Strokes of Confidence

“Oh my God, fat ass!” Jimmy Turner yelled while pointing at Darin.

Darin’s eyes peeled open as he woke from a nap on the couch. His scratched knee stung from being rubbed on the couch’s fabric.

“It’s all Jimmy’s fault,” Darin thought.

Darin was humiliated from a very public and very theatrical failed attempt of jumping from one mound of dirt to another with his bicycle. He failed to reach the dirt-landing ramp, and his front tire smashed into the ground violently halting the momentum of the bike and throwing his body over the handlebars. His hands let go of their grip on the handlebars, and he fell on the ground with his back landing first. He slid a few feet on his back in the dirt lot peppered with sharp rocks. His shirt was torn, and blood dripped from the few cuts on his back. His hair was covered in dirt, and he cried. Jimmy and the other kids at the dirt lot laughed as he rode away.

Humiliated.

Darin’s parents pulled into the garage on their way home from the movies with Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. Darin, hearing the noise of the garage from inside the living room, ran into his room and put on pants to shield his scratched knees from his parent’s concerned eyes. Darin’s father opened the garage door.

“Darin,” Dad said.

Darin emerged from his bedroom and saw his father.

“Hey,” he said.

“I hope you didn’t eat yet.”

“No I didn’t.”

Darin’s mom walked in carrying two brown bags of food from a new restaurant that makes burgers to go.

“Hungry honey?” She said.

“Yup,” answered Darin.

The three sat on the couch eating their cheeseburgers and watching The Ed Sullivan Show. Darin readied for bed when the show ended.

Darin brushed his teeth while his mother straightened his sheets and fluffed his pillow. Darin washed his face while his father smoked a cigarette at the empty dinner table. Darin was ready for bed and met his mother in his room who was sitting on the edge of his bed. Darin slid his body under his dark blue sheets and comforter. His mother pulled the sheets up to his chin and lowered her body to his forehead kissing it.

“Good night, I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.”

She rose and walked to the door, before flicking the light off she turned back to Darin.

“Are you mowing Mr. Johnson’s lawn tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, want breakfast before you go?”

“What are you going to make?”

“Pancakes.”

“Cool.”

She flipped the light switch and closed the door. Once the door was shut, Darin shoved the comforter off his body. It was too hot to sleep under covers. Darin stared up at the ceiling a long time thinking of the bike crash. Finally, after his nervousness subsided, he was able to sleep.

“Darin!” his mother yelled from the kitchen, “get up, I made pancakes and they are going to go cold if you don’t get up and eat them.”

Darin’s eyes opened to his mother’s shouts. He rolled out of bed and got dressed. A few minutes after he woke he sat at the kitchen table to eat the three pancakes with butter and syrup his mother had prepared. Darin ate and his mother drank coffee and smoked cigarettes at the table. She sat and smiled while he ate. He smiled too.

After breakfast Darin’s mother went to work in her office, which was Darin’s sister’s old bedroom before she went to college. She was an artist and sold her art to people all around the world. Darin was proud of her. He left the house and walked to Mr. Johnson’s house.

Though walking took longer than riding a bike, he didn’t mind. He was dreading mowing Mr. Johnson’s lawn. When he arrived he walked into the backyard through the side gate as he did every Saturday. He pulled the Johnson’s lawnmower out and started on the lawn. Once he finished he put the mower back in the backyard, and Mr. Johnson came outside to meet Darin in the front yard.

“Darin,” Mr. Johnson said.

“Hey Mr. Johnson.”

“Looks damn good out here Darin, you’re getting real good with the lines.”

“Thanks.”

Mr. Johnson pulled out a dollar to pay Darin for his lawn mowing services.

“Say Darin, I might have some additional work for you.”

“What’s that Mr. Johnson?”

“Well someone or something dented my car and I need to fix the dent.”

Darin’s hand started to shake and his heart rate increased to that of a young man fresh off the plane in Korea.

“I don’t know how to fix a dent Mr. Johnson,” Darin stuttered out.

“I do, but I need help. Can you come by tomorrow and help me?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Ok see you tomorrow around nine in the morning.”

Darin walked home and spent the rest of the day playing with his Johnny Reb Cannon in his room. The Johnny Reb Cannon was a plastic cannon that fired plastic cannonballs up to thirty-five feet (according to the wording on the box).

The next morning Mr. Johnson picked Darin up in the cherry red Oldsmobile 442 in perfect condition except for the football shaped dent on the front passenger side panel. Darin did not speak very much during their first stop at the hardware store to pick up body filler and a mallet to bang the dent out. Once entering the neighborhood where their families lived, Mr. Johnson pulled out of his pocket an old baseball playing card. It was wrinkled and scuffed to the point where the pitcher’s face was barely visible.

“I found this by the car Darin.”

Mr. Johnson held the card up so Darin could examine it. Suddenly Darin’s hands began to sweat and he felt as if the Sun moved significantly closer to the Earth and was baking the planet.

“A baseball card?”

“Yup, must have been left by the person who hit the car.”

“Really?”

“Would you like it? You can put it on your bike and make it sounds like a motorcycle. Kids do that, right?”

“Umm.”

“Maybe the wind blew it over, either way, you want it?”

“Sure.”

Though Darin’s hands felt weak and his heart was racing he grabbed the card and pocketed it as the 442 pulled into the driveway.

A few minutes into repairing the car Darin was sure Mr. Johnson had forgotten about the baseball card. Mr. Johnson applied the body filler while Darin mixed the paint. As the body filler dried Mrs. Johnson treated the two repairmen with lemonade and blueberry tart. Darin nearly inhaled the tart, as blueberry was his favorite.

“Once the filler dries I will show you how to paint it,” Mr. Johnson said.

“Ok, is it hard?”

“No, but you need to be confident. If you are not confident you will hesitate, and if you hesitate you might mess up.”

The filler dried shortly after Mr. Johnson finished his tart and lemonade. He showed Darin how to paint the car with a few swift smooth strokes of his brush before handing the tool to the boy. Darin started at the top of the filler. His first stroke was curvy, and the paint clumped together in little waves. The old man took a wet rag and rubbed away Darin’s mistake.

“This time think smooth and calm,” the old man said to the boy.

Darin looked up at the old man. This time his paint appeared on the car almost as perfect as the old man’s first perfect stroke. Darin smiled and glanced at Mr. Johnson who was smiling back. They finished the car, and Mr. Johnson dropped Darin off at his parent’s house. Darin helped his mother prepare dinner that night. Instead of watching television he exercised by completing pushups and sit-ups as his parents smoked and talked in the kitchen. Darin struggled sleeping again that night. His restlessness that night was not from anxiety but from a new found pride. His mind would not stop running through scenarios of him conquering a slew of problems that previously seemed impossibly difficult to confront. He imagined himself laughing at a table at lunch with his friends. He saw himself jumping his bike at the dirt lot with perfect precision. He landed on the ramp and skidded his back wheel forward stopping, and a victorious dust cloud billowed up into the air. Jimmy would go next and crash and all Darin’s friends would laugh at Jimmy and Darin would point and laugh too.

Darin woke the next morning and walked energetically to school arriving in class six minutes early. At lunch he first sat in his usual table alone. He then spotted an open seat at Jimmy Turner’s table. Darin stood and walked to Jimmy’s table.

“Can I sit here?” said Darin.

Jimmy looked up from his food and over to his friends. He smirked and looked at Darin. “Sure, take a seat.”

They ate for a few minutes and Darin sat quietly eating his food and smiling. Tucker, a tall slender boy who smoked his brother’s cigarettes, joined the conversation.

“Hey Jimmy you going to the lot today?” Tucker asked Jimmy.

“Hell yeah I am,” replied Jimmy, “hey Darin are you going to the lot after school?”

Darin looked up from his food and his smiled disappeared instantly. His stomach clenched tight, and he hesitated to respond.

“Darin, are you going to the jumps?” Jimmy demanded.

“Umm I don’t think I can.”

Jimmy smiled, “Why not, too afraid you’re going to eat shit again?”

Darin felt his eyes swell with tears, and he got up and walked away from the table. He willed his legs not to run, though they begged for it. Tears flowed from his eyes to his cheeks and finally onto the cement of the school’s courtyard. Outside of the cafeteria he was able to oblige his legs. He ran as hard as he could, attempting to crack the pavement with every step. Darin ran into the nearest bathroom and into the nearest stall, slammed the door and wept wildly. Whatever false notions of confidence he had from his victory over the car were now gone. The rest of the day went as it usually did. Darin sat in the back of the class as he always did; quiet, unnoticed, safe.

After school he walked home slowly with his head down, pitying himself. As he dragged his feet along the sidewalk he heard a sound coming from behind that froze him in place. Jimmy Turner, Tucker, and the rest of their friends were at the end of the street riding their bikes towards Darin. He could hear their chatter and laughter. He hated them.

“Hey Darin, where did you go at lunch we missed you?” Jimmy taunted.

At the same time, Mr. Johnson was leaving his house two streets away. He pulled out of his driveway in the 442 and headed to the pharmacy to pick up some medication.

Darin did not respond to Jimmy. He just kept walking with his head down. The other boys appeared all around Darin on their bikes.

“You going to the lot with us?” Jimmy asked.

Darin still didn’t say anything. He just kept walking. His stomach tightened and his heart raced. He felt his hands start to sweat.

Mr. Johnson continued towards the pharmacy now only a street away from Darin and the boys. Jimmy produced one final jab, “I guess you’re not going to go huh? You’re probably too much of a fat ass to make the jump anyhow. You’ll probably just eat shit again.”

Darin lost all control of his body and lunged at Jimmy who was on his bike just a few feet away.

“Fuck you!” Darin screamed.

Darin punched Jimmy in the face, knocking him off his bike. Jimmy rose and ran at Darin tackling him to the ground as Mr. Johnson pulled onto the street.

“Fucking fat ass!” Jimmy shouted as he pummeled Darin in the face. Jimmy sat on Darin punching him over and over in the face. Darin never stopped fighting. He did all he could to try and kill Jimmy. Darin kicked and punched and clawed away at Jimmy’s flesh. Darin’s face was bleeding and he tore into Jimmy’s arm with his fingernails. Darin cut Jimmy’s right arm and blood emptied from the wound. Mr. Johnson noticed the boys fighting as he drove up. He stopped his car and got out quickly, and ran towards the group of boys.

“What the hell is going on here?” he shouted.

Tucker tugged at Jimmy’s shirt and Jimmy got off Darin’s stomach. Darin’s face was covered in blood and his eye was nearly shut. Jimmy’s shirt, and the ground were stained with Darin’s blood. As Mr. Johnson approached and recognized Darin, his expression changed from concerned to angry. He turned to Jimmy who was standing victorious over Darin.

“Don’t worry about it old man, it’s over.” Jimmy said.

“You ok?” Mr. Johnson said to Darin.

Jimmy now about 10 feet from Mr. Johnson turned back and muttered under his breath, “Oh course he is, I doubt I could even hurt him with all that fat on his face.”

Mr. Johnson ran to Jimmy who was attempting to mount his bike. Mr. Johnson grabbed Jimmy with both hands and threw him off the bike. Jimmy’s back hit the ground, and he looked up at Mr. Johnson.

“What the fuck is a matter with…” Jimmy yelled but hit voice was cut off by a swift punch in the right side of the jaw by Mr. Johnson.

“I’ll tell you what the fuck is a matter with me,” Mr. Johnson spoke as he continued to produce precise and powerful blows to Jimmy’s stomach and face.

Jimmy’s face broke open and blood seeped out onto the pavement. Tucker and the rest of the boys stood petrified in horror, but Darin screamed and grabbed Mr. Johnson’s arm.

“Hank!” Darin screamed.

Mr. Johnson stopped, took a deep breath and stood up over Jimmy’s body.

“Do not, and I mean ever, in your life say anything negative to Darin or any other kids. Do not think for a second you are better than anyone,” Mr. Johnson spoke slowly to Jimmy and moved his head back down to Jimmy’s ear. Then Mr. Johnson spoke so that only Jimmy could hear his words, “because you are nothing but a stupid, weak little fuck without a care in the world.”

“Please Mr. Johnson,” Darin yelled grabbing at his shirt.

“Get in the car son,” said Mr. Johnson.

Darin ran to the car and got in the passenger seat. Mr. Johnson entered shortly after and drove off back towards Darin’s house.

“I am going to drop you off at your place Darin. But you need to understand something. No matter what, and I mean no matter what anyone says, you did the right thing defending yourself.”

“Ok.”

“No Darin, you don’t. You did the right thing, and whatever happens now is not your fault.”

“Ok.”

“You must be confident in yourself son, you must defend yourself and you must love yourself. Because, if you do not, no one will.”

“Ok,” Jimmy said crying and shaking.

Mr. Johnson’s eyes began to tear up, “do you understand Darin?”

“Yes, I understand,” he replied as red colored tears dripped onto the black cloth interior of the 442.