Tight Rope — Book 1 in the Restrained Desire Series — Chapter 1
“What are you doing here?” Brady Mossley demanded, the anger evident in his voice. Ralph Walter blinked. He blinked hard.
Ralph clutched the pentagram he had worn for years on a chain around his neck as Brady cruelly pinned him against the wall. Brady practically growled at Ralph as his putrid breath assailed Ralph’s nostrils.
“I… I was just emptying the trash,” Ralph responded, his voice shaking.
Only moments earlier, Ralph had walked into Mr. Albert’s classroom to do his work for the afternoon. As afraid of Brady as he currently was, Ralph had to admit he was lucky to have this job cleaning the school after he finished classes every day. Most people didn’t want to hire him, after all, and he needed the money.
Ralph finally released his deathly grip from the pentagram and threw his arm down to his side, ever eying Brady with terror. Still, Ralph had started working out with weights, of sorts, three months prior, and he was actually starting to see some results. Who knows? Maybe he could actually take Brady in a fight. Maybe.
“You need to mind your own business,” Brady said, pointing his finger directly at Ralph’s nose. Ralph only hoped that he didn’t end up with a black eye a few days before his interview at Gordon Tire Company. In a few days he would have his interview for the job of his dreams, and perhaps his only shot at a real position of any kind, as his grades and test scores weren’t good enough to get into college. He was surprised he even landed this interview, but a flyer had appeared on his door. Ralph never knew who put it there. And yet, he had to wonder what manager of a high-quality job would ever hire a man who simply couldn’t stop blinking his eyes or checking his shoelaces to make sure they were still tied.
Once more Ralph reached for the pentagram, but Brady’s arm blocked him from grabbing it. Ralph’s father hated the fact that he wore that pentagram everywhere he went, apparently viewing it as Satanic, but Ralph would never take it off. That pentagram was a symbol of Ralph’s belonging in the world. Perhaps Satan was even the patron saint of misfits like Ralph.
“I… I’m not eighteen yet,” Ralph pleaded. He knew such an argument was a long shot to avoid being punched in the face, but Ralph also knew Brady had turned eighteen a few months before. The fact that Ralph’s eighteenth birthday fell on the following day would be no matter in the eyes of the law. Today, if on no other day in the future however, Ralph was still a minor, and Brady — theoretically at least being an adult — would get in major trouble if he assaulted Ralph. Slowly, Brady backed away, but his face never softened.
“I don’t care how old you are,” Brady sneered. Ralph’s eyes shifted from side to side, and he quickly glanced over at Brady’s girlfriend or whomever Brady had decided to make out with in this classroom today when Ralph walked in to find them. Ralph didn’t even know her name, but he had seen her over the years at this school. That girl seemed to watch Brady’s abhorrent interaction with Ralph in complete indifference, as was so common in Ralph’s experience whenever someone decided to have a little fun at his expense.
Ralph was breathing heavily at this point, a lifetime of struggles with anxiety overwhelming him for perhaps the thousandth or even the millionth time. “But you’re lucky you have some powerful friends, whoever they are,” Brady continued. With those words, Brady backed away still more, and then he sat down next to the girl Ralph had found him here with. Both Brady and that girl stared uncomfortably at Ralph, who tried as hard as he could to avoid this intrusive eye contact.
This was actually not Ralph’s first negative encounter with Brady, nor was it the first time Ralph realized there were people helping him that he didn’t know about. A few years before, when Ralph was fifteen, Brady had also come for Ralph.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Brady demanded as he held Ralph against the wall when Ralph was fifteen and Brady was sixteen, using nearly the same words he did today. Brady had apparently decided to seek some cruel entertainment with Ralph in the cafeteria that day, and so many other students were standing around, watching the horrid spectacle. At the time, Ralph couldn’t find it in himself to say anything in response. His mouth grew dry, and he simply stared back at Brady in silence. “Answer me!” Brady screamed.
Ralph nervously surveyed the other students as he stood there before them, blinking his eyes like a madman that day just as he did now. But even in that terrible moment, even as Brady demanded an answer from Ralph, Ralph was unable to speak. His terror muted him.
When it became clear that Brady realized Ralph still couldn’t answer, Brady grabbed a fistful of Ralph’s blond hair and used it to pull his head down, forcing Ralph to bend at the waist, further humiliating him.
It was remarkable to Ralph how diverse the other students’ reactions were, and Ralph realized he might never understand many of them. Some of those other students laughed at Ralph’s torment in cruel delight. Some looked on in their own horror at what was happening. Some were indifferent. But everyone in the cafeteria that day seemed to make time to stand and watch Ralph’s suffering in silence, regardless of his or her opinion about it.
And no one came to Ralph’s rescue. Not yet anyway.
“Give me your lunch money, freak,” Brady said at the time.
“Are you serious?” came a voice from behind Brady. Slowly, Brady let go of Ralph’s hair and turned to see who was standing behind him. There stood Jack Phillip, a boy whom Ralph had never even interacted with. Jack was popular, and he was an excellent student. He was a few years older than Ralph, and Ralph knew at that time that Jack would be graduating. Jack was tall, muscular, and in Ralph’s opinion, a very handsome boy at the school. Ralph had always been nervous around Jack for that reason, and in fact, Ralph’s tics always grew worse whenever he was around anyone he found as attractive as Jack Phillip.
“What do you want?” Brady said to Jack, now standing tall and moving into Jack’s personal space. Jack didn’t back down at all, however, but simply stared back, and the two boys stood nose to nose. Brady had always been a muscular boy himself, and he worked out as part of his training on the varsity football team, but Jack was still likely the stronger of the two. And yet, why would Jack Phillip be so averse to Brady tormenting Ralph?
“Lunch money, Brady? Is this a time warp to 1992, or are you low on material?” Jack said.
“Mind your business.”
“Oh, I am,” Jack replied, nodding. Then, without any warning whatsoever, Jack drew back his fist and sent it through the air toward Brady’s face. It landed squarely on Brady’s left cheek, sending Brady falling backward onto the ground. Brady looked up at Jack in what could only be shock, but he didn’t fight back. He must have known better. After all, boys like Brady always did whatever possible to avoid fights with physically worthy opponents.
Now everyone in the cafeteria turned their attention to Brady, the new victim in this scene. Brady slowly stood, and he glared with hate at Jack. Then he looked at Ralph in much the same way before slinking out of the cafeteria, likely to lick his wounds and sooth his bruised ego.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, walking to Ralph and putting his hands onto Ralph’s face, just under his chin. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” Ralph said, but Ralph knew well his lie was immediately obvious. While it was true that Brady had not actually physically assaulted Ralph, the scars of yet another humiliation would remain with Ralph for a long time.
Jack nodded and turned, starting to walk away. As the other students began milling about once again, returning to their previous business as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Ralph quickly tried to catch up with Jack.
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“Hey,” he said, running behind Jack, just a little out of breath.
“What?” Jack asked, grabbing a tray and putting some food on it. “Are you gonna eat?”
“Yeah,” Ralph replied, and he grabbed a tray as well and put a plate of food onto it. “I just wanted to know, why did you do that?”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, a mocking quizzical look plastered on his face.
“We’ve never even talked before. Why would you take up for me?”
Jack took his hands from the tray he had been sliding down the line, and he turned to Ralph. He placed a hand on each of Ralph’s shoulders and leaned down to eye level with him.
“You’re right to ask. I don’t normally think it’s my place to interfere in things like that,” Jack said. He paused and looked up at the ceiling, clearly searching for just the right words. “Let’s just say someone important thinks you’re very special.”
“Special?” Ralph repeated, as if he didn’t know the word. “Who thinks I’m special?” Ralph could hardly believe what he was hearing. The town he lived in was midsized, but there were only a few elementary schools and even fewer high schools in the county. He had gone to one of the poorest of each, and Ralph had always considered himself the village idiot at the schools he had attended. The kids made fun of him, often asking in mocking voices why he couldn’t walk more than a few steps without checking to see if his shoelaces were tied. They laughed at him as he blinked his eyes, even when he did so unknowingly. Of course, in that sense, Ralph was special, but not in a good way. Still, Ralph had to wonder who in the name of God would think he was special enough to protect from the torments and bullying of someone like Brady Mossley.
After the painful recall of everything that had happened a few years before, Ralph finally returned to the present moment, and once more he found Brady and his girlfriend staring at him. He realized then that Jack Phillip had never answered him.
“Well, what are you waiting for, Ralph? Empty the trash and get the hell out.”
Immediately, Ralph ran to the trashcan and picked it up. Then he scooted into the hallway and emptied it, not even bothering to change the liner, before returning it to the classroom.
“Excuse me,” Ralph whispered as he made his way back into the hallway to continue moving from classroom to classroom to empty the trash and do the light cleaning the school paid him to do. He only wished his shift would finally come to an end so he could go home and eat something bland and inexpensive for supper before going to bed.
Ralph once more grabbed the pentagram and clenched his eyes tightly shut as he held it, dreaming of a home and a tribe that would accept him exactly as he was.
Ralph surmised he might only find things like that on some other planet.
So of course, Ralph knew well that such a place and such a tribe didn’t even exist, but a realization like that did nothing to curtail his fantasies of belonging, unreasonable and unlikely as they might have been.
“I should have started on the other side of the school,” Ralph mumbled to himself as he rolled the yellow trash cart to the next room. In fact, Ralph always started on this side of the school. As an odd coincidence, Brady and his girlfriend happened to sneak into Mr. Albert’s classroom that day to make out. Mr. Albert always seemed to leave right after school let out each afternoon, but Ralph still clung to the hope that he might catch him alone at some point. Ralph didn’t know what he would actually do in the event of such a chance encounter, which would likely be both awkward and fruitless, but that didn’t stop Ralph from ceaselessly thinking about it.
A moment later, Mr. Bartlett, the school principal, walked around the corner, his eyes fiery as he viewed Ralph.
“These classrooms look like hell, Ralph,” Mr. Bartlett complained. “Graduation is next week. You really need to do better.” He shook his head as he continued glaring at Ralph.
“Yes sir,” Ralph said. “I understand.”
“Well, get to it,” Mr. Bartlett said, snapping his fingers in Ralph’s face and walking past him without another word. So much for wishing Ralph a happy eighteenth birthday the next day. Ralph had worked cleaning the school for the entire year, but Mr. Bartlett had never grown to be particularly kind to him. Yet it didn’t matter. Ralph’s birthday would be a complete bust this year. Ralph and his father were entirely too poor to celebrate the next day anyway. There would be no school on Ralph’s birthday as an ironic coincidence, as there were too many preparations to make for graduation, but Ralph would not be helping with the arrangements. He was just responsible for the cleaning. Nothing more. Still, the same eternal question haunted Ralph. Who could think a boy — soon to be a man — like him was special?
As Ralph walked into the bathroom, he threw the toilet brush onto the floor and stood for a moment in front of the cracked, cloudy mirror, quickly glancing at a message on the wall written in lip gloss that said to call Becky for a good time with what was supposedly her telephone number written below. Ralph stared at himself in that mirror with sudden strange interest. Was he, in fact, special to someone? Was there a person out there who saw that he had worth, even if he couldn’t see it in himself?
Ralph looked blankly into his own eyes for a long time, studying the youthful appearance of his face. And yet, his body wasn’t nearly as youthful. All Ralph’s recent weightlifting was starting to pay off. Of course, his face was still annoyingly boyish, but his chest was starting to fill out. His arms were bigger. If he had had the money, he would have bought himself new clothes to accommodate his rapidly shifting form.
Then he lifted up his shirt and looked at his flat tummy, a few ridges starting to form there as the definition was beginning to take shape through what had been a layer of baby fat.
Then he put down his shirt and blinked again, shaking his head rapidly.
The money Ralph earned at the school was precious, and the job would end for the summer. If he didn’t get this position at Gordon Tire Company, he didn’t know how he would survive. His dad’s government benefits would never be enough to sustain them. In fact, Ralph couldn’t even afford a gym membership. He had looked online for ways he could work out without using a gym or weights, and then he took some of his money and bought a case and two jugs of water, using them as a barbell and dumbbells. It was certainly a poor man’s solution to weight training, but at least it seemed to be working.
He lifted his arm and flexed his biceps, and his lips curled into a grin. Did he dare to wonder if he might be sexy to someone? Then the shame came over him once more, shame for being the man he fundamentally was.
“Who?” he started to say, but his words failed him. His eyes grew misty as he contemplated all that had happened to him over the years, all the abuse he had suffered at the hands of the cruel bullies who had tormented him and, perhaps worse, all the students who had ignored him and denied him the hand of friendship simply because everyone had branded him as weird. And being weird was perhaps the worst thing a kid could be, at least from a social standpoint.
“Who?” he repeated, and once more he couldn’t find it in himself to finish the question. The shame, the fear, the anger were all too much. Once more he blinked, clenching his eyes shut for several seconds before he could open them again. But before he would start cleaning that bathroom and finish his dull and deeply unsatisfying work that day, he would ask the question he knew he must, and he would do so out loud. He would will himself to ask it using his own voice. He would find the courage to utter those words, those terrifying words, those amazing words. So he opened his mouth, staring himself once more directly in the eye. He paused. And as hard as it was, he smiled.
“I wonder,” he said. “Who likes me?”
