The Strange Light of Little Diablo by Richard H. Schweitzer

Some days stay with you forever. Time can cover them in fog, but it does not take much to blow it away—a breeze; a gust; sometimes, just a breath—and you relive them again. Each day and each memory is a story; this one is based on a true incident. To protect the frightened, the names have been changed. Even mine.

Oh, crap. I just fucking cannot go to that place again today!

I was standing at the corner of Hill Lane and Parkway Drive watching the school bus drive by. The faces of the other kids peered out at me, unaware of my internal struggle. Chris Oak. My arch-nemesis, sort of, was sitting near the back of the bus, leering at me. He shook his fist threateningly.

There’s something about Northern California. You can feel where you are on the planet; a near perfect neutral zone with the climate in a permanent stand-off between the middle of the earth, and the top. Sometimes you feel different depending on the way you’re facing; the chill to the north; the warmth to the south. I remember the air had an expectant quality that morning, and a slight chill that belied the approach of summer.

I followed the path of the bus to Galway High, where I attended school, which was just up the street and around the corner. I was on my way to school, but I was not on my way to class.

By the time I got to the corner, the bus had pulled into the campus parking lot and was off-loading the other students. Chris Oak got off and looked back in my direction. I slid behind a light pole, peering around until I could see the bully start walking toward the classrooms.

Ass wipe.

I wasn’t afraid of him, not really, just disgusted; a bug you’d rather avoid than squash. I often wondered if I could kick his ass, just once, and get it over with; but the answer was, probably not. He was bigger than I, significantly bigger, but more to the point, his violence was motivated; mine would not be. I did not like or dislike him for any reason other than his harassment. Beyond that, he could be a tree or a fire hydrant as far as I was concerned. His existence did not matter.

But for him it was different. He was more important, at least in his own mind, if he was able to dominate others, it made him feel real I guess. More accurately, it could be said that unless he was feared he was fearful himself. So, he was motivated by his own psyche and I was not. Might serves the motivated— right? It’s how small armies prevail against vastly greater odds.

The day before, I was on my way home from having visited a friend after school; I was in Chris Oaks’ neighborhood. I rarely saw him away from the school campus but there he was on the sidewalk walking toward me. He wasn’t alone, one his regular cohorts was with him. I cannot recall his name so I’ll just call him “Butch.”

I quickened my pace and tried to steer around him, but of course, he wasn’t going to allow that. They formed a block across the sidewalk and shifted in front of me when I tried to go around.

I stopped. I clearly remember taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Do I bore you, Geek roach?” He called me “geek roach” and thought it was roll-on-the-floor funny.

“What, Chris? I have to get home,” I said.

“Like I care what you gotta do.” he said with ridiculously exaggerated emphasis. I would have laughed, but I really did not like pain, and I don’t look good in a black eye. Some guys look tough with a black eye. I just look pathetic; I might as well wear a t-shirt saying “geek roach can’t defend himself.”

I started to go around the other way, but “Butch” stopped me, this time with his hand.

I shrugged him off, “Come on, Chris, I have to go, beat me up tomorrow.”