J.J. walked faster. He told himself it was because he had a lot of homework to do, and he didn't want to miss the new episode of the A-Team, but in truth, he was just hoping to avoid them.
He crossed 8th and hurried past the McDonald's, just in case they were eating there. J.J. hadn't eaten there in over a year simply because he knew they occasionally ate there. At this time of day on a Friday, the whole gang should be down at the arcade, so he didn't really need to be so cautious.
But J.J. didn't think he could handle another encounter.
He slowed somewhat as he passed by the Galleria, where there were plenty of people. They wouldn't start anything in front of too many onlookers. But all too soon he had to leave the safe zone and take his chances again on the side streets that led to home.
He always tried to plan his route with as many safe areas along the way; grocery stores, sporting venues, gyms, and police stations, but there always seemed to be plenty of blind spots where a lone boy could be cornered.
J.J. had just begun to feel safe when it happened. Later, he would realize that that was how it always was; when a person feels safe, they become weak, vulnerable. That was when bad things happened. He would remember this, years later, and it would serve him well.
Today that sense of security had led him to lose focus. He turned left down Culpepper.
But they had just opened a comic book store on Culpepper.
"Hey Gay Gay!"
It was them. It was always them, his nemeses, the haunting presence that perpetually dogged his steps and hounded him until he could never feel safe. The pack of leering ghouls that made his life hell, left him feeling always afraid, always alone, always lost.
It was the Star Trek fans.
They gathered around him, their red, blue and gold shirts forming a velour wall surrounding him, the gold embroidered arrowhead emblems gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.
"You been writing anymore of your stupid stories again, Gay Gay?"
This was Kirk Feinstein, their leader. He was a Senior, and had towered over J.J. since they were both in Hebrew School. He had never liked J.J., but then in creative writing class, J.J. had written a compare/contrast essay on why Star Wars was a better movie than Star Trek: the Motion Picture, which J.J. had found dull and badly paced.
This was not well received by Kirk's gang of militant Trekkies.
Since then, he had been bullied, both verbally and physically. Today seemed like it would not be an exception. He tried the only tactic that occasionally worked, play dumb and wait for them to get bored.
"So how about it Gay Gay? Any more stories that you just make up as you go along?" Kirk was in rare form. "Gonna have your dad produce a show for you? Will it have monsters and bears and pretty girls who won't kiss you? You really want to scare people, you could make a movie about your life! Shatner could play me in it, if he wasn't doing TJ Hooker."
His witty suggestion was met with howls of laughter from the rest of his gang. J.J. remained silent. His tendency to chime in on conversations had gotten him in trouble before, and he had learned the lesson that sometimes it was best not to share too much information.
But he didn't always remember that lesson.
"My dad says ABC is canceling TJ Hooker."
In the silence that fell, J.J. Looked around to see who had just said that, and was horrified to learn it was him.
"What did you just say?" Kirk took a faltering step towards J.J., as if if fury had rendered him incapable of walking straight. "You just said that TJ Hooker, starring WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER is being CANCELLED!"
"Maybe another network will pick it up. It got so-so ratings but maybe someone will give it a shot." J.J. was terrified, and as the circle of livid Trekkies closed in around him, his mouth began to act on its own. "Maybe they'll make changes, shake up the format somehow, you know; add new conflict, change the setting, replace the main actor..."
J.J. knew he had gone too far before the first punch landed. He had been beaten in the past, but normally the others stood back and watched as one of their number, usually Kirk, had applied the hurt. Today he had brought forth the collective rage of the group, and he felt their fury as they rained kicks punches and plastic tricorders down upon him.
He did not know how long the beating took, time had lost meaning for him. But when he woke up, it was evening, and he had been strung up to a chain link fence, wearing only his underwear, a Federation arrowhead symbol, and the words "know-it-all" spray painted on his chest.
And it was then that J.J. decided. It was too much to hope for an end to the beatings, and he was right, for it would be years before those torments ceased. But he could plan. And he could wait.
He could not get justice. But he could have revenge.
Hanging there from that fence he made a vow. He made with himself a dark pact, overseen by the ancient spirit of the downtrodden and oppressed. He swore a vengeance so horrible, and so complete, that no one would ever dare to strike against him again.
"I will destroy you!" He screamed to the unanswering heavens.
"I will strike at you through what you love most! I will destroy your show! I will destroy your show with writing! I will make it so that everything you ever loved about Star Trek WILL HAVE NEVER HAPPENED!"
And he smiled.
Beaten and humiliated, J.J. Abrams smiled, and planned his revenge.
No comments:
Post a Comment