Photo by Jacob Rank on Unsplash
by Gary Fincke
He asks his friend why he needs, after lunch, to fight Darryl K, the school record-holder for bench press, dead lift, and number of suspensions, and his friend says, “No reason,” not pausing while they walk to the second-floor boys’ room where Darryl K locks the door behind the two of them and his younger brother who, like he does, holds an unbuttoned and stripped-off shirt like a best man.
Silently, then, Darryl K and his friend fight for no reason, swinging fists until his friend’s blood dripped from his nose and Darryl K, not bleeding, shows swelling below one narrowing eye. Silently, before too long, he counts the tugs on the door to seven, the knocks to ten just as his friend falls against a sink, a slam that makes him think of choices he has before his friend’s jaw or ribs could be crushed by the weaponry of boots.
But then Darryl K. kneels to talk his friend back from the sudden blackout of concussion, steadying his eyes with words, even when the eleventh knock has a teacher’s voice, even, after his friend stands, washing their hands and faces in that stained sink as if they don’t hear “What’s going on?” repeated into threat.
In a minute, a janitor would bring a master key, but he and Darryl’s brother offered those oxfords they buttoned and tucked into their jeans before they combed their hair, and Darryl K., who would lose a leg to gangrene within a year, shook his hand as if he deserved something for standing so close to danger. When Darryl unlocks that door, they walk out in pairs, he and his friend in front because Darryl K. knows they are the boys who will be trusted when they lie, keeping their stories so straight they could ride that road right through the landscape of jagged questions, saying “No reason” until it is true.
Gary Fincke’s latest flash collection is The History of the Baker’s Dozen (Pelekinesis, 2024). He is co-editor of the annual anthology Best Microfiction.
