The Simpsons: Bart

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***

Chasing the useless thoughts away, I sat on the pavement with my back against the wall of the shop, sipping a cold soda. I felt a little better, as if my whole being was subconsciously concentrating on the sweetness of the drink.

- I don't feel like going home. - I said, turning to the sinking darkness.

What's waiting for me at home? Probably a scandal. A big scandal. I'll be punished. I don't know how, but I'm sure I'll be punished severely. Mum will be even more disappointed in me. Lisa will have more reasons to say mean things. But do I really care what she thinks now?

- Not really. - I used to be angry after the revelation about Alison. Now I'm just cold, which shows that I really don't care.

Revenge? I'm not ten years old to be playing this game of who's gonna hurt who. And I've played it to the point of elimination. I'll just keep our interactions to an even greater minimum than before.

- Have I grown up today? - I laughed at something I don't even believe.

- Ha-ha-ha... I'm telling you, that woman wiggled her arse at me on purpose! - came a voice from across the street that I recognised easily, for it belonged to Kearney, the bald hog who'd bullied me in junior high.

- And that's why you got a slap on the wrist ... - who was obviously with the same group of Dolph and Jimbo, plus Nelson was with them today.

- Oh, look, Simpson! - who's spotted me.

- Getting used to his new home?

- If you knew who you were messing with, you'd have a quiet existence.

- Ha! - I've always hated that Muntz laugh.

- Why not? - I decided to do something I've never done before. Fight back against the bullies in a direct confrontation.

.....

- Ha! - which ended in my defeat, obviously. I was alone and there were four of them.

- You belong in the rubbish! - wiping the blood from his busted lip, Jimbo was playing it cool. Although a few minutes ago he was lying on his arse, hiding his face little girl style, until....

- Come on, guys. - Dolph didn't kick me in the balls. On the other hand so he's the only one whole, which couldn't be said...

- Oh, right. I'm dizzy, let's go already. - Kearney, whose bald head is covered in blood after I knocked him over. Good thing I didn't kill him with the leg pass.

- Have a nice stay, Simpson. Ha! - I broke Mantzu's pig nose. At least it made his laugh as nasally and painful to him as it is to others.

- What else should I expect from perjurers, a fair fight...? - for all that, I got the better of them. I don't think there's a part of my body that doesn't hurt.

I wouldn't say I've been in agony, though. Other paper cuts hurt a lot more. Maybe it's the adrenaline kicking in. Or is depression working as an anaesthetic? Or--

- Young man, do you need an ambulance? - came the low voice of a stocky man in a cap with a bushy moustache.

I shook my head. My parents would have to pay for me in the hospital, I'd rather die on the street on bags of rubbish.

- Okay. - The man turned to leave, but then stopped, sighed heavily, fixed his cap, and turned to me. - What are you doing on four people? Drunk?

- Nah. Just stupid, that's all.

- You look smart to me. - Maybe instead of a hat, he should change his main attribute to glasses.

- Not many people would agree with you.

- Hey, mate. You got someplace to be?

- Sorry, mister, but I'm not one of those.

- You got a point? All right. - the man came right up to me, which really made me tense up. - Here, come and see me tomorrow. Life gives you a kick in the balls, and-- Haaah. It's especially sad when it gives it to kids who haven't built up a backbone yet.

- I have a backbone. - I didn't understand what the stranger was saying, but I protested anyway. What did I say about growing up today?

- We'll see tomorrow. - With that he left, leaving me holding a business card that read, 'Gable Engle School of Greco-Roman Wrestling'.

.....

Upon returning home, I was treated to a scandal, even though my condition. What's more, it was on par with expulsion, with walking late and general behaviour, was on the list of grievances.

My parents, mostly my mum, scolded me until late at night. Then they gave me peroxide and bandages and sent me to my room, with instructions not to leave it without permission.

Having treated my wounds, I lay on the bed once again, and once again I didn't know what was going to happen. From downstairs came a shout from my parents, who were quite shocked by my exclusion.

Looking around the room, I realised there was nothing special about it. The usual teenage posters, the usual computer with a monitor, a wardrobe with clothes tumbling out. Maggie has ballet books in her room, a large floor mirror. Lisa has a saxophone and a cupboard full of abstruse books. And me? Just a few boxes of memories from better times under the bed.

- Maybe I should try it. - I've never been interested in fighting or wrestling, except for watching YouTube clips of knockouts and stuff, but that was more for fun than for a purpose. But what if I did?

.....

- You have absolutely no talent. - Gable Engle openly announced to the entire gym at the end of practice.

- Haaah. Haaah. Haaah. - I would have said something if I wasn't lying on the mats gasping for air.

This morning I was told off once again, after that my parents said they would start looking for a new school and I was punished by having my internet cut off and my smartphone taken away. When I plucked up the courage to go to wrestling school, I was told, 'Do whatever you want. After all, it's the only thing you're good at.'

The wrestling school treated me without yesterday's sympathy, immediately making me fall sideways on the mats for an hour, trying to relax my body. And if it doesn't seem so difficult, I was also pushed to get up.

Then there was the normal warm-up. I was also not used to it, because the warm-up felt and lasted like a whole lesson of physical education.

Then I was paired with a guy two heads taller and three times bigger, and asked to knock him down with the help of a footstool. I don't know if it was because I was so weak or because I was a bit embarrassed to injure my opponent, but during half an hour of sparring I didn't manage to knock him down.

But when it came time to switch roles... My back, my head, my arse - everything still hurts worse than after yesterday's beating, the guy literally pounded me into the floor. Speaking of which, maybe I shouldn't have gone to wrestling class the day after the beating.

- Foley, Smith, on the floor. Training rules. - Engle announced in a commanding tone, and then the two heavy-looking lads took to the blue circle and wrestled.

Kevin Foley, I think, and Mick Smith, one a curly-haired brown-haired man without an ear, the other a short-cropped blond with the face of a comedian. Probing each other from a distance with fake arm swings and body movements.

They finally clung suddenly to each other in the centre, chest crashing in, spreading their interlocked arms. Smith had the height advantage, making the position uncomfortable for Foley, but the guy was a weirdo in over his head, and seemed to enjoy the pain.

Smith began to slide Foley to the edge, taking heavy steps, piling on all his weight. Almost at the edge, Foley pulled Smith's arms towards him, his body diving downwards, forcing his opponent to smash his palms and face into the floor.

What followed was a fistfight in the centre of the ring, in which I could not make out who was holding up. As soon as Foley had his back, Smith intercepted his arm and went for the neck.

- A draw! - Eventually during the parterre struggle, both rolled outside the circle. Witnessing real Greco-Roman wrestling for the first time, I realised that these two are on the same level, and a very high level at that.

How long have these guys been wrestling? Probably since they were kids. It's definitely too late for me to even try to get close to them.....

- Simpson, Foley, circle up. - I heard the coach's voice.

There is no way that in the first session you would be thrown to the lions, and when you are beaten and exhausted by training ...

- Simpson, do I have to tell you twice?! - ...I should have written a will.

.....

- Scared! Scared! - as I pounded the ring while a hundred kilos of live meat hugged me from behind.

- Foley, three rounds to three.

- Understood. - as he let go of me, Foley rolled away and got into a pose.

- Khaaah! Khaaah! - I had nothing to do, so I got up too. - Whoaaaaaaaa!

I was dragged on my shoulder by some sort of car/beast combination. Then threw me five metres outside the circle.

- Ghaaah! My thigh. - hitting the parquet was very unpleasant.

- Simpson, circle! - but the coach was adamant.

I waddled into the circle. I had no will or belief in victory, so I just stood there waiting for Foley to drop me, or strangle me, or find some new kind of self-mutilation.

- Simpson, what the hell are you doing relaxing?! You don't have a pivot in the ring, you don't have a pivot in life!

Nodding weakly at my coach's words to myself, I assumed a pointless pose. However, Foley did not do that, on the contrary he stood with his hands on his chest and stared at me with defiance. Realising what was going on, I decided to get it over with as soon as possible and rushed at my opponent. I grabbed him by the straps of his tights, and the next second I found myself face pressed into the ground with a huge weight on my back and a broken arm.

- What kind of weakling is that? - and while I was in that position, people started talking.

- Doesn't he know how to fight at all? - I don't know how to wrestle, it's my first day!

- He can eat his belly, though! - Hey, that guy who's ripping out my arm and shoulder is much bigger than me! Although. I can feel why no one's laughing at him.

- Have you seen his construction site? He's got no respect, no character, no shit! - It's my first day again! Am I supposed to win a gold medal on my first day?!

- He's not coming back tomorrow, is he? - Of course he is! I didn't sign up to be a punching bag.

- Of course not! Look at him, he's a loser! He doesn't even have the guts to answer us! - ...

- I-I-I-I'm not a loser! - I pulled my body off the ground, using my left elbow and knees to lift myself up, and then I let go of my left arm, used it to grab my right shoulder, which was screaming in pain, and, keeping my right arm open, used it as leverage, which resulted in...

- Simpson won! - that Foley rolled off me, rolling out of the circle.

- Aah! - I felt so light in the blink of an eye, even the pain in my shoulder lessened, but I still wanted to scream.

- Ice, quick! - the coach commanded, and then the rest of the guys scrambled.

.....

- Good job, kid. - Holding an ice pack at my right shoulder blade, Coach said in a soft voice. - You got the backbone. Well, the beginnings of it.

- I'm looking forward to the next sparring session. - standing in my hoodie, he clapped me on Foley's healthy shoulder.

- Don't, I know it was deliberate, I know you gave in to me and I wouldn't stand a chance in real life. - I may be a complete moron, but I'm not falling for that trick.

- Haaah. - Kevin sighed softly, fixed his glasses and smiled. - You really did win. Of course, I purposely didn't take you seriously and stayed on the border on purpose, but is there any other way in life? - Not understanding anything, I raised my sweat-drenched head at him. - Understand, no matter how much and how well I fight, I have no chance against any dead man if he suddenly pulls out a knife. A good fighter is not the one who is heavier or taller than everyone else, although that is important, but the one who is smarter and knows how to assess his strengths and weaknesses, the one who will warn a sudden knife. What am I saying though, this rule applies not only to a good wrestler, but also to just a good man.

- What Kevin is trying to say is that there is no will if there is no reason, and there is no reason without will. We live, we suffer, we test our will, and with the help of reason we try to get out of our situation or find advantages in it. In the same way, the intellect grows stronger, more mature and reliable, overcoming this life. For example, the decision to fight someone, as well as to walk away from a fight, both require will and reason, not just divided into bravery-cowardice, stupidity-shrewdness.

- So if I ended up tapping out, would that be an exercise of will? - I got a slap on the wrist for my question.

- The difference between the last round and the ones before that is that you had a real chance to win. And you had to show some character and you knew how!

- You weren't intentionally trapped or in free flight, hahahaha.... - While Foley laughed with a wide grin, I collected everything they said and came to an opinion:

- What kind of horoscope nonsense are you rubbing in my face? - For which I got a second smack from the coach, only this time without further explanation.

- Well, you'll understand when you get older. - said Foley and headed out the door. - See you tomorrow, Bart.

- I guess? - I'm still not sure about this whole thing, but I think I can walk for a couple of days. - Well, I'd better get in the shower and get home.

- Where to?' but I was stopped by Coach's hand on my sore shoulder. - You know I don't let the boys work out for free.

I don't think I'm in a position to ask my parents for money for anything right now, so even a couple of days is worth a tab.....

- So here! - Coach handed me a bucket and a mop. - From this day forward, you're the new caretaker!

And so began my journey as a caretaker! Stop! What?! What?!