When Billy Met Joe

by MR

By the time Billy Boisy was 10 and his parents moved to Gimli, he'd mastered the art of lying. He'd learned the world owed him nothing and his parents owed him even less. He'd absorbed the lessons the old man beat into him like a sponge, so he knew that he was worthless, too small and skinny to ever stand up for himself, and that he'd be better off dead. There were times he agreed with the last sentiment himself.

Gimli Community was the 12th school he'd gone to since starting Grade One. This move was the 15th his parents had made since he was born. All the moves had been his fault. If he'd just kept his fuckin' mouth shut, not answered the teacher's questions, not told...well, they'd all be sitting pretty back in Regina wouldn't they? Thus said the old man, and it was only recently that Billy had started to wonder if the old man really knew everything. Lord knows he believed he did and Billy's mom had certainly never done anything to disabuse him of the notion. But then she and Billy were pretty much in the same boat. He had an idea that if he'd been built more like the old man and less like his mom he wouldn't have had to put up with half the shit he did.

He'd talked mom out of walking him to school the night before; she meant well, but he'd have enough fighting to do as was without the added embarrassment of being escorted to school by his mommy. She seemed to forget he wasn't a little kid anymore; that he hadn't, in fact, been one for quite some time.

By the timely expedient of not arriving until after the bell had already rung, he managed to avoid the pre-school playground rush and delay the inevitable a while longer. The Principal, a tall skinny woman with a face like a horse, had even been nice about him being late. "Hard to know exactly when to come first day in a new school, isn't it?" She'd remarked, and he'd politely said, "Yes, ma'am," despite the fact he knew damn well what time school started.

There was some confusion as to which grade he should be in (what with all those different schools and the fact that he'd often started a grade in one and finished it in another) which meant that he was even later getting to class than he would've been otherwise. And of course, there was the formal "introduction by the teacher " (Miss Carlin), thereby assuring he'd have at least half the guys in class waiting for him at first recess.

Since he was so late he ended up at the very back of the room across from some kid who looked like he should've been in Grade Eight instead of Grade Five. He was bigger than all the other kids in class, which meant he was a lot bigger than Billy, and the way he kept glancing sideways at him and smirking let Billy know who was going to be leader of the gang waiting outside at first recess. Still he supposed it didn't matter. He already had a black eye. What were they going to do, give him one to match? Break his ribs again? Kill him?

The last thought was so funny he almost laughed out loud. Wouldn't that just piss the old man off? As he was fond of saying, "I brought you into this world boy, and I can take you out." It'd fuckin' kill him if someone else beat him to it.

He pretended he was dead sometimes. At night mostly, after mom and the old man were asleep. He'd lie in bed and close his eyes and pretend he was dead and think that this is what death would be like; dark and quiet and cool, and he'd never have to listen to anyone screaming or get whacked upside the head again. He supposed it should've scared him thinking like that, especially when mom drug him to church with her Sundays, but he'd decided long ago that most ministers reminded him of the old man; always shouting about fire and brimstone and eternal damnation. If they could figure out some way to do it and not get sued they'd probably whack their parishioners upside the head too.

"Billy?" He looked up at Miss Carlin, who was wearing a plaid skirt with a striped blouse of an entirely different color. "Aren't you going to go out to recess? The bell rang."

Billy nodded sagely, tried to decide if he could beg off by pretending to be sick, then figured it was too early in the game to pull that trick. He didn't know how long he'd be here. Wouldn't do to break out the arsenal all at once.

He took his time putting on his jacket and walking down the hallway, but Gimli School wasn't that big and the hallway was fairly short. And much sooner than he wanted to, he pushed open the door and stepped out onto the playground.

This was the part he hated the worst. If they could've just gotten the entire "let's beat the shit out of Billy to show him who's in charge here" business over and done with before school even started he wouldn't have minded going nearly as much. Or just compress it all into one day, or better yet one recess period, though he supposed that'd be pushing it. And he'd learned early on that trying to talk his way out (or fight back) just made it worse. So now he simply stood there watching the rest of the kids, waiting for someone to start the Gimli round of "Let's beat up Billy Boisy

Except that no one did. Oh they were looking at him, sizing him up, but nobody even came close and after about five minutes he started to get seriously worried. He checked the teachers who were doing playground monitor, but they didn't seem to be paying any more attention to the kids than they had at any of the other schools he'd gone to. By the time the bell rang signaling the end of recess he was almost physically ill. Something, he realized, as he was swept up in the rush of kids into the building, had gone badly wrong with the universe.

In the coatroom, he latched onto a girl who was even smaller than him. "How come nobody picked a fight on the playground?"

She looked at him like he had a few screws loose. "Joe said not to."

"Who's Joe?"

"Him," she pointed at the back of the room, where the Grade Five in the Grade Eight body was already in his seat. "Joe said, 'Don' beat him up, kids, looks like he's been through the mill already', an then he said if anybody laid a hand on you he'd fuckin' break it off."

Billy considered this revelation as he made his way back to his seat, sliding in just as the teacher started talking. He kept wanting to look at Joe, to see if he could figure out why he'd done something so strange, but he was afraid to for fear doing so would anger him and he'd withdraw the protection order. Still he hardly heard what the teacher said and it was only after the bell had rung for lunch that he realized someone had shoved a folded piece of paper into his hand, Dry mouthed, he opened it.

MEET ME OUTSIDE AFTER SCHOOL. J.

By the time the end of the day came, Billy really was sick to his stomach. Joe hadn't so much as looked at him once and the afternoon recess had been as eerily peaceful as the morning one. He'd spent all afternoon trying to figure out what possible angle Joe could have for wanting to protect him, and the only one he could come up with was that he wanted to do the job himself.

So he got into his coat and didn't even bother to hang back going down the hall. Joe was a big sucker and this was going to hurt like hell (to say nothing of what the old man'd do to him once he got home), but he might as well get it out of the way so life could settle into its predictably normal, shitty routine.

But nothing could've prepared him for stepping out the door onto the playground to find it deserted, except for a couple of kids waiting for their school bus and Joe sitting at the bottom of the slide smoking. Not that it surprised him Joe was smoking (hell, he smoked when he could steal a cigarette), just him sitting there like he was waiting for the bus too, or maybe a ride home.

"Took you long enough." Joe's voice was so deep Billy wondered if maybe he really 'was' supposed to be in Grade Eight and had just gotten held back a few too many years. He reached out and twitched Billy's denim jacket aside, studying him carefully. "Jesus, you're a skinny little shit. Don' they ever feed you?"

"Yeah." Billy tried to make it sound casual, despite being scared to death.

"Wanna smoke?" He nodded and Joe pulled a pack of Players out of his jacket pocket, shook one out and lit it off his, then handed it to Billy. "Where'd you get the shiner?"

Billy accepted the cigarette and took a deep drag, letting the smoke trickle out slowly. "Run into a door."

"Wrong." Joe snatched the cigarette away. "Look Billy, that your name?" Billy nodded. "I'm not stupid, Billy Boy, 'kay? I'm tryin' to be your friend, but if I'm gonna be your friend then you gotta tell me the truth. So we'll try it again; where'd you get the shiner?"

Billy considered the oddness of anyone wanting to be his friend. He'd never had a friend before. Never stayed in one place long enough. He looked at Joe and wondered what it'd be like to have a friend. Like it was on the TV, with you standing up for each other and telling each other secrets?

"I'm waitin' here." Joe had finished his own cigarette and was smoking Billy's.

Billy saw he was going to have to wing it. "My old man."

Joe took the cigarette out of his mouth and studied him a minute. "He do that a lot?"

Billy considered lying, but he had this feeling Joe would know if he did. "All the fuckin' time. Dislocated my shoulder once."

"Yer shittin' me?"

"Naw. Broke my arm, cracked three a my ribs. Gave me a concussion an I hadda stay overnight in the hospital." Joe wasn't looking at him like he didn't believe him. Billy wasn't sure 'what' the look on his face meant. "What, your old man never smacks you round?"

"Don' got an old man," Joe handed the cigarette back to Billy. "Jus' me, my mom n' my older brother. You got any brothers or sisters?"

Billy almost choked. "Hell no. I was a mistake."

"He tol' you that?" Billy assumed that by "He" Joe was referring to the old man and nodded. "Motherfuck. An your mom let'im?"

Billy shrugged. "Don' got much choice. She's built like me. Opens her mouth wrong an he'll crack her one too." He eased down onto the cement. "So where's your old man?"

"Damned if I know." Joe took out another Player and lit it with a cheap-looking lighter. "Left after I was born. I sure's hell don' remember'im. My older brother Kevin does, a little; he says I ain't missin' much."

"That's for sure." Billy smoked the butt down as far as he could without burning himself, then flipped it onto the concrete and ground it out with the toe of his sneaker. "Why you wanna be my friend?"

"Cause your tough."

Billy laughed so hard Joe had to pound him on the back. "You're crazy, man! No way I'm tough."

"Yeah?" Joe lit another cigarette and gave it to him. "So answer me a question, smart guy. If you're not tough how come you're still alive?"

How come you're still alive? What the fuck sort've weird-ass question was that?

"If you were really weak he'd a killed you years ago. Way I figure it you're a contentious prick who refuses to budge. How many time's he put you in the emergency room an you've been back home the next day, Billium?"

Billy just sat there stunned. How many times 'had' the old man kept hitting him long after the damage was done? Even the time he'd used his belt buckle, he still hadn't made Billy scream. If anyone was screaming it was 'him', always carrying on about doing his fatherly duty.

"See, I'm right." Joe snorted cigarette smoke out his nose. "You're a tough little shit, you jus' never knew it. Couldn' know it, I spose, with the parents you got."

Billy couldn't help grinning. He didn' even mind when Joe cuffed him upside the head lightly. "I never had any friends before."

"That's cause you been waitin' for me to come along." Joe smirked. He stood up and offered Billy a hand, pulling him to his feet. "Where you live?"

"229 Archer Crescent."

"You shittin' me?" Billy shook his head. "Hell, man, I live jus' up the street. This' fuckin' great!" He slung an arm around Billy's shoulders. "You know how to play guitar?" Billy shook his head. "Well you gotta learn 'kay? Cause I'm gonna start a band."

"When?"

"When we're older, dipstick." He gave Billy's arm an affectionate punch. "An I can jus' tell you're gonna be a killer guitar player man. Look at those fingers."

FIN

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