Reflections

“How do you like your new room, honey?” Paula called from across the hall. By the sounds of it, she was in the bathroom.

“Too small. Paint’s chipped. It sucks.” Troy said.

Troy picked off a bubble of cracked paint, and flicked it to the floor. He crunched it with one combat boot, making sure to swivel his toe -- to really grind it into the carpet.

“You’ll get used to it. We’ll get your dad to paint it. Whatever color you want.”

Troy turned on the light switch. The naked bulb popped, flashed, and then promptly burned out. That figured.

“Good. I want it black. With a dark red ceiling. Crimson.”

“Troy, you know what I meant.”

He heard the faucet come on, and wondered if it was going full blast. Because it sounded like it was trickling. Well, if the shower trickled like that then they would just have to get a new shower head because he wasn’t going to stand under a piddling stream every morning. No way.

“This whole house sucks. I hate it.” Troy walked out into the hall.

“Stop saying that word.” Paula said, with the absent air of someone that has said the same thing over and over again.

“Fine. It blows.”

Troy walked into the bathroom, and spun the toilet paper holder. Then he pressed his nose up with his thumb, making it into a pig’s nose, and snorted at his reflection.

“Must you?” Paula said.

Troy ignored her. His hand dropped from his nose, and he bent in for a closer look at the frame. It looked like a random design at first, but if you looked really closely, you could see little faces carved into the wood. They looked like tiny gargoyles, with their mouths open, as if they were moaning or screaming.

“Huh. Finally something cool.” He muttered. “Looks like that guy from ‘Tales from the Crypt.’”

“You know I don’t want you watching that trash.”

“Dad lets me.” Troy said, but his mind was still on the tiny faces. “You think they were all carved separately?”

Paula put one hand on her hip, and made a dismissing motion with the other. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m getting rid of it anyway.”

“That sucks.”

* * *

Troy was a bully at his old school. There was no question about it. He was the alpha male. King of the playground. And, for a seventh grader, he was big for his age. Already six feet, and a good one hundred and eighty pounds. And that meant one thing: He did and said what he wanted.

As Troy dumped his lunch tray, and walked out onto his new stomping grounds, he had only one goal--to regain his power.

He would start with the easy targets: The nerds. The small kids. The art losers.

And his all time favorite. The fat kids.

He walked out into the sunshine and inhaled deeply. Oh, it was going to be a productive day. A day of conquering. Dominating.

It didn’t take long for Troy to spot his first mark. The kid was sitting, with his back against an oak tree. In his right hand was an apple--and that seemed kind of funny to Troy because the kid had to weigh in at roughly two hundred and fifty pounds. Perched in his left hand was an open book. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings, and it was pretty clear that this was a daily routine. The other kids seemed to know it, and apparently left him alone.

Troy rubbed his hands together in anticipation, and sauntered over to the boy. As he got close enough, he could see that the boy was reading a “Star Trek” book with a picture of Spock and Kirk on the cover.

“Beam me up, Fatty!” Troy said with glee and then waited, hands on hips.

The boy slowly lowered the book, and set it on his knee. The look on his face was one of tired resignation. A look that was much too “adult” for someone his age.

“Leave me alone.” He said quietly.

Troy stuck his chest out, and lifted his hand theatrically to the sky. “To boldly eat what no man has eaten before!” He said in a mocking voice.

The boy stuck a Snickers bar wrapper--evidently his bookmark--into the “Star Trek” book and set the book beside him. “I didn’t do anything to you.” He said, adjusting his glasses, which made him look even more adult.

Troy ignored him and pointed at the apple. “What’s a matter? You run out of mallow cups?”

“I’m on a diet.” The boy said softly, and then he set the apple down too, as if he was ashamed to eat even that.

“It aint workin’!” Troy said, and laughed. “My God, man. You stomach looks big enough to have its own moons!”

The kid’s chin trembled then, and his cheeks burned a bright pink. He got up, leaving the apple and the book, and ran off toward the school building.

“Nice to meet you too!” Troy called after him and ran a hand through his hair. Ahh, it was good to re-establish himself. It felt like home.

* * *

Troy scanned the playground. Well, there was the oriental kid. That was always fun, but he was surrounded by friends. That was no good.

There was a hippy kid with long hair and funny clothes, but he was playing a guitar, and that made him cool. Not safe to mess with a kid like that. He might mess back.

And then he saw them. Perfect. The kid was not only missing an arm, but a leg too! He sat in his wheelchair against the building, with another kid who was clearly a nerd—big glasses, scrawny. They were talking amongst themselves.

Troy walked up and leaned his back against the wall. The two boys stopped talking and looked at him uncomfortably.

“Nice wheelchair.” He said. “Bet that cost you and arm and a leg, huh?”

“Very funny.” The nerdy kid said. “He got in a car accident.”

“I can defend myself, Charles.” The boy said.

“Tell you what.” Troy said. “Let’s arm wrestle for it.”

“Look…” The boy looked flushed and angry now.

“Indian leg wrestle?” Troy continued happily.

“You know. I wouldn’t wish it upon anybody--even you--but you might see things differently if it happened to you. You ever think about that?” Tears welled in the boy’s eyes and one ran down his cheek. He wiped it away with his good arm.

“Come on, Brad. Let’s go.” The nerdy boy said to his wheelchair-bound friend. He grabbed the handles of the chair and turned the boy in the opposite direction.

“You’re a real piece of work. You know that?” He said as he wheeled his buddy away.

“Least I aint a piece of dog crap like you!” Troy yelled after him.

Three down. That was enough for today.

* * *

Troy walked into the new house and slammed the door behind him. He went into the kitchen where his mom was making tuna salad.

“How’d your first day at the new school go?” Paula said.

Troy dipped his finger into the bowl of tuna and scooped up a healthy chunk.

“Ahh. The kids are jerks there.”

“The kids were jerks back in my day too.” Troy’s dad said from the table, where he was sitting in a tight white tank top, picking his teeth with his pinky. “Just gotta show em who’s boss. That’s all. They’re like dogs that way.”

“Lenny, that’s terrible!” Paula said.

Troy dipped his finger again for more tuna.

“Stop that.” Paula said, slapping his arm. “Go wash your hands!”

“God, you can be a hag.” Troy said, rubbing his arm defensively.

“Don’t speak to your mother like that.” Lenny said without much feeling. “And wash your hands like she says. I don’t want lice in my tuna, thanks.”

Troy shook his head, and walked into the bathroom. “Couple of old fuddy duddies” He muttered.

And then he looked into the mirror.

Impossible!

It was him. But not him.

He was so fat. His stomach was bulging like he was nine months pregnant and hanging out of the bottom of his shirt. And that was another thing: His shirt had a picture of the Star Trek Enterprise on it. Since when did he have a shirt like….He looked at his face. His eyes appeared magnified behind a pair of Coke bottle glasses held on with a thick black athletic strap.

He reached for his face, to see if he was actually wearing glasses, and gasped when he saw in the mirror that the arm he had lifted wasn’t there. It was just a pink stump, cut off just above the elbow.

“This isn’t real. You’re not real!!” He yelled at the mirror. He looked closely at the tiny carved faces, and they were all leering at him. Laughing at him. He took one last look at his altered reflection and swallowed hard. There was an awful feeling in the pit of his belly. The feeling was guilt.

He walked out into the kitchen and warily looked at his mom to see if she would notice, but his mom simply smiled, a stubborn piece of tuna stuck to her cheek, looking like Cindy Crawford’s mole.

* * *

The next day at recess, the overweight boy was sitting at his oak tree, just as Troy figured he would be. Troy walked up slowly, hands in his pockets.

The boy looked up from his book. It was a “Deep Space Nine” book today. A look of fear crossed his face and he began to get up.

“No, wait.” Troy said. “I want to apologize for how I acted yesterday. I was a real moron.”

The boy sat back down and looked up at Troy distrustfully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hey, I even watched Star Trek once. It aint that bad. Spock’s even sorta cool…. And keep working on the diet. You’ll get there, man. You’ll get there.”

With that, he walked away.

It took a little bit longer to find the boy in the wheelchair--Brad. He was by himself today, sitting in the sun over by the corner of the building. He had his eyes closed, and looked peaceful.

“Uhhh…. Brad?”

The boy’s eyes popped open. A look of dread came over him, and then one of defensive dignity. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. For yesterday. You don’t have to accept. Just know that I’m sorry, all right?”

The boy’s eyes softened a bit. He stared off into the distance and blinked.

“All right.” He said simply.

“Good then.” Troy said, and walked away.

Two down. That was enough for today.

* * *

When Troy reached the new house, he rushed in the door, and ran straight for the bathroom. When he got in there, he shut the door and locked it.

Then he faced the mirror.

It was his old reflection. All except for the Coke bottle glasses with the black athletic strap. They were still on his face. Of course. The kid with Brad had been wearing glasses like that. With the strap and everything.

Tomorrow. He would get to him tomorrow.

Troy took a step closer, and looked at the tiny carved faces in the mirror’s frame. They were still smiling. Only they were benign smiles now. Peaceful smiles.

Troy nodded.

He unlocked the door and went out into the living room, where his dad was reclined in his chair reading the paper, and his mom was standing by the closet, unpacking boxes.

“How was school?” His mom asked.

“Ahhh. The kid’s aren’t bad.”

“They weren’t bad in my day either.” His dad said. Then he put down his newspaper and looked at Troy. “Uh son, what do you think about that mirror in the bathroom? It used to be mine when I was a boy. Found it in the attic when we moved.”

Troy looked at his father and they shared a knowing look.

“It’s real neat dad. Real neat.”

Lenny nodded at his son, and brought his newspaper back up.

“I think it’s ugly.” Paula said.

Lenny spoke from behind his paper. “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder.” He said.