The Knife Thrower
By My Soap Box
As soon as the bell rang, indicating the end of the school day, Chuck gathered his books and headed toward his locker. A minute later, Morgan's head appeared from behind Chuck's locker door.
"Hey, Wolfenstein 3D today?" he asked. "I read in Compute Gazette that if you pop the disk out right after you die…"
Chuck didn't hear much of what Morgan was saying. "No, sorry Morgan, I've got…uh… National Honors Society," he said zipping his backpack. "Maybe after dinner?" he added as he closed his locker and hurried off in the other direction.
After taking a roundabout way to the bike racks, Chuck was soon peddling towards the community center. He just needed to check the lights one last time, he told himself. And that circuit breaker, the breaker needed work too. And he didn't want Morgan to worry about it; he could take care of it himself. So what if the face of a certain magician's daughter kept coming to his mind all day, that didn't have anything to do with it. He was just being a good citizen. That's all.
He drove up the sidewalk to the community center and locked his bike in the rack.
"Hey, Mrs. Benson," Chuck said to the older woman who was sitting behind the front desk.
"Charles," she said, smiling. "I saw that you guys got the lights all set up for the talent show tomorrow night."
"We're having a little problem with the breakers, but I'm gonna to take a look at it."
The older woman nodded her head, "This old place is falling apart. That's why these fundraisers are so important. Did you know last year we brought in over ten thousand dollars?"
Chuck whistled. "That's a lot of money for a talent show."
"Oh, It's not the talent show, that's just to get people to come, it's the silent auction before the talent show that really brings in the money. And this year will be the best ever!"
"That's great Mrs. Benson. Hopefully, I can patch this place together long enough to get through the show." Chuck waved at the woman and made his way to the double doors that led to the hall.
As he entered he heard the muffled voices of an argument behind the curtains of the stage.
"You said this would be the last time." If Chuck wasn't mistaken, that was Becky's voice.
"I know, but things change," a man's voice answered. He was sure it was the magician.
"Things always change. It's not fair."
"I know I promised that we'd settle down; I haven't forgotten. But darli'n, this one will make it all possible."
"That's what you said last time."
The magician's voice faltered. "I…I know… things have been rough sometimes…"
"Sometimes!" The girl's voice raised in pitch.
"But this is the big one. The pot at the end of our rainbow. The one that will make our dreams come true. After this weekend we'll have the start we need."
"I'm sick of this! Sick of your promises."
"I'm doing the best I can. Do you think this is easy?" The Magician's voice was getting angrier now.
"It's always been what you want. Your jobs. Your ideas. What about me? What about what I want."
"It's all for you. Every bit of it has been for you. Ever since your mother…"
"Don't you bring her into this."
"Why not? I was never good enough for her either. And now you're turning out to be just like her."
"I hate you!" Becky yelled.
Chuck saw the curtain rustle and before he could even think to hide, Becky came storming out from behind them, off the stage and down the aisle. Her eyes met his and she quickly turned away and rushed out the door. Not before he could see that she was crying. He wanted to go after her, but wasn't sure what he'd say. Still, he hated to see anyone cry, especially someone like Becky. He thought again of her bracelet buried deep in his jeans pocket.
"You there. Stage boy."
Chuck looked up and saw the magician standing on the stage. He was composed, like nothing had happened. "Chuck," Chuck supplied.
"Ah yes, well, Chuckles, I'm glad you're here, there are a few lighting cues I need to work out with you. And do you happen to have some WD40; the trap door on my disappearing cabinet seems to be sticking."
"Yeah, let me get it," Chuck said approaching the stage. He glanced back and thought of Becky. No chance of following her now.
An hour later after talking to Mrs. Benson about a few more supplies he needed, Chuck got on his bike and started to peddle home. He had kept a lookout for Becky, but had seen no sight of her. Wherever she had run away to, she was long gone now. Chuck turned the corner at the end of the block and peddled past the old Motor Inn. Just as he was about to cross the street, he heard a dull thump and then another. He stopped his bike, leaning on one leg, to listen. His pulse went up a little as he recognized the sound, so he turned his bike around and drove back towards the Motor Inn. He followed the sound between the rundown buildings towards the back. There beside the dumpster was Becky Franco. An old pallet was leaning up the back wall of the motel, with small throwing knives sticking out of some of the slats.
If she saw him approach, she made no acknowledgment.
"Hey," Chuck said.
She said nothing.
"Um…" Chuck stammered, "Remember me? From the community center?"
She didn't even glance his way. "Hey," she finally responded.
THWACK! Another knife seemed to sprout from the pallet.
"That's pretty cool," Chuck said, getting off his bike, and engaging the kick stand.
"Thanks." She walked up to the pallet and pulled her knives out one by one.
"Do you live around here?" Chuck asked. He wondered why he had never seen her at school.
Becky pointed one of her knives toward the motel in response.
"You're staying here?" Chuck clarified.
"We're just passing through," she said. "We're always just passing through," she mumbled more to herself than to him. She raised her arm, hand beside her ear, and then with one quick, fluid motion, she let one of the knives fly.
THWACK! It stuck strait out of the board.
Chuck tried to ignore the sharp metal objects. "That's gotta be tough," was all Chuck could think to say.
"Ya think?" Becky responded sarcastically.
Chuck swallowed hard. Maybe he was in over his head here. "Yeah," is all the response he managed. He shuffled his feet, kicking up gravel from the degrading black top.
THWACK!
This was not going as he has expected. Maybe it was better to just acknowledge the elephant in the room, Chuck thought. "I heard you and your dad talking a little while ago."
Becky said nothing, didn't even acknowledge what he had said.
THWACK!
Chuck continued, "Well, it's just…You know, sometimes when I'm upset, if I talk about it…"
"I'm not very good at talking," Becky said, her wrist flicking again.
THWACK!
"But…ya know…maybe if you tried…"
She spun to face him, one silver knife remaining in her left hand. "Look, you seem really nice and everything…" Her eyes were the bluest eyes he had ever seen. "…but you don't even know me, so butt out!"
"You're right. Sorry." Chuck turned and headed for his bicycle.
THWACK!
Deflated, Chuck went to kick up the stand when he felt the small bulge in his jeans pocket. The bracelet. It was all he needed to boost his bravery. He turned back and walked up to her again. "You know, you're right, I should mind my own business. I've never been very good at that. But really, I just want to be your friend. Is that so bad? So, I'm going to give you another chance." He reached out his hand to her, "Hi, I'm Chuck."
Becky looked down to his proffered hand, hesitating. For a moment Chuck was afraid she would turn away. But then she looked up at him, right into his eyes and after a heartbeat, he saw her jaw relax and her eyes soften, just a little. And then the most amazing thing happened. She smiled. Not a big smile, but a small crooked smile that made his stomach flip.
She reached out and shook his hand. "Becky," she supplied.
"Yes," Chuck said, "Becky Franco of the Amazing Francos. You know, I've heard of you."
She laughed at that, and Chuck loved the sound.
"The pleasure is all mine," she answered.
"So," Chuck said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Do you want a soda or something? I know a place."
"Um…" Becky glanced around.
"That is, unless you like hotel dumpsters. I can understand that; I find them very cool myself."
Becky laughed. "No, no, a soda sounds great," she answered.
Chuck smiled. "Great."