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The
Power Within By
Eric Redinger
Mrs. Engelmeyer’s class was almost always so boring that Brennan Walker
sometimes swore he could kill everyone in the class just to break the monotony.
The last class of the school day before football practice.
Antecedents, participles, proper nouns, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.
Just your run of the mill Freshman English class found in Denton, Iowa.
Denton, population 1,113 - give or take, was your run of the mill rural Iowa
community. Everybody knows everybody else, which leads to close circles of
backtalk and spreading rumors. But
which also leads to a closeness unknown to larger towns. Denton Public School
had a whole 401 students in grades kindergarten through twelfth.
Of the 27 students in Denton’s Freshman class, Brennan was the most
gifted.
For the time being, Brennan was dying of boredom.
He could see the headlines now “Freshman in High School Found Dead in
Boring-Ass Class”. Brennan was
just fourteen years old, but mentally very bright and mature past his age.
At the age of twelve, he tried explaining to his father how they could
save money on the farm by investing in mutual funds with the money they
borrowed, but his father couldn’t quite grasp the concept.
Brennan knew his father wasn’t a bright man, but he sometimes wondered
about his mom. She seemed able
mentally, but she sometimes seemed disconnected to Brennan.
Physically, Brennan was small and underdeveloped - one of the smallest
boys in his grade. It was painfully
apparent to Brennan after gym class that he just hadn’t hurdled puberty yet. Some of the more matured Freshman would sometimes salute him
and call him “Bald Eagle” but despite his lack of pubic hair, he was a very
happy-go-lucky kid.
Brennan was always considered popular and well-liked by almost everyone
in Denton. He always made good
grades - always “A’s” and “B’s”, except Mrs. Engelmeyer’s Freshman
English class; there he earned
strong “A’s” but received “C’s” due to a difference of opinion with
the teacher. That never upset
Brennan, he really enjoyed the fact that Mrs. Engelmeyer thought he was too
smart for his own good. As far as
Brennan Walker was concerned, it served her right, she made these classes so
un-fucking-believably boring. “Well,
not today Mrs. Engelmeyer. I have a
surprise for you. A nice little
poem for your enjoyment.” Brennan
mused. Today was a special day in
Freshman English. Today each
student in Mrs. Engelmeyer’s class was to read a poem out loud.
Ashley Martens, Brennan’s longtime friend, had decided to read her
favorite poem, “The Bells” by Edgar Allen Poe.
Ashley was a very nice girl. She
sometimes hated being known as the wholesome, nice girl.
She knew she was a little on the nerdy side.
She was never considered popular like Brennan, but thankfully he didn’t
mind. More than once she thought
that Brennan would ask her out if she were popular.
Their friendship had started in second grade, when she first moved to
Denton. Back then she wore glasses
so thick they actually weighted her head down.
One day Brennan asked to borrow them to fry ants during recess - but he
wasn’t making fun of her, he was totally serious. She can still remember him saying, “Come on, pleeeease?
I swear I’ll give ‘em back.” He
always had a special way of influencing her.
It was that day that she fell in love with him;
frying tiny red ants that she could barely see without her glasses.
She spent every recess with Brennan for the next week, frying every ant
they could find. Frying ants lost
its excitement quickly, but their friendship was set and cemented ever since
then.
Ty Redding, Brennan’s best friend, was feverishly flipping through a
copy of America’s Most Loved Poems in an attempt to find the shortest poem he
could. Ty was a real kick.
He never came to class prepared. He
wasn’t one of those kids that could just glide through school like Brennan,
but he sure did like to pretend he was. Ty
would sometimes read the dictionary and memorize unique words.
Every now and then he’d drop one of his “word-bombs” on an
unsuspecting teacher and then laugh at their puzzled look, usually landing his
ass in detention.
Today, Brennan had a very special poem.
In an attempt to either win Mrs. Engelmeyer’s respect, or piss her off
(he’s not quite sure which, but assumed it’s probably the latter), Brennan
wrote his own poem. When it came to
his turn to read, he proudly stood behind the podium at the front of the class
and began reading. Lunacy By
Brennan Walker Every
so often I slip out into the night, to
run in the soft glow of the moonlight I
feel my body beginning to change, the
lunacy is toppled only by rage As
I move forward my will transforms, the
animal is once again reborn I
run and run ‘til I find my prize, a
wolf’s heart now pumps from deep inside I
can feel the beast’s will burning through my veins, uncontrolled
and free of any reigns There’s
no turning back and no want to quit, a
guttural howl I begin to omit I
sense fear from Mrs. Engelmeyer down the street, Once
I catch her I’ll surely feast A
small struggle, the smell of blood fills the air, I
drink as much as I can with meticulous care I
run back into the night, back
out to deliver more fright As
dawn lights the sky I stand once again on human feet, one
more lunar cycle drawn complete Brennan
almost expected Mrs. Engelmeyer to scream “Do not pass go, do not collect
two-hundred dollars, just get your ass out of my class!” when her face turned
that dry purple color. Instead, she
calmly walked up to him and stared straight into his eyes.
Her glare was amazingly fervid, and Brennan could actually feel hatred
welling up inside her. He knew she wanted so badly to hit him, and it made him feel
almost sad, but at the same time, curiously horny. She was almost whispering when she told him to go directly to
the principal’s office for detention. Brennan
gathered his things and hurried out, knowing he just made legendary status with
his classmates. Had he been able,
he would have patted himself on his own back.
Detention was boring as always. There
were the regulars there with Brennan, who himself had seen plenty of detention
hours thanks to Mrs. Engelmeyer. Mr.
Swanson, the acting principal, was a great man - at least in Brennan’s mind.
He was known as “The Bull” years ago, when he was Denton’s young
and aggressive wrestling coach. Now
Mr. Swanson was the principal, and in charge of watching over detention.
Mr. Swanson was only 5’ 5”, but a giant in most students’ opinion.
He was very quiet and soft-spoken, save for the occasional outburst
during pep rallies when he made speeches that burned with a fire that left every
student and faculty member dumbfounded.
The small man, who had won Iowa’s state championship in wrestling at
ninety-eight pounds some thirty-odd years ago, had the ability to become a giant
when speaking in front of large audiences - usually leaving everyone in a state
of controlled dementia. When
Denton’s basketball team made it to the state play-offs two years ago, the
head basketball coach had asked Mr. Swanson to speak at their pre-game meeting.
Mr. Swanson had fervently bolstered about, “The greatness each one of
us holds within…And when one learns to release that greatness, good things are
bound to happen”. Good things did
happen that day, and Denton’s small basketball team won their play-off game by
a score of 97 to 84.
Mr. Swanson always wanted to know exactly why his students were in
detention. When Brennan told him
about the poem, he just laughed. Mr.
Swanson liked Brennan, he was a good kid with a lot of talent and spunk.
He also knew that a mind like Brennan’s only came through Denton once
in a long while. He liked to think
that Brennan reminded him of himself in his younger days, and he couldn’t help
being fond of the kid. So when
Brennan pleaded to be let out of detention early so he could make it to football
practice, Mr. Swanson compromised by dismissing Brennan after one-half hour.
Once dismissed, Brennan ran to the locker room and proceeded in
ferociously throwing on his pads. In
the excitement, Brennan forgot to lace up his shoulder pads.
By the time Brennan made it to the practice field, Coach Davis had
started hitting drills. Brennan
snuck in line, hoping he was missed during warm-ups, knowing he would probably
have to run an extra mile or two once practice was over.
“Oh, great,” Brennan thought after he counted the line of players and
paired them up so he could see his partner, “of all the people the J.V. team
has to offer and I have to go up against Jason Dearling.
Should be more like Jason Oxling, or Jason Bearling, or Jason I’m-gonna-crush-a-little-freshmanling.”
Jason Dearling was sixteen years old;
one of the oldest students in the Sophomore class, save for the few who
had been started-late or held-back, and he was fully matured and powerful.
He was already beginning to play some Varsity ball, usually in the second
half. He was the stereotypical big
bully type like you’d find in a Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, save for one
detail - he was one of the nicest kids in town.
He was polite, hardworking, and loved his ma more than anything in the
whole world. But no matter, he was
still planning on turning Brennan into a puddle of mush right when Coach Davis
blew that whistle. He didn’t want
to have to run over Brennan, but he was more scared of what Coach Davis would do
to him if he sandbagged the drill.
The tackling drill was mercilessly set up so that the offensive player,
Jason Dearling, would run a path determined by tackling dummies straight at the
defensive player, Brennan Walker. Walker
would have to make the tackle in order to stop Dearling from scoring.
There wasn’t much room on the path to go side-to-side;
no room for Dearling to juke and jive his way past Brennan.
As far as the boy-giant was concerned, he was glad he didn’t even have
the option of doing anything but going straight over Brennan’s butt.
Brennan was still biding over the total mismatch of the boy-giant’s
name when it was his turn to enter the drill and prepare to get squashed
“Maybe I could see his mother being named Dearling.
She’s small, and attractive, she’s like a ballerina or maybe a
princess. The name Dearling fits
her but not...” Brennan’s
thoughts and his growing hard-on caused by his short-lived fantasy about
Jason’s mother were stopped cold when Brennan looked across the dimensions of
the drill and saw Jason - that monster of a Sophomore, holding the football and
almost certainly preparing to administer Brennan’s last rites.
“Jeez, I wish I could deflate a chub that fast when I get ‘em in
class for no reason” he quickly thought right before Coach Davis’ whistle
screamed.
At the sound, both boys started running towards each other.
They each covered about eight yards before smashing into each other. Then an amazing thing happened;
a truly unexpected and extraordinary occurrence.
Brennan was actually lifting the boy-giant off his feet and driving him
backwards. Brennan could feel his
body straining with power unknown until now.
He could feel the muscles of his back pulling so hard that it felt as if
his spine would stretch sideways. All
this he felt as he was driving Jason into the ground.
Words of Mr. Swanson ringing in his mind…Something about the greatness
each of us holds within.
“Great job, bud, you keep hitting like that and you’ll have my
position”. Jason said into the utterly dumbfounded countenance of the smaller
boy on top of him, “You mind getting off me now?”
Quickly, Brennan rolled off Jason and began pushing at the ground with
his hands to stand himself up. At
that moment, a jolt of searing pain ripped up through his deep lumbars all the
way to the base of his skull. He
yelped loudly. Coach Davis had heard his dog Jansy yelp like that once,
right at the instant when the Schwann’s truck ran little Jansy over and poured
his guts out onto the road. That
yelp made Coach Davis cringe and reminded him of how his daughter and the
neighbor kids had cried when he told them Jansy had run away.
He couldn’t bring himself to tell them that, while he had been out in
his front yard barbecuing, Jansy was busy dying on the road.
Brennan was back down on the ground, his breathing was labored and heavy.
Coach Davis almost expected to see his guts come falling out from him and
maybe sticking on Dearling - the Schwann’s truck of Denton’s own Junior
Varsity football team.
Barb Walker sat upright in an uncomfortable clinic chair.
She watched as a young girl with bronchitis read aloud to a ragged doll.
Barb shifted in her plastic chair as thoughts of her older brother Brian
took seed in her mind. When she was
a little girl, Brian had encouraged her to draw with him.
Soon she was drawing much better than him, which pleased him to no end.
Barb's face fell a little more while she relived her past-life with
Brian. Memories of cold, stark
doctor's offices…Where a ten-year old girl waited patiently while her older
brother was growing ever-more estranged.
The little girl with the ragged doll dropped her book and began a series
of deep, wet coughs. Barb
repositioned herself uneasily. She
was digging up memories that she wanted to forget.
She used to draw so well, and Brian loved her pictures.
He described them to their parents, but they didn't seem to care.
Brian was her best friend. After
he died, she gave up drawing altogether. Since
Brennan has been born, she sometimes dreams of drawing once again. In her dreams, her drawings are always of Brennan, who
reminds her so much of Brian, in great outdoor scenes that scream freedom and
wonder, along with exhilaration and excitement.
"Mrs. Walker. Mrs.
Walker. Your son is out of x-ray.
You can go in now". The
nurse reported. Feeling
disoriented, Barb pulled herself out of the uncomfortable chair and went to her
son's room. "Mom, don't cry.
It's not that bad. I just have to wear this until they're sure it's not too
serious". Brennan offered as
his mother sobbed. Dr. Thompson
wondered where Brennan cultivated this strength he displayed. He saw scenes like this every day. A hurt or dying patient who calmly accepts fate and helps
their loved-ones deal with it…Yet it always amazed him. Dr.
Thompson began explaining to Barb that the brace on Brennan's neck was for
precaution, and that the x-rays they took showed no fractures or breaks.
But, clearly, Brennan's neck was in spasm.
The x-ray showed all seven of his cervical vertebrae in a nearly straight
configuration. He went on to
explain how they should naturally form a gentle "S"-shaped curve.
Barb's sobs slowed as she gently cradled her boy's head, holding him
close to her. Although
he tried not to notice, Dr. Thompson automatically discerned Barb's form.
She was petite, lean, and golden from work in the garden.
Definitely healthy. Her
hands looked strong - they matched her distinguished cheekbones and sharp chin.
He supposed she was Czech, but perhaps Russian - maybe Georgian.
It was obvious who Brennan took after…Certainly not his father, Cullin.
A slovenly built, hominid man, mused Dr. Thompson…That man is
completely colorless, he thought. It
was rumored that he used to abuse Barb, but Dr. Thompson had never treated her
for any "accidents" which were usually common in such cases, so he
tried to vanquish his mind of such thoughts.
The two of them sitting there was a pleasing sight. Mother and child so alike that they were almost one being. "Give
me the keys, mom, I'm driving!" Brennan spouted as they walked toward the
1987 Taurus. Barb smiled…God
bless this boy, she thought. "No,
you can't even turn your head. How
do you think you can drive?" Knowing
he'd have a smart answer before the words even came out of his mouth, she
quickly added, "No, you cannot drive home today.
Get in." Mrs.
Englemeyer missed Brennan. He
hadn't been in class for the last couple of days, and he was her favorite
student. She hoped he was OK.
Apparently, he was injured during football practice.
It's like they're preparing these boys for war, she imagined.
Her husband, she painfully recalled, had been drafted many years ago.
They took him away and she never saw him again.
Back then, she attended Iowa State University, and was way into the drug
generation. She smoked a lot of pot
and wrote for a hippie radical flyer that came out once or twice a month,
depending on how much pot they smoked or how much money they had.
Her
husband was her high school sweetheart. They
grew up together. They went to prom
together. He worked on a farm 37
miles north of Ames and paid for her to go to school.
She only got to see him on Sundays…During the week, she'd shack up with
anyone who had pot. Sometimes women, but mostly men…Their sour breath upon her.
Right before he left he had made her promise to she'd quit smoking so
much pot and graduate. The letter came later - Missing In Action - sorry.
She had long since given up drugs, and sex with anyone else was empty.
She once believed her husband was gone because she was a poor wife.
Sitting
behind her desk, flipping through assignments that needed grading, she thought
of Brennan's poem, Lunacy - probably the best work of literature she had heard
come out of any of her students yet. Too
bad she couldn't admit that to Brennan. She liked being tough, and she knew most students disliked
her. But it was better to be tough
on kids and help them actually learn than let them ride easily through school.
Ashley
wrote in her journal almost everyday. During
the last few days she realized just how much she loved Brennan.
When she heard he was hurt, she immediately felt sick.
She had called him at home after he missed school the first day,
"Brennan. Are you all
right?" she had asked. "Yea,
I'll be OK. But I won't be in
school for the next couple of days. I'll
be back next week." He had
answered. "I'll miss Friday's game for sure…I just hope that I
can still come back and play this season."
He had added. Sitting
in her room, reading over the last few journal entries, Ashley made a decision.
She nervously dialed Brennan's number.
A few rings later Barb answered the phone.
"Oh, hi Ashley! It's
good to hear from you. I'll get
Brennan. He's been lazy, but I know
he'll be happy to talk to you…I think he's been going a little stir
crazy." While Ashley waited,
she breathed shallow breaths, trying to get her hands to stop shaking. "Hey babe, what's up?"
Brennan's cheerful voice stated. "Well,
um, are you going to the game tonight? I
know you won't be suiting up, but are you still gonna go?"
She asked. "Yea, I'll
probably go. Are you going to be
there?" Brennan
knew Ashley never missed a game. In
fact, he always looked for her in the stands.
Every now and then, he'd try to play harder to impress her…Even though
it didn't matter how well he played, Ashley would cheer nonetheless.
"Yea, I'll be there. Do
you want to sit with me?" Instantly
Ashley wished she could take back those words.
Years of insecurity came crashing down upon her and she was on the verge
of crying when Brennan answered, "It's a date!" At
the game, Brennan huddled close to Ashley…Complaining of the cold, even though
it wasn’t really that cold at all. At
half-time they walked to the concession stand and Ashley bought two hot apple
ciders. "I'm staying at Ty's
house tonight, so I'll be in town all night."
Brennan stated as he sipped hot apple cider, "Damn, it's hot!"
He dribbled through is lips. "Excuse
me. Now, what I was saying was, do
you want to go uptown with us after the game?"
Ashley looked at Brennan, her large brown eyes shining in the darkness,
"I have to be home within an hour after the game, but I'll go for as long
as I can." Sitting
in the stands, watching the remainder of the game, Brennan held Ashley's hand.
"You know, Ashley," Brennan
paused and took a deep breath, staring toward the field, "I've had a crush
on you ever since we first met."
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