The Simpsons: Bart

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***

The competition continued.

- Go, Bart!

I still had a fan base coming to my matches.

- The winner with a time of 4 minutes and 11 seconds, Bart Simpson.

I was still declared the winner.

- Listen to what those bitches did! They spread a rumour all over school that I'm giving it up for a hundred quid, can you believe it?! Me, for a hundred bucks!

I was still doing my job as Jessica's escort.

- You're not even gonna talk to me today? You've been weird these days, Simpson.

- ...

- If you don't like my company so much, you don't have to see me off!

The angry slamming of the door in my face also continued.

- Haaah. - When I was alone, I let out a long sigh of what seemed like relief.

I can't understand myself. But lately I've been very uncomfortable in Jessica's company, Terry's company, even Milhouse's company. The only place I feel comfortable is...

- Ahem! - instead of home, it's the gym. Which I returned to about sixteen hours before finals to pump iron.

And I like the empty space of the gym much more than I like it when it's crowded when there's a fight. On the contrary, competition makes me feel a sense of loss, a loss of my special place.

And the greater the sense of loss, the more angry, confused, lost I get. Before, when lifting weights, I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the weight. Now I feel like I can lift it all night long. And the weight doesn't even matter. With a big one, I'll just tear my muscles, but I won't stop thinking.....

.....

- Haaah. Giving you the keys was a mistake. - Instead of the canonical cute little sister, I was woken up by a mean, old coach. - Have you been here all night? You got a cold?

- Mm-hmm. I don't think so. - After clearing my slightly hoarse throat, I turned around to see what was causing the pain in my back. As it turned out, I had indeed fallen asleep on the bench. Good thing I didn't have a barbell in my hands, which would have ended up on my neck.

- What the hell are you thinking? - With his arms folded across his chest, Coach Engle grumbled unhappily.

- At this particular moment? I'm thinking that it's kind of sad that out of my two little sisters, I don't have one anime-cute one. - Maggie is too small, and I wouldn't call her cute, and Lisa is Lisa.

- Can you raise your arms? - I had no problem getting them up. - So, what happened? Did you have a fight with your girlfriend? Parents? Video game delayed?

- Oh, my God. Instead of a cute little sister, I got an elderly coach trying to make me look cute and creepy.

- I don't want to say another nice word to you! - Coach Engle slapped me on the back, swearing all over the gym, and walked off to his office.

- Haaah! - I let out another sigh of relief that I was alone again.

Maybe I should go visit my grandfather tomorrow. Take my mind off things. Although Terry must have been waiting while the competition was going on.....

I can't believe I'm having this thought, but, um. I don't really feel like having sex.

Maybe I really am sick. Maybe I should see a doctor. It's too early for me to use magic pills, right?!

.....

Before the competition, I had time to train, get a good night's sleep, then train again. Then I had nothing to do but help the workers with the furniture. Considering the level of the competition, it was not much, but there is no need for extra hands.

This time, no money or cake... I doubt I'll ever be able to afford a replacement wedding cake. Though I doubt I'll ever be able to afford a wedding in a decent place...?

More people turned up for the final, a little more. But that number became critical for me. Or rather, the people who made it up became critical.

- Show them, son! - with a giant hot dog in his hands and a beer hat on his head, shouted across the still-empty auditorium to Homer, whose voice echoed.

- Why is Bart there? - Maggie asked, waving her legs under the bench and her hand in my direction.

- Well, honey, he's got an important match to get ready for. - replied Mum in a connoisseur's voice.

- But the other wrestlers are coming up to their families. - Made not only my family, but also me pay attention to the other guys, Lisa.

I'd never really paid attention, but at every competition I'd managed to compete in. Most of the guys came to them either in the company of their parents or a parent. They would walk around the city together, and at the competitions themselves - during breaks and after defeats, parents would comfort, and in case of victories they would praise. There were exceptions. Me, Briscoe, Ricksteiner, and a few other experienced guys came on their own.

And honestly, it's better to keep it that way. Because their presence is incredibly annoying!

- Bart, look, I got you printed on a T-shirt. - is far more annoying than Milhouse's presence.

.....

While the others were doing ranking matches. I waited my turn. Time was up, and I walked out of the locker room. It's daytime, so everything is perfectly visible, and there's not a shred of drama in the air. Homer is already asleep. Mum covers her face with her hand, clearly not being a major martial arts fan. Lisa is reading, occasionally glancing at me and the decking. Maggie was playing on her tablet, but as soon as I came out she got distracted and started waving. And what kind of fool wouldn't call my sister cute?

All my muscles ached. But in a weird way. Like they ached for lack of pain, as weird as that sounds. Like my body was missing the punishment, the damage.

The referee announced the start with a wave of his hand in the air. I roared at my opponent. He tried to pass to his feet. I grabbed his neck. The itching need for pain became unbearable. I got down on one knee, still holding the guy's neck. Abruptly I stood up, pulling the lying leg off the floor. И...

- The winner is Bart Simpson, with a time of 23 seconds.

I slammed the guy headfirst into the floorboard. He didn't have time to react, though he had plenty of opportunities to get out.

- Medic!

While Coach Engle was fussing behind me. I've already gone back to the locker room. Sorry, Maggie, but you don't get medals or trophies for winning a category-B competition.

.....

Turns out I broke a guy's neck. The news hit me like a cold shower, made me wake up. At least he's alive, though he'll probably forget about wrestling due to his age.

So I returned to the category-A, to the top. But for some reason I was not happy about it.

But my parents were happy and offered to celebrate the victory in a restaurant. I refused, referring to the presence of a girl who really wanted to spend time with me. Homer smiled understandingly. Mum awkwardly averted her eyes. Lisa rolled them. Maggie smiled, only completely uncomprehending.

Terry was also pleased, and immediately invited me to both a party at a friend's house, and to her and Sherry's house, and even offered to climb in with me. I turned her down, however, citing my parents insisting on celebrating in the company of family.

I ended up sharing my 'joy' with....

- Hi, Grandpa. Sorry I haven't been here in a while.

The grave of Abraham Simpson, my grandfather.

- I'm still riding that bike you gave me. You wasted your money though, other people would have done tricks on it and I stopped when I bruised my arse. Ha-ha-ha-ha.

It was a twelfth birthday present. I remember that I ran away from home after Lisa was once again voted best student, right as the cake was being brought out. Of course, all eyes immediately turned to her. I fixed the cake by using my finger to replace Bart's name with Lisa's. Then I ran off to hang out with Milhouse. Beat up some streetlights. And then he dragged Milhouse into a nursing home, hiding from the police. That's when my grandfather gave me the bike I wanted so badly to do tricks on. Unfortunately, I didn't last long, because Van Houten dragged me into a mob.

- But I got into wrestling! You know, I'm pretty good at it. I've even won some competitions.

It was the first time I discussed my success in wrestling. I bragged sincerely, without any sense of shame. Describing, not without embellishment, every match I'd won. He lamented the ones he lost.

Later, I talked about my injury. How I felt, how I felt. How confused I was, how angry I was. How disappointed in myself and my destiny I was. I told about how I couldn't believe that I had traumatised someone, how I couldn't make up my mind about my feelings, my fears about it.

By this point I had spent over an hour, maybe even over two, in the cemetery. The whole time I didn't stop talking. I don't know why, perhaps because there was no one to answer me, and if I interrupted, I would lose even the feeling of talking to my grandfather. Or maybe I just didn't want to be silent, finally letting myself talk.

But in contrast to what I had said, at one point there was silence. I came to a question that I wanted to hear the answer to with all my might. I wanted to find it, as I'm sure every person living in our world does.

- Grandfather. I'm doing well, I'm not bad at wrestling, I'm studying so I'll graduate, I have a hot girlfriend... So why, Grandpa? Why am I so unhappy?

Saying my feelings out loud, I collapsed next to the cooker, and with my back pressed against it, I closed my wet eyes.

As long as the events of my life were changing, as long as my heart was constantly on the move, dealing with my worries about my first competition or my desires for Terry, I could distract myself. But now that things had settled down, I found myself back in the abyss of my own worthlessness.

- I suppose that's normal for my age? - I turned to my grandfather, who, as befits a stone, was silent.

I continued to sit back to back with my grandfather. Thinking back to the time he taught me how to drive. Thinking about how the day I met Jessica, I thought I was the opposite of happy. Thinking about how complicated human feelings are.

- Time passes, doesn't it? So how can I predict the outcome of my decisions, whether they make me happy or not?

Smart people on the internet, and in motivational books, write that you need to have a clearly formed plan in life. But... I'm seventeen, I haven't experienced so many things in my life, and how can I know if something is really mine? It's possible that I've experienced something similar, but I've forgotten; and then, what past hobbies can't I cross off, either? And when I find this hidden meaning of life, how many years will it take me to succeed? I've devoted two years to wrestling, and I've devoted them exclusively to it. And soon I'll stop being a schoolboy, I'll have to go to work and then where will I find the time to find myself? To improve myself? What if that's not all I want? What if I want love? And friendship? And family?

- Ha, I guess that's appropriate for my age too, huh? Being a maximalist.

Slapping myself on my cheeks, wiping my nose, I got up from the cold ground. Today would still make me sad, but tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow I would have to try harder. Still, sometimes people should forget about the race for success for a second, and just move one step at a time. After all, everyone is released into free fall, and only feet put out in time stand as pillars, before our fall.

- Thanks for everything Grandpa, it's nice to have someone to talk to.....