The Movement

Chapter Three - Part 2

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A lanky ragamuffin awoke, shivering from the frosty morning air. Troy peered outside the brown cardboard box, glistening with ice crystals and moist from the morning dew. His elderly neighbors were still asleep underneath the bridge overpass. A frequent zoom echoed below as cars drove over the bridge overpass above. The only bright colors around Troy’s under-the-bridge neighborhood were the hieroglyphics and graffiti plastered on the cold, grey concrete walls and pillars.

Troy always woke up first in his neighborhood. Unlike his neighbors, he attended school—and performed incredibly well. He still pretended he lived his life from years earlier, before his mother absconded and the brutal police murdered his father. His classmates and teachers did not know where or how Troy lived. He told everybody that he lived with his cousin, existent to them but imaginary to him. He did not actually live with, nor have, this fictitious cousin. When teachers asked Troy for his address, he satisfied their pretended concern with 1492 Brown Street—an answer was all the questioners needed to quench their pseudo-concerns.

Provide them with a confident answer. People are fooled and contented with confidence, thought Troy.

Quickly packing up his backpack with the day’s outfit and books, Troy began walking his routine route to school at six fifteen in the morning. The orange-red sun glowed over the horizon and the singing birds accommodated a pleasant morning tune. Upon arrival twenty-five minutes later, he headed to the boys locker room to shower and brush his teeth, his only access to a clean, warm shower and running faucet.

By seven, Troy sat in the cafeteria and began his studies until his peers burst into the doorways and flooded the halls thirty minutes later. At seven thirty sharp, Troy packed up his belongings and slid into the chaotic buzz of students meeting and greeting one another amid slamming locker doors. A short, round boy approached Troy at his locker.

“What’s up, Troy!” exclaimed Tony with much enthusiasm.

“Oh, hey Tony,” replied Troy, annoyed.

“Are you ready for that chemistry exam today in Mr. Brown’s class?” asked Tony, his chubby red cheeks bouncing along with every syllable that flowed out of his mouth.

“Yes, Tony, I am ready. And I hope you are too, because I am making sure you cannot see my test from your seat,” replied Troy hotly.

“Aw man c’mon, Troy! I need your help!” he complained.

“I need you to study for yourself instead of eating and playing video games all the time!” snapped Troy.

“That’s not all I do. I do other things too!” grumbled Tony, trying to persuade himself.

“Yeah, okay Tony. When you can study all by yourself, I will attempt to help you out. But I’m not going to help somebody who doesn’t first help themselves,” explained Troy.

“Whatever, man. You don’t know what I go through every day,” replied Tony with a spiteful look.

Troy could not help himself. Perspiration beaded along his hairline, palms sweating and steam blowing out his ears. He tried with all his might to hold himself back. He wanted to land his bony knuckles right across Tony’s fat chin.

How dare he say that! thought Troy. This ungrateful scum sleeps in a warm bed every night, wakes up and goes to bed with a full stomach, and wastes his life away with television and video games with the majority of his free time. And he tells me that I don’t know what he goes through! Of course I don’t! That’s the life of a king! I wish he knew what I go through every day, sleeping in a piece of crap cardboard box and living underneath a bridge surrounded by bums!