Bully

Bully

I didn’t personally know Bobby Angel but when it came to the 19 year-old senior I tended to believe what I heard. Last summer, he stole his father’s 1958 candy - apple red Porsche Speedster, drove it straight into the wall of the Acme food store to see if it would survive; it didn’t. With his mom’s cigarette lighter, Bobby Angel held his little sister down while he burned off her braids to see if she would scream; she did. Bobby Angel took his six month old puppy, stuffed it into a plastic bag, and dumped it off the side of the Millcreek Bridge to see if it could find its way out and swim to shore; it didn’t. I lived my life by staying away from him and hoping he stayed away from me.

The end of the summer heat signaled the start of many weekend neighborhood yard sales. Early Saturday morning, I flipped through the stacks of comics our elderly neighbor, Mr. Braun, had for sale. First editions of Batman, Superman, Spiderman, Thor, The Green Lantern, and a bunch of others just carelessly tossed together in paper bags made me a very happy, and, hopefully, soon-to-be-rich guy. Wanting to share the news with my dad, I paid Mr. Braun his required six dollars and searched the crowd of familiar and not-so-familiar faces. Then I saw him, his dirty red hair, and black and white Converse crouched in the far corner of the yard, digging around a metal toolbox. Ducking behind Mrs. Cook’s plump figure, I watched Bobby Angel’s hand freeze inside the box and the corners of his mouth turn upward. He looked to his left; he looked to his right. I crushed myself and the comics against Mrs. Cook.

“Boy, what are you doing?” she asked, her one painted-on eyebrow arched almost to the middle of her forehead.
I looked up at her and shrugged. Mrs. Cook sighed and wobbled over to the next table, leaving me out in the open and totally exposed to Bobby Angel’s eyes. Except he was no longer looking around but rather staring at the object in his hands. Needing to get a closer look at what could fascinate him so much, I sidled from table to table, each one bringing me closer to him. Stopping just a few feet away, I saw him roll the shiny metal object in his hands, hold it up in front of him, and aim at a nearby bush. Bobby Angel lowered his arms and looked to his left again. He looked directly at me.
I stopped breathing.
Bobby Angel slowly stood up, shoving the Luger in the inside pocket of his military green jacket and walked over to me, his black eyes focused where I stood.
Bobby Angel lowered his mouth to my ear. “What did you see?”
“No- nothing,” I said, my voice catching in my throat.
“What did you see?” he asked again, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck, his nails digging into my skin.
“Nothing!”
His grip let up as a smile broke over his thin lips. “Good answer, kid.”
Bobby Angel stepped away from me and made his way through the crowd of mothers, fathers, and kids as a tall figure approached me from the opposite direction.
“There you are buddy,” my dad said, slapping me on the shoulder. “See anything good?”
I didn’t know how to respond so I held the comics up to him.
“Holy cow! How much did you pay for all these?” he asked, flipping through the stack.
“Six bucks,” I said, losing sight of Bobby Angel.
“What? For all these?”
“Yup. That’s all he wanted.”
“Let’s go. We’re giving them back,” dad said as he pulled me towards Mr. Braun’s table. “You can’t take advantage of an old man like that, Adam. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do.”
I let him drag me along without saying a word, all thoughts of a fledgling comic book empire gone from my mind.
I didn’t sleep that night, or the night after that, or the night after that. I saw Bobby Angel on occasion in between classes and he would always keep his head up, eyes forward. Every now and again he would acknowledge me, his hand flying to the pocket of his jacket, staying there until he rounded the corner.
"Don't forget they are starting up the Express line again. It shows up ten minutes before I do. You don't want to end up in the city like last time,“ dad said over our weekly Friday night dinner of burgers and fries. When I didn't respond, he added, "You alright, buddy?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding just a little too much. Dad stopped wiping the fry grease from his hands and stared at me.
“No,” I said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Bobby Angel,” I replied.
That’s all it took; those two words together would sound any and every alarm in our small town and this time I was the one responsible for ringing the bell. I told my dad, who told the cops, who sent Sheriff Monroe and his deputy to the Angel household to find the Luger Bobby lifted from the yard sale, who told the Mideast High School principal, who suspended Bobby Angel until he completed psychiatric treatment and was deemed mentally sound to return to class.
Bobby Angel did return to school a month later. He was polite, he was kind, he was no longer disruptive, and his teachers even went so far to say he “was a joy” to teach. I didn’t buy it.
This went on for weeks as Bobby Angel made every teacher, parent, and student fall in love with him. He pulled out chairs, carried lunch trays, and even stayed after school to help the teacher’s aides.
“You did a good job, buddy,” dad said, as we pulled up to the curb a block away from our house. “I think he’s really changed.”
I just looked at him. Bobby even fooled my dad. Hopping off the bus, I turned to look at him in the driver’s seat.
“You’re a good kid, Adam.” he smiled, the accordion doors swishing closed as he pointed the metallic monster towards the street to finish his route.
For the next few weeks, I watched Bobby Angel closely. Analyzing every comment, every gesture, and every activity he participated in; he was as clean as they said he was. Maybe he did change and I would need to start believing it too.
Standing in my usual spot at the bus stop waiting on dad, Bobby Angel came whistling towards me. He flashed his now trademark grin and threw his heavy arm around my shoulders.
“I’m going to kill you,” he winked as he said it.
I started to smile but his had already faded.
“I’m going to kill you, kid.”
The local 125 lurched to a stop in front of us and the doors flew open. Dad waved from inside and Bobby Angel plastered on his fake smile and waved back before continuing down the street, hands in his pockets, whistling a happy tune.
“What was that about?” Dad asked, sliding closed the accordion doors behind me. I looked up at him, Bobby Angel’s words bouncing around my head like a ball.
“Nothing. Guy stuff.” I said. Without another word, I sat in an empty seat all the way in the back of the bus.
The next day, Bobby Angel wasn’t in school. He wasn’t in school the day after that either. A whole week passed and no Bobby. I bounced from class to class, feeling relief that if he was going to kill me, it wasn’t going to be any time soon. Maybe he even transferred schools and I would get to live out the rest of my boring life. Maybe he was kidnapped by aliens, being probed this very moment, and I would never see him again. Either way, the knife I stuffed in my pocket the morning after he threatened me would go another day without being used.
Reaching the bus stop, I waited as a crowd of people shuffled onto a bus headed for the local mall. The bus was barely around the corner when something hit my cheek, leaving a sharp sting behind.
My heart stopped as Bobby Angel stepped out from behind a car, grinning from ear to ear.
“Miss me, kid?”
My mouth grew dry as he walked towards me, one hand in his pocket and the other tossing a rock into the air.
“Are you deaf?” Bobby Angel said, hurling the other rock at me. He rushed me, tackling me from the side, knocking all the air out of me. The knife flew out of my jacket pocket and skittered across the side walk. Bobby Angel slammed his fist into my cheek, then the other, then the other. The pain radiated across my jaw and echoed throughout my head. He pinned my hands underneath his knees.
His breath coming in fast bursts, Bobby Angel stood up, freeing me from his weight. Turning to my side, I wiped the blood from eyes just in time to see him pick up the knife.
“Now what is this for? Were you going to stab me, you little creep?”
Rolling off the curb into the street, I crawled on my elbows away from Bobby Angel.
“Where you going, kid?” he said. “The way I see it, we have at least another ten minutes bef-”
The sound of screeching air brakes met with a sick wet thud. I tried to turn towards the sound of an idling engine but my whole head ached and the blood kept pouring into my eyes, blurring my vision.
“Jesus Christ!” a voice called in the distance, followed by various screams and yelling.
“He just stepped out into the street! I didn’t see ‘im! I didn’t see ‘im!”
Using my sleeve to wipe the blood from my eyes, I rolled over and saw Bobby Angel’s body lying broken a few feet in front of the Express Bus. The driver was hovering over him, one hand running through his thin hair and a cell phone crushed against his ear.
I stared at Bobby Angel, my knife still tight in his hand. I smiled.