the cycle.

“No. Not piss this time.” said Pat. “Wanna see what it is though?” He squirted me with whatever substance was in the gun, drenching my hoodie. I sniffed the liquid, and the smell made me a little light headed. No. Nononono. They did not do that. I must be losing my mind, because I swear to god that they sprayed me with bleach.

“Was that bleach?” I asked, trying to regulate my breathing. I was normally a calm person, but they finally went too far. “Did you jack-offs just spray me with bleach?”

“Yeah. What are you gonna do about it?” said Pat threateningly.

“What you ass-holes fail to realise is that the reason I don’t fight you back isn’t fear or physical limitations. It is ideals. I feel words carry more weight. So I normally take your beatings and retort something to make me feel better. If I wanted to, like I do know, I could kick your asses in a second. You have one chance. Apologize.” I said, anger welling in my voice.

“Yeah, right. As if you could even touch us you gay-ass broony.” said Mat.

“Just try touching us and see what happens brawny. Or do you not have the ba-”, Pat’s sentence was cut off by my fist colliding his jaw. I pulled my fist back and released all my energy into his ribs. I took my right foot, pulled it back and rammed it in Pat’s stomach.

“What was that about me not having balls? And by the way, it’s brony. Brony. Not broony you idiots. If your gonna pick on me do it right.” I would have said more, but a sharp pain ran through my side. I turned around to see Mat pulling his hand back away from me. I looked down and saw a knife wedged in my body. I forgot about Matt!, I screamed at myself, brain going fuzzy. I ran past them, trying my hardest to get away. My vision grew blurry and my footsteps slowed. NO! I am not going to die here, too these jerkbags! I thought. I booked it through the streets, staring at the concrete the whole way. I took one wrong step, stumbled and fell.

POMF!

My face fell into dirt. I looked up, taking in all the sudden greenery around me. Grass and plants everywhere. Where the hell am I?, I thought to myself. Nice place to die. Then the world faded into blackness and I saw no more.