Beasts

Part I: Normal

I was sore from the day before, groaning as I tried to will myself out of bed. I had gone to the warehouse yesterday, where I had been boxing since I was 9. It was supposed to be a self-defense thing my parents wanted for me, but I kind of made it my passion. I got slammed pretty hard on my shoulder and my right arm was bruised badly. Some kids at school had asked if I was abused, and I told them no, that I had fought. They looked at me kind of strange. I told them I fought at the warehouse as if that explained everything.

It didn't erase their concerned facial expressions.

That place was my second home ever since my best friend Alex Springs disappeared. Lately, almost 9 years later, I've been addicted, hoping the focus can help me be distracted from the odds of finding him.

I tumbled out of bed and jostled lazily into the living room before I could even think about going back to sleep. The air in the house was enough to make me have chill bumps. My parents were going on a business meeting later today; they said something about noon. They have never been around long; always working wherever and doing their own thing.

I went into the kitchen and felt for the switch for the laundry room. I go through jeans and shorts like notebook paper; it's miracle there was a pair other than the jeans I had been wearing.

Right as I got to the drive way, the bus pulled right around the corner.

I showed the driver my pass and sat in the direct middle of the bus, on the left side like I always do. There was nothing really to stare at, but I counted the bolts on the roof above me for the thousandth time.

Exactly 52. As always.

The people started arriving on the bus as dawn began to break.

My boxing instructor, Mr. Greg, and I had nicknamed these people the Morning Rushers. There are a lot of all-nighters here, too, but they mix in with the morning people rather fluidly. Houses flashed by in all their trailer park wonder until bigger shapes began to move more slowly by. The Georgia town homes glowed against the autumn morning sun where families were sending their kids to school and parents, like always, were going to work. Every day I pass Alex's old house, and go over the road where we didn't know we were saying goodbye. But despite the history, it's the place I grew up, and memories with my best friends line these roads like Sharpie markers on a map.

Out of nowhere, I was jolted up and slammed back down into my seat. I looked next to me to see who was sitting there, meaning to give a dirty look to the person who rudely entered my personal space.

And Lord knows I shouldn't have, but I did. It was still dark outside, which may have made the uneasiness worse.

Little did I know that this was the beginning of when my life would change. Yeah, it seems like such an innocent moment. Trust me, it wasn't.

Strangers are never innocent if they confront you.

My life-changer: a mountainous kid that was maybe 6'7 and legit looked like a Dallas Cowboy linebacker. Maybe a body builder gone rogue. Perhaps even on steroids. It wasn't no man; he didn't smell like musty old smoke or dark coffee like the other males in my life.

Maybe he had a shot of preservatives too.

He smelled like warm vanilla, oddly feminine. Then the dirt smell hit me.

He stared right back at me, his form silhouetted by the rising dawn. I was about to say "What, never seen a small person before?" But I'll admit – I was nervous. No way I could take this guy down without hurting myself.

"Alright I sit with you?" he asked in a very not  Southern accent, which was as strange as a foreign language to my ears.

"Sure," I find myself saying automatically with the hundred or so years of hospitality running through my veins.