Right outside a suburban downtown school, a small ruckus once occurred. The kids were fighting. It was natural for kids to fight each other but not okay. Especially not when it was 3 against 1.
Jacob felt a kick to his ribs and his breath caught up. A sharp pain stabbed into his torso making any movement unleash a flurry of pain. A boy yanked his head up by the hair.
"Come on blackie; fight back some more!" The boy snarled. His blonde hair wet with sweat unlike Jacob's curls stained with dust.
"You're so pathetic Jacob." Another boy spat.
"Oi! The PTI is coming!" The third boy exclaimed in a hushed voice and the three of them fled.
Jacob groaned as he dragged himself out of the school's courtyard. He couldn't let the teacher learn about any of this. Word would reach his stepdad who already was always looking for excuses to beat him up.
---
"Your passport sir." The lady behind the counter called out, making Jacob return to the present. He whipped out his passport and received boarding pass. Grabbing his backpack then, he walked through the bustling airport, ignoring the girls who turned to gawk at the swell of his muscles accentuated by the form fitting T-shirt, cargo pants, adventure boots and camouflage backpack. Everything about him yelled- 'military'.
It had been 14 years since Jacob last saw his hometown. He wouldn't be going back if he could help it though, but the news about Sir Lawrence summoned him. It dragged him out of his unit station from across the continent through stretches of desert, lands, and ocean, towards the little downtown where he had first met Sir Lawrence.
---
Outside a shabby house stuffed full of junk, Jacob struggled with a trash bag too big for his size.
"…and don't sneak out runnin'!" A drunken male voice bellowed from inside the house. Jacob hadn't the energy to reply. He was tired, he was hurt, and malnourished. Having to do all the chores and errands was already too much. Add frequent bullying and a violent stepfather on top; Jacob was more screwed than anyone he had ever seen or read of.
Something caught his eye from the corner. A familiar wisp of ash blonde. His head snapped towards the grilled back-gate where stood the blonde-haired bully- Loid, from his school.
To think he wouldn't spare him even at his own house! But then Jacob half-hoped Loid would stir trouble and get his stepdad's fist on his face. It'd be worth watching two of his greatest enemies fight it out.
"You must be Jacob. Hello." Said the man standing beside Loid. Jacob hadn't notice him earlier. He looked up at the tall white man in a white suit & tie. His short golden hairs were oiled and well-combed. His round glasses suited his handsome features. This was a gentleman, possibly from English origin. Men that existed in books & TV, or in 19th century & earlier.
"I'm Lawrence Kimball; Loid's father." The man said, smiling gently. "I'd like to talk with the two of you together at once. Come; the evening air is refreshing. Let's take a walk."
---
The city looked nice from airplane's window seat. Jacob was glad it was a city down there and not another endless desert or a burning village; the usual sights that greeted him on duty.
Sometimes he envied the peace these citizens had. Minding their own businesses in their cities and towns. Watching television, shopping, bickering with their partners, complaining about quarter of a dollar's rise in gas price. They had so much freedom, time, energy, and so many fucks to give about everything. He couldn't remember the last time he had walked into a shop to buy anything. The only stores he ever barged into over the last few years were where the terrorists were hiding; where gunslinging and death danced about him; where screams of the innocent echoed, often quietened by a deafening explosion.
"Lovely ain't it?" The Latina sitting beside him asked, faking a black accent. She took a photo of the skyscape visible from Jacob's window, and Jacob was certain that she had included him in the frame.
"Beauty in the eyes of the beholder." Jacob quoted, sparing a smile for a change. His charming smile melted the girl; her cheeks flushing.
"I'm Jules." She raised a fist; Jacob tapped it back with his.
"Jacob."
---
"Jacob. Here's what you should to do," Lawrence had said. "Wear these gloves and let out all your bottled fury. Better now than decades later, blowing up on people who have nothing to do with your troubled past."
Jacob stared at the gloves not understanding why his bully's dad wanted him to fight it out with the kid, and safely too.
"Why sir? I want no trouble!" Jacob said.
"But trouble will always find you, son." Lawrence said, squatting down and staring at him at the eye-level. "You cannot hide or run forever. Trouble always finds people. You can only prepare yourself and then meet it head on. Deal with it the best you can. But so far, you've done the opposite, and so the bullying never stopped. And so, the miseries piled up. And so, you found yourself all alone, sad and pitiful, yet wanting to have no more trouble. This isn't right…"
Jacob held back tears. When was the last time anyone understood him; talked to him; guided him?
"Have faith in your fists, son. With these fists you can fight the stronger villain. With these fists you can protect your friends. With these fists you can exchange your emotions and settle scores. That's the way men do things. They fight it out where words aren't suitable." Lawrence said, patting his shoulder and then getting back up.
"Your PTI looked me up and informed me of the matter. I had a long talk with Loid then. He understands his wrongs now." Lawrence said, and Loid scowled before glaring at Jacob.
"What he did wrong was not fighting, but fighting with his little gang's help. That's the way of the cowards; picking on the weak. Real men fight fair and square. They call it dueling. That's the gentlemen's & knights' code for settling conflicts." Lawrence said. "Now the two of you will fight, fair and square for the first time. And like so only, ever afterwards until you feel you've settled the matters between you. Or… you could just become friends after throwing enough hands."
"Friends with him?" Loid spat on the park's grassy ground they had been standing on.
"In time you'll realize that everyone under our flag is our friend. Then if you'd forge your heart better, you'll realize that there are actually no enemies except circumstances. There are only opponents." Lawrence said, gazing into the distance. "And opponents can sometimes be friends as well. All with and in good spirits."
Jacob put on the gloves. Loid was ready too. They both let their fists fly without hesitation. And boy did they feel good…
---
The clouds were rumbling when Jacob trekked down the familiar roads. The night was quickly approaching. The rapid winds whipped at him. He was used to sandstorms. This here was just a breeze.
He walked past the bakery he used to eye the delicacies that he could only dream of eating when he was child. Now it didn't matter that he could buy the whole bakery. It wouldn't appease the under privileged famished child of his past. Some things don't matter anymore when they are obtained too late.
The tinkling bell of a toy shop cooed to him but he didn't bat it an eyelid. The tailor's shop, the local restaurants, the game dromes…. All the places where he had wished to thrive in when he was a kid.
Jacob's feet halted at the public library. Ah, that there was an old friend; a safe haven of knowledge. He would fancy a reminiscent visit another day. His feet took off again; his boots hammering the empty roads. The lone man walked against the storm for long, disappearing in the murk.
---
It rained hellishly, & Jacob welcomed it. The years in the Afghan deserts had been a sore that the cold rains now soothed. His waterproof military backpack guaranteed the safety of its contents.
His searchlight flashed through the headstones in the cemetery through the rainstorm for several minutes.
Finally, he found it.
A sigh escaped him, drowned by the pattering sound of rain against the new headstone that said- 'Here rests Sir Lawrence Kimball; a gentleman & knight, a father, and a father figure to many.'
Rain bathed Jacob mercilessly. It had washed away half the flowers too that were laid out at the headstone but half still remained, sodden and numerous; claiming that Sir Lawrence was loved by many, if not the entire downtown.
Jacob crouched down and unpacked a pair of small red boxing gloves. He left them over the grave and murmured; "Thank you; dad…"
---
The morning sunlight shined upon Jacob as he walked towards the house he knew as a haven. This was the house where Sir Lawrence taught him, trained him; passed down his knightly code to him.
He wasn't going to linger for long. And he could not reminisce the old times in his mourning. He had a duty to fulfil. He had to take down the man responsible for Sir Lawrence's demise.
The one Jacob had had numerous brawls with throughout his childhood. The person he knew by his fists. The one who was going to pay dearly.
Sir Laurance's own son; Loid.