Lock-Up

The school bell rang, and Jonathan Crane hurried to gather up his books and papers, rushing out of class and over to his locker. He twisted the dial with trembling fingers, unlocking it and grabbing his bag, and then racing out of the school. He ran as fast as he could away from the building and out into the streets of Gotham City, but as he passed an alleyway, he was suddenly seized.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, nerd?" hissed a familiar, unpleasant voice. Crane stared in horror at the boy who had hold of his arm, surrounded by his usual two cronies.

"Richard…how did you…"

"I cut class," snorted the boy, slamming Crane hard into the wall opposite and knocking the breath from his body. "You think you're so clever racing outta school for the past week and hoping to avoid me, but you weren't clever enough to take a different route home, were you, nerd boy? Easy enough to lie in wait for you, genius."

Richard punched Crane in the stomach, knocking him to his knees. "Now we gotta teach you a lesson, Crane," he murmured. "For trying to outsmart me, for trying to avoid the punishment you so justly deserve for being a know-it-all. Unless of course you'd be willing to reconsider my offer."

Crane was shaking in terror, but he glared up at him. "I'm not going to do your tests for you," he growled. "Or your homework. If you're not smart enough to pass high school, that's not my problem."

Richard grinned. "Oh, I think it is, Johnny," he whispered. "Or at least, it will be."

He snapped his fingers, and the two cronies approached them. "Boys, we gotta teach Johnny here a lesson in respect," said Richard, rolling up his sleeves. "For a smart guy, he can be really, really dumb."

Crane felt his nose break on the first punch, and he had no sooner experienced that pain than a punch to the chest made one of his ribs crack. After that, it was just a blur of pain and blows, while Crane tried futilely to curl into a ball to protect himself.

"That's enough," said Richard at last. "I think he gets the message."

He grabbed Crane by the hair, hauling him to his feet. "See you tomorrow, nerd," he said, grinning at him. He then threw him back down on the pavement and sauntered off with his cronies, leaving Crane lying in the alley.

Crane let the tears he had been holding back burst forth as he lay in a heap, not willing or able to get up. After several minutes of sobbing, it started to rain and Crane managed to struggle to his feet, wiping his eyes and trying to control himself. He hobbled out of the alley, leaning heavily against the sides of buildings as he made his way home.

He pushed open the door to his house and collapsed into the nearest chair in the kitchen. His mother entered at that moment, and just looked at him.

"For God's sake, Jonathan!" she snapped. "Not again!"

"I'm afraid I can't help it, Mother," he growled.

"You think it's easy to get bloodstains out of your clothing?" she demanded. "You think I like having to repair all the rips and tears? Do you?"

Crane didn't respond, glaring at his shaking fists. "You must have provoked him in some way," continued his mother. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he snapped.

"Well, stop doing nothing," she retorted. "Fight back or something, like a man."

Crane bit his lip, clearly trying to control his rage. "Yes, Mother," he muttered.

She sighed. "Go change," she snapped. "We won't tell your father about this, to spare you another lecture. You should be thankful for that. Just try not to disturb him when you go past his study – he's in the middle of some very important research."

"As usual," muttered Crane. He struggled to stand, and failed, collapsing back into the chair.

"For goodness sake, Jonathan – no wonder the bullies pick on you!" snapped his mother. "You make everything so melodramatic! You have to man up! Sometimes people ask for beatings, you know, by being attention-seeking and weird! It's like your father says, and he's a philosophy professor, so he should know! You're a smart boy – just find out what they don't like about you and stop doing it! It's not that hard!"

Crane didn't respond, standing up and managing to head out of the kitchen. He slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor, heading for his room.

"Is that you, Jonathan?" called his father from his study.

"Yes, Father," said Crane.

"Come in here for a moment – I need you to take some dictation."

"I…can't just right now, Father," said Crane.

The door to the study opened and an elderly man with glasses popped his head out. "Can't?" he repeated. "Ah. I see," he said, noticing the state of his son. He nodded inside. "Come in, Jonathan."

Crane obeyed, hobbling into the room that was covered in books, notes, and papers. "Sit down," said his father, gesturing to a chair. He sat across from him, studying his son.

"Why do bullies attack you?" he asked at last.

"Because I'm intelligent," Crane replied. "And different."

"Intelligent, yes," agreed his father. "Different, no. You only think you're different, Jonathan. Truthfully, you're like every other boy your age. Nobody is special, you see – human beings are all very much alike. We all want the same things, and we all go about the same ways of getting them. Individuality is a dangerous myth – animals in the wild have no such mentality. Human civilization shouldn't either, if it's to survive. We must have a herd mentality, and work together for the good of the human race, not worship at the cult of self-aggrandizing madmen. And not encourage this delusion that everyone is special and unique and different. It's terribly damaging, as you know from personal experience," he said, nodding at his son.

Crane was silent. "Father, I don't fit in at school," he said at last. "I've tried, but…I am different from the others. I don't have the same interests or hobbies…"

"Because you haven't tried to cultivate them," interrupted his father.

"I have tried," protested Crane. "I have tried to take an interest in sports and social activities, but…it hasn't done any good. They don't interest me."

"Try harder," retorted his father. "Force yourself to be interested. For your own good. The bullying will stop if you fit in, son. You just need to try harder to do that. And I know you can. Humans are social creatures who naturally try to conform. We all can do it. We all should do it."

Crane said nothing. "How do you feel when you're beaten?" asked his father.

"Afraid," replied Crane. "I feel…afraid."

"Good. Use that fear whenever you interact with people. Remind yourself of the punishment for not fitting in. Fear is an evolutionary asset, a survival mechanism. It protects us from pain. Listen to the fear, use it and embrace it."

"I don't think…it's something I can control," stammered Crane.

"Intelligent people can control anything," said his father, calmly. "And you are an intelligent boy, Jonathan. You can control the fear."

Crane gazed up into his father's eyes. "Yes, Father," he whispered. "Perhaps I can."