"It Creeps Upon You Unawares"

Thunderous, booming notes shook the silence in the living room as a fair-haired boy played Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 on a grand piano. The long, unblemished fingers of a pianist flew gracefully over ivory keys as if weaving a dream of sound. Ralph allowed his anger to seep into his fingers while his mind cooled enough to look back on the day.

"Why am I here?" he had asked bemusedly, sitting in the detention room of Lorington Middle School. The supervisor, clearly not any happier about having to watch over a group of schoolboys, had replied in a toneless voice.

"You were one of the participants of the fight. This is your punishment." I shouldn't be here, Ralph had thought, but before he could voice his thoughts, a drawling voice had interrupted, "Oh, just shut up already. You're already here. This your first time in detention?" Jack Merridew, better known among the students of Lorington as the Beast, had looked down at Ralph with imperturbable arrogance and self-assurance. Ralph had returned this look with a cold glare.

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here. If you hadn't started that stupid fight—"

"It wasn't stupid! That clumsy oaf—Wilfred, I think—nearly tripped me with his gawky legs! I could've fallen flat on my face. If I didn't beat him up, people would've thought I was a coward." This memory had been recalled while flaring his nostrils and snarling. Ralph had somewhat doubted in his sense of justice, but he could not help but admire such a display of self-righteousness and bravado. Just then, another student had exited out a door with the sign "COUNSELOR" and Ralph had been summoned inside.

A rather corpulent young man, probably in his thirties, had been sitting on an armchair. Smiling affably, he had motioned for Ralph to come sit in front of him while he had introduced himself as Mr. Boris. After the usual interrogations, Mr. Boris had taken off his glasses and asked, "Do you not feel yourself even a bit responsible?"

"No! I wasn't part of the fight!"

"Meaning you didn't actually punch anybody in the nose," Mr. Boris had clarified, extracting a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his glasses. "But you watched, did you not? Along with the rest of crowd, you watched an innocent, fellow student being physically abused and yet you did not notify anyone. I believe in the school's 'Code of Conduct' you will find that it is a violation of the rules."

Silence had reigned for a moment before Ralph's steely voice had uttered, "May I go now?"

"Yes, you are dismissed. Oh, and Ralph?" Ralph had paused, in the middle of opening the door. "Find a vent for your feelings by doing something constructive. Some musical instrument perhaps."

So here he was, actually taking that advice. If Ralph was somewhat honest with himself, he would admit that he did feel considerably calmer and more capable of rational thought. If he was completely honest with himself, he would allow his conscience to say that perhaps he should have endured the pains of being labeled a "tattletale" if it would have saved poor Wilfred from a run-in with the Beast.

The following day, Ralph's English teacher assigned his class a persuasive essay on the best method of conflict resolution. To Ralph's surprise, Jack Merridew actually approached him with a smile that would have been friendly if it had not resembled a wolf baring its fangs.

"Wanna come to my house an' work on the essay?"

"Sure."

Before he knew it, Ralph was in Jack's room, debating with him about conflict resolution. Ralph believed that conflict was best resolved through peaceful negotiations mediated by a neutral third party, with each side speaking for themselves. Jack, on the other hand, hand something else in mind. "Just let one punch the other's lights out. Easy solution. 'No man, no problem,'" Jack quoted. This reference to a certain Soviet dictator sent chills down Ralph's spine, but he had no time to dwell on the sensation, as Jack was pulling him to a spacious room with its floor covered in padding. "It's time we've had a break. I just thought I'd show you another side to conflict resolution." With an eerie grin on his face, Jack commanded Ralph to punch him. Appalled, Ralph just stared. "Don't be such a goody-two-shoes. Put all your anger into a punch." Ralph's mind tried to wrap itself around the idea that not long ago would have been repulsive. But there was something about being in Jack Merridew's company that made you follow his example and whoop, "Who cares?"

Mere seconds later the two boys were staring bewilderedly at each other. Ralph's fist was extended in empty air, and Jack was on the ground dazedly rubbing his now bruised jaw. Ralph was stunned but not completely displeased when he realized there was some satisfaction to be drawn from a good punch. The two caught each other's eyes and smirked. Standing upright and throwing an arm over Ralph's shoulder, Jack said, "Congrats. You've just passed round one."

Evening found Ralph at home, practicing punches, kicks, and other "self-defense" moves Jack had taught him. His little brother Henry watched with awed, adoring eyes as Ralph moved in a frenzied dance of extended limbs. Attempting a kick himself, Henry fell over and landed on his back. Ralph's father, Officer Simon Wright, came home in time to witness this scene and give his elder son a disapproving look. "What do you think you're doing?" Officer Wright asked in that quiet, penetrating voice of his. Ralph found it funny that his father would have the panic-stricken look of a deer in public, but when speaking to intimates, he could have the majesty of a king.

"Nothing. Just havin' a little fun." Ralph began to squirm under his father's appraisal. Henry tripped while trying out another kick. "I will remind you," said the officer, an imperceptible crease of concern marring his forehead, "that you have a younger sibling in the room." He left for his study, with his son shamefully studying his hands. They were calloused from contact with improvised punching bags around the house.

Ralph sighed. He had never been very close with his parents, particularly with his father. The latter had an uncanny way of ascertaining your thoughts and baring them on a counter for scrutiny. Ralph never felt more self-conscious than when he was with Officer Simon Wright.

At least, Ralph thought, I've got Jack. The duo had become good friends after that one meeting afterschool. Jack's support was especially welcome about a week later, when Ralph received his essay, checked and graded with one too many red marks. Unaccustomed to getting Fs, Ralph perused the paper for his teacher's comments. "Disorganized structure, unclear thesis. Contradicting and arguing with yourself one some points. Pick ONE side, and stick with it." Rereading his conflict resolution essay, Ralph found that he could not understand it either. What was he thinking?

Then one day, Ralph saw Jack bent over a small form in the mall where they had just eaten lunch. The Beast had a malicious gleam in his eye, as he terrorized the poor little boy. Ralph, as a witness, found it almost comical the way the latter's knees shook and he cowered into a little ball of shaking flesh. Ralph's laughter was cut short when he noticed the look of pure delight on the Beast's face, conscious of the power he wielded over this inferior being. Drawing what he could from the kid's terrified stutters, Ralph deduced that he was lost in the large mall. "Jack!" Ralph said sharply. For a moment, the Beast glanced at him with wild eyes. Outraged, Ralph stood between Jack and the child, who clung to Ralph with piteous moans. "I'm—I'm—," the boy tried to speak, but became mute with terror at the site of the Beast. Shaking his head, Ralph helped the boy find his mother, who kissed "her darling Percival" with relief and gratefully showered Ralph with an effusion of thanks. Ralph would have been flattered if his conscience had not reminded him that not long ago he had been laughing at Percival himself.

When he returned to the café, an irate Jack was there waiting. "You—you—" he seethed, stabbing his finger at Ralph's collarbone. This confrontation ended up in a fistfight that left Jack with a bruised cheek and black eye and Ralph with bloody nose and hands. Supervisors had broken up the fight before it went any farther. Before he entered his home, he made sure to thoroughly wash his hands, so that once more it was soft and fair, if calloused in certain areas.

It did not improve his estrangement with Jack when, one day, Percival and a group of his friends flocked over to Ralph, idolizing him like a Greek hero. Gently trying to beat off the admirers, Ralph saw Jack at the corner of his eye, sulking.

Naturally, it came as a great surprise a few weeks later Jack said in a conciliatory yet threatening tone, "Hey, Ralph, you free to attend a party tonight?" Ralph studied Jack carefully.

"What for?"

"Fun, of course."

"Where?"

"I'll show you," Jack drawled. "Meet me behind the school at seven and you'll see. You up for it?" How could Ralph decline? All the boys were watching him for his response, expectant, goading him to refuse. Another, less conspicuous figure also observed Ralph closely. At five til' seven, Ralph lied to his mother about going to study with a friend and set out for Lorington.

Meanwhile, Mr. Boris went to his study and called Officer Simon Wright. "Officer, this is your son's counselor. I'm afraid Ralph may be in trouble."

Ralph had never remembered the streets being this dark before. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that all the streetlamps were broken. Why would Jack choose this, of all places, to meet?

Suddenly two figures grabbed Ralph, one on each arm, dragging him deeper into the darkness to where an all-too-familiar form lay waiting. Without the softening light of day or the moon, the Beast looked more nonhuman than ever. Invisible lips moved as a voice emanated from the figure, "We have some unfinished business." Confused at first, Ralph remembered the incident at the mall with little Percival.

"Are you crazy, Jack? Still dwelling on that day? For heaven's sake, he was a little kid! Take pity on him!"

"Never interrupt my fights."

"Ah, so you merely hated the fact that I took away your control," Ralph said with unmasked disdain. For the first time he actually saw Jack's haggardly features: his feverish, bloodshot eyes; yellowed teeth; dirty clothes; and putrid breath.

The fight began, and the two creatures lunged at each other as if fighting over meat. Ralph's curled fist soon became a mass of blood and cuts. Without warning, Jack revealed a handgun from under his coat and, fumbling, aimed it at Ralph. "You're insane," Ralph said. It was not a question. A sound of running came up behind them, and a flashlight blinded their eyes as its beam moved this way and that. Jack staggered. A tall, lean figure advanced towards them, speaking in surprisingly soft tones; but they fell upon deaf ears. Jack wildly turned to Ralph, then to the figure, panicking, the gun still in his hand. The figure spoke.

"Jack—" It was as if that monosyllable had the power to end the world. Gunshots whizzed through the air, and two figures fell. But only one was still breathing. Ralph's breath quickened as he saw the man land on the ground with a merciless thump, his skin turning white and blood gushing out of multiple wounds, covering the filthy ground. Ralph whirled around and ran.

Back in the safety of his home, he dashed to the familiar grand piano and remembered Mr. Boris. Pressing a random key, he suddenly realized that, after weeks of neglect, he had forgotten the notes to Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.

The phone rang, someone picked it up, and after a minute, let out a long, piercing shriek of unbelieving sorrow. Mrs. Wright ran into the living room and spotted her son. "Ralph," she screamed hysterically, "your father…"

Your father had been shot by a gang, they said. The alleged gang leader had been found in an alley near the officer's body; the former was found to be under the heavy influence of drugs. Despite Officer Wright's bulletproof vest, many bullets had been shot, one of them making a fatal wound in the head. The irony was that Mrs. Wright refused to let Ralph attend the funeral. "A boy your age," she said, "should not be exposed to something so gruesome." Too late for that, he had thought.

So here he was at home, watching over little Henry. Ralph was snapped out of his reverie when Henry started imitating the noises of a machine gun using a toy he had recently received. "I will kill you!" he cried savagely. Alarmed, Ralph snatched the toy gun out of Henry's small hands and berated him.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"In the movie," Henry answered, impatiently reaching for his gun.

"What movie?"

"The movie that you borrowed from Jack. You know, the one with a lot of shooting and yelling and blood." Ralph stared at his hands. Bloody.

When he tucked Henry in at night, Ralph unconsciously stroked his forehead. He was then horrified at the smudge of grime that his hands had left behind on his little brother. Rubbing it in desperate attempt to get the mark off, Ralph succeeded only in spreading it.

A miserable month went by, and then Mr. Boris called to say he was going on a trip to Greece. "Personally, I've always wanted to see the remains of a once-magnificent ancient civilization." Mr. Boris asked if Ralph wanted to accompany him, and he agreed, for more reasons than one.

Bidding farewell to his mother and brother, Ralph walked to Mr. Boris' house. On the way, though, he made a detour to the local cemetery. Slowly treading to a rather new grave, Ralph knelt down and took off the winter gloves he was often wearing nowadays. He had purposely not treated the cuts and gashes on his hand from that fateful night. The scabs were a painful yet helpful reminder of his folly.

Now, Ralph slammed his fist onto the gravestone of Officer Simon Wright, using so much force some of his wounds reopened. Then, the clouds opened to let fall a light sprinkle of rain on Ralph's head, mixing with the tears and blood on his hand. For a long time, Ralph kneeled there, his forehead pressed against his wet palm.