I hate animals. Don’t look at me like that. I have my reasons and they’re pretty good too. I’m not a monster. I don’t walk around kicking kittens or throwing rocks at bunnies for the fun of it. In fact I used to love animals. Believe it or not, I was just like you. I’d see a dog and think, “Wow, what a smart animal. He’d be fun to take to the park and throw a Frisbee with.” Or I’d see a tiger on Animal Planet and say, “That would be amazing to see in real life.” So what’s the difference between us? Now I know better.
You see, the problem is when you actually do run into something like that tiger, wild and in the flesh, you start to understand what a pizza feels like when the box is opened. It’s terror that goes bone deep, and tigers aren’t the only critters to worry about. Even in Monterey, a civilized city in the middle of California, it would shock you to know all the things that could turn you into fast food.
I’m not saying it’s going to last forever. Maybe someday, I’ll look at a squirrel and think, “That’s a cute furball.” It’s possible I could change my mind. But considering I was currently surrounded by snarling fangs dripping spit, and black eyes that stared at me like I was a steak wrapped in bacon, I doubted it.
Growls rumbled like monster truck engines as a dozen of them circled around me. Sweat dripped down my face as I backed up against an old pine tree, and my heart tried to leap out of my chest and take off running. I looked down at the smooth purple stone in my hand, the thing that got me into this mess, and tried to figure out how I was dumb enough to let it get this far. I’m not saying that I’m perfect, but being eaten alive over a stupid rock is a bit much. Still think I’m messed up for hating animals? Seriously, once you know what I have been through, I bet you will see things my way too.
It’s amazing how so much can go wrong in one Friday afternoon. In just a few hours, I managed to enrage the most dangerous kid in the eighth grade, get a week’s worth of detention, and my dad was probably going to ground me until high school, but none of that mattered… at least until Monday. I was pretty sure the school wouldn’t call home today. I mean seriously: who wants to stay after work on a Friday? So that meant my father wouldn’t find out about the minor explosion I helped cause until after this last glorious weekend of freedom, and I planned on making the most of it.
Monterey wasn’t a huge city, but it was big enough to keep me entertained. There was also something nostalgic about the town. The shops felt old-fashioned, more like a small town market than the busy tourist stop it was. The whole city was like that, like an old movie that was still good no matter how many times you’ve seen it.
I never had much money, but there were ways around that. Some of the best bike trails in the world are in Monterey, or I could go to the skate park on Del Monte Avenue, although I’m a poor skater at best. I snorkeled at a dozen different beaches, each with beautiful coves, and none of it cost me a dime. The icing on the cake was working out a deal with my father’s friend Malcolm, the manager of the Golden State Theatre on Alvarado Street. Two of my friends and I would clean up after the movie in exchange for free seats and popcorn. Tonight’s movie was “The Bridge,” A sci-fi action flick that promised explosions, aliens, and an all-around good time.
I rode down Alvarado until the Golden State Theatre came into view. The old movie house was the better part of a century old and had a classic look. The building was three stories tall with smooth walls the color of Spanish adobe. A large entryway stretched out over the sidewalk where a marquee showed the movies playing this week. Above the archway, Greek columns were shaped into the wall, narrowing each floor like the front of a pyramid. It fit right in to Monterey.
When I pulled up on my bike, Elliot was already out front of the box office, waiting with his hands in his pockets. Elliot Nicandrios was a short and stocky 13 year-old with long light-brown hair covered his eyes half the time like something out of an 80’s rock band. Since the first grade, Elliot had been my best friend, and was one of the smartest kids at Monterey Middle School. Both facts had gotten him into trouble more than once. He was wearing a blue and black soccer jersey and had a soccer ball under his arm. I shook my head and chained up my bike. Elliot always got like this, this time of year. World Cup Fever. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Davey! Greece is in the quarterfinals!” Elliot shouted. “Two more matches and they are in the world championship!”
There’s something I should mention about El. He’s Greek. If you’ve never had a friend from an old Greek family, it would be hard to explain. Think of the craziest sports fan you’ve ever met, the kind of guy that paints their face silver and black, puts on a costume, goes to the game and shouts his head off until they have to carry him out of the stadium in handcuffs. It’s like that, except with EVERYTHING. Well, with everything Greek anyway. So inevitably, a rant started about the team, the players, and how the coach was from Germany, but a Greek at heart. I knew this would go on for a while, so I kept my eyes open for Alan, nodding occasionally.
While waiting, my eyes wandered to the newspaper vending machine and the headline caught my attention. “Wild Dog Attacks Continue.” I couldn’t see more than a paragraph through the glass, but I read enough to make me nervous. A pack of dogs had been running around Monterey at night. Mostly there had been a lot of noise and barking, but at least one person was caught by the dogs and ended up in the hospital.
I shook the thought from my head and started looking around for Alan again. For a minute, I thought he might not make it, but then I saw his big frame in a dark blue denim jacket as he rounded the corner by the parking garage. He was average height with short curly black hair, but Alan was built like a bear and was about as nice as a pit bull. At least that’s what I used to think.
Before a year ago, I pictured Alan Michaels as a raging volcano tormented by demons which mortals have not seen. But then, that’s all I ever remembered seeing of him. He was in detention more hours than most people slept, and I could think of a dozen fights he was in, a couple with more than one guy.
Then Elliot and I got partnered up with him for a history project. As you might guess, Elliot picked something from Ancient Greece, The Battle of Thermopolis. We were absolutely terrified, specifically when Mrs. Romero decreed we were required to work on it together outside of school.
Alan surprisingly knew more about it than El, and we worked on the project for a week after school. After the first couple days of bickering over the fine points of the battle, Alan relaxed a bit and was a surprisingly funny and really laid back. This Alan was a far cry from the Monster of Hall 13.
Fights were an easy way to get left alone in a middle school. A kid used to being picked on could get a reputation for not backing down from anything and gain a little peace. I could see that happening to this Alan, the one whistling a tune out of an old Disney movie as he strolled down the sidewalk. At school, he still stalked the halls like a tiger looking for prey, but the Alan I knew was a completely different guy.
“Hi guys,” he shouted cheerfully. “What are we watching?”
“The Bridge,” said Elliot menacingly. He had been excited about this movie for months, ever since he watched the preview online.
Alan nodded. “Nice…What’s with the soccer ball?”
“Please don’t get him started,” I begged but it was too late. Elliot started his rant afresh. I cringed as we started walking towards the box office. I glanced at my reflection in the window as we walked into the theatre. Honestly, I didn’t look like much. I was wearing a long pair of board shorts and a plain black T-shirt. I was fairly tall for an eighth grader. I didn't break any records, but I got to stand in the back row for most class pictures.
The sun had bleached streaks into my brown hair, making it look like I had it dyed. I didn't. I'm way too broke for that. My skin was darker than usual, tan from the last few weeks of sun. September was the best time for swimming in Monterey and I took advantage of it. It was a good thing too because after today, I might not see sunlight for a long time.
Elliot still hadn’t slowed down about the world cup. Alan interrupted him and cracked a joke about soccer being no sport for a fat guy as we reached the front door. I waved to Malcolm at the ticket counter. Malcolm was an older guy with a round face. Some gray mixed with his short black hair. He waved back as we walked in.
We walked through the main lobby and pass the classic movie theatre snack bar. The Golden State Theatre was beautiful, and old. I mean really old, the kind of place that ghost stories are written about. It had been around since before World War II.
The walls had that classic red velvet look to them and leather chairs sat in the lobby. Antique tapestries hung from the walls and hung from the ceiling with shades made from stained-glass. With the soft light and the murals, it felt like we were walking back in time. Elliot said they were inspired by Greek murals, but according to Elliot, everything was thought up by Greeks.
We took three seats up on the balcony and waited. Slowly, after about twenty minutes people began trickling into the theatre. The audience built slowly until nearly half the seats were full. Alan, Elliot, and I were joking about Cameron starring in his own car insurance commercial when the movie started.
“The Bridge,” wasn’t bad. There was a lot of action and explosions. Alan and I both liked it, but Elliot looked a little disappointed at the end of the movie. “It could have been better,” he said a few times, saying the story was 'too predictable.'
Elliot was not much use after the movie. He spent most of the time staring at his iPhone and listening to the soccer game. Alan was a pretty good worker though, and between us we were making good time cleaning up the theatre. As we were finishing up, I felt my eyes getting a little heavy. It was pretty late. The movie had been almost three hours long.
“GOAL!” The yell ripped through the theatre like a siren. I snapped to my feet and saw Elliot jump into the air. “Greece wins!”
Alan laughed, almost falling to the floor. “The way you jumped I thought you were going to take a nose dive off the balcony. The movie wasn't that bad.” Alan crumpled up a foil hot dog wrapper, lined up a shot, and chucked it. Considering the weapon, the pitch was impressive striking Elliot square in the forehead with a crinkle.
Elliot blinked in shock and then pointed his finger menacingly at Alan. “Ho ho, I shall have vengeance.” He picked up a popcorn bucket and flung it at Alan who ducked to the side.
“It’s a good thing Greece’s soccer team has better aim than you do.”
“Bah,” snapped Elliot, as he dropped his soccer ball. He took one step and kicked the ball at Alan. It was a great shot, right at his chest. Alan had to fall to the ground to dodge it. The ball shot just past him and bounced off a chair just outside the balcony and launched upward.
I felt the air leave my lungs as I watched it fly towards one of the stained glass lampshades.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to hurdle across the room and dive at the ball, blocking it like a slow motion goalie in instant replay, hear the cheers of the crowds as the game was saved at the last second. Instead, the ball slammed into the piece of stained glass, sending colored shards flying like a rainbow slammed with a wrecking ball. The black iron frame of the glass stood behind like a burnt skull and crossbones.
Alan cursed as the pieces of glass hit the ground and shattered. The room was silent for what felt like years before Elliot said, “That was awkward.”
“I think that’s our cue to leave guys,” said Alan.
Running sounded good. I could blame it on a customer, some kids that got rowdy after the movie. Then Uncle Malcolm would pay the cost of the repairs. I wouldn't have to add this mess on top of the trouble I would be in when my dad found out about today's activities at school.
All I would have to do is lie to people I cared about.
I took a deep breath. “You guys go. I gotta clean this up.” Elliot started to argue, but I stopped him. “It’s late anyway. I’ll talk to Uncle Malcolm on the way out.”
My throat felt like it was tied in a knot. What was I going to tell my dad? I mean, I knew I was going to get in trouble, but this could bring me to new levels of misery.
I bent over and stared at the shards and got an idea. “Elliot, can I use your phone?” I called.
Elliot stopped at the top of the stairs and shrugged. “Yeah sure.” He looked completely miserable as he handed me the iPhone. I pushed a few icons on the screen until I got to the camera. I took some pictures of the broken glass lampshade and the in-tact one next to it.
“Print these for me would ya?”
“Yeah, no problem,” Elliot said in a broken voice. “I’ll get it fixed Davey, don’t worry about it.” I nodded and Elliot and Alan took off down the stairs as I picked up the busted shards of class and put them in a soda cup.
My face felt hot. I couldn’t believe this had happened. I tried to think of what I would say to Uncle Malcolm, to my dad. I needed a plan, but I couldn't get any of the thoughts flying through my head to make sense. That’s when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs towards the balcony.
“They told me what happened, Davey.” It was Malcolm. He sounded calm, almost apologetic.
“I’m sorry Malcolm, I’ll get it fixed,” I said quickly.
Malcolm nodded. “These things happen sometimes Davey. Look, I called your dad. He’s going to be here soon to pick you up.”
I nodded. “I’ll… I’ll finish cleaning this up and I’ll head down.” Malcolm nodded again and started walking slowly down the stairs.
I didn’t know whether I was angry, depressed, or just miserable. Probably all three. I got back on my hands and knees to finish cleaning up the shards of glass. I had most of the pieces up when I noticed a large shard near the wall. I walked over to it and picked it up. The piece was a brilliant purple and so polished it reflected almost like a mirror. I touched it, surprised. It wasn’t jagged like the others. In fact it was smooth, even on the edges. It didn’t seem like glass at all; it felt like a stone.