Memory

Chapter 1
Johnny

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Chapter Description: It is always calmest before a storm . . .

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“A scattered dream that’s like a far-off memory,

A far-off memory that’s like a scattered dream.

I want to line the pieces up,

Your and mine.”

- Sora

KH2

Sunlight streamed into Jonathan Memoriaman’s bedroom suddenly as his curtains were raised and his blinds climbed the window with a clank.

“Johnny! Time to wake up dear!” We he didn’t move, his mother walked over and shook John slightly, earning herself a slight moan from him.

“Dear, you have to get up know, breakfast is cooking,” Still the child did not move. “Fine, have it your way,”. In one violent movement, Johnny and all of his blankets and sheets landed on the floor with a loud thump.

“Hey, keep it down in there! Some of us are trying to sleep!” Mr. Memoriaman shouted as he lay in his own blankets.

“Honey, its eight-thirty and if you’re not out of bed when I’m done with Johnny, you’re butt’s on the floor next!” It was when Marian Memoriaman, Johnny’s mother, said this that Johnny’s eyes snapped open. Ever since his mother started waking him up being “done with Johnny” meant something terrible was going to happen, something Johnny feared over everything else. He jumped up instantly and dashed for the exit of his room.

“Oh. Not so fast dear!” Marian said as he plucked Johnny off his feet. “You give Mama a hard time and she’s gonna dish it back!”

And with that the shrilled, echoing voice of Johnny Memoriaman could be heard a block in either direction from his house, laughing in defeat.

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“Johnny, you have enough syrup on your waffles,”

“Yes, mama,” Johnny obediently stopped pouring syrup onto his plate. Johnny wasn’t dissatisfied though, another drop of syrup and all of it would have cascaded over his plate. A he was finishing his last bite of waffles, Nick Memoriaman, Johnny’s father, entered the kitchen, wearing working clothes and an untied tie. Nick was the provider of the family, and he was proud of it. For the most part he was a happy-go-lucky man, rarely ever acting serious. Johnny could recall innumerable times when his mother said that she felt like she was raising two children instead of one.

“Hey gang, whats up?” Nick said as he ruffled Johnny’s head with his hand, immediately turning to his tie after the display of affection.

“Oh, nothing dear. You should really finish getting ready to leave. You need to take Johnny to school,”

“I’m working on it, the tie doesn’t want to cooperate,” Nick complained. It was common knowledge that your average high school freshman was better with ties that Nick, another childish trait he owned. Marian sighed and she put down her batter spoon and wiped off some waffle bites before attending to her husband.

“What’s on your plate today, sport?”

“I’m gonna play soccer with Billy Ross from across the street. His Dad’s the coach,” John said proudly.

“Smashing, your good at that kind of thing,”

“But I’ve never played soccer before, Papa,” After this, Marian shot Nick a hateful glance, the kind a dealer gives a spectator that reveals a card in his hand. Nick quickly rebutted.

“Well, you can run well, you’ll do great!”

“But all those people watching me. . .”

“Just imagine them in their underwear! Its time to go!” And with that, Nick pushed Johnny out of the kitchen door that lead to the backyard.

“But your driving me, Papa . . .“ However, Johnny stopped whining when he heard what was going on inside. It sounded like his mother was screaming at his father. It was May, but still early enough in the mother that Nick hadn’t replaced the glass window with its summer counterpart. Everything was muffled. After five minutes, Nick emerged from the door, wearing the face of defeat that all men wear after fighting with their wives.

“Ok, lets go champ,” Nick said, knowing a sword of Damocles was hanging over his head, and its rope was slowly untangling every second he stayed at his house. He ushered the boy into the car.

“What were you and Mama fighting about,”

“Wha, oh, um, your mother doesn’t think that its appropriate that I, um, don’t know how to tie a tie. Yeah. She thinks its teaching you to be lazy or something like that,”

“But I’m already lazy!” Johnny smiled widely at his father.

“Yeah, you sure are,”

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It was just a few minutes after nine when Nick dropped Johnny off at the park for Johnny’s first soccer practice. The air was fresh and crisp with a hint of salt, the way it is in coastal New England during the merry month of May. Johnny was petrified. He couldn’t budge an inch from where he disembarked from his father’s van. Gradually, he took child-sized small steps towards the field. As Johnny got closer, he could make out some faces he recognized. Harry Clause, Vinnie Finazo, and, just as Johnny was hoping that he wasn’t here, Billy Ross.

As far as nine-year-olds go, Billy Ross was a monster. He towered above Johnny and the other boys at a staggering four feet, nine inches, easily six inches taller then most of them. In addition, Billy Ross’ entire frame seemed to be devoted to his stomach, his frame bounced up and down like a slinky as he tackled five or six boys who crowded around the soccer ball.

It isn’t too late, Johnny thought to himself. I can still tun for home before coach notices me . . .

“Memoriaman!!” A loud, menacing voice bellowed. It was all Johnny could do to prevent himself from having an accident.

“You were exactly five minutes and forty-two seconds late!!”

“But, I, uh,”

“Five minutes and forty-five!”

“But wait! I’m here now and,”

“Five minutes and 50 seconds!”

“If you listen to me!”

“Six minutes! You’re late! Lateness is not excused in my soccer team! Drop and give me twenty!”

“Twenty what?”

“Forty!”

“Money? I don’t have Forty Dollars!”

“Eighty!”

“How much is that?”

“One-sixty is enough to keep you doin’ push-ups until your momma comes to pry you off the grass! Move it!”

All morning, due to Coach Ross’ inability to realize that Johnny had never been asked to preform a push-up before, Johnny quickly amassed push-ups to the highest number Coach could count. 380. Since he couldn’t go any higher, Coach wouldn’t count any “incorrect” push-up towards the number (Johnny later doubted he counted the right ones) until Johnny’s mother came at noon.

“Johnny, time to come home!”

“Can’t”

“Oh, hello, you must be the coach,”

“Yup,”

“Why can’t my son leave,”

“He’s an idiot,”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Can’t do one good push-up!”

“But his push-ups are nearly perfect! (Johnny was still doing them as she spoke),”

“Prove it!”

Smack. Johnny stopped doing push-ups at the blood-sickening sound of bone hitting bone. Johnny’s mother had left an impression on the former Coach Ross’ face to last him well until Johnny would have been sixteen.

“Well, kids,” Johnny’s mother said as the children crowded around her, “Mr. Ross here decided to let me teach you to play soccer, won’t that be fun?”

A little boy, Vinnie, raised his hand and said, “But you’re a girl, girls don’t play!”

“Tell you what, Vinnie, you let me play and I’ll bring cookies next week, ok?”

“Ok!” Vinnie replied with a bright glow on his face.

“Alright then, since we’re all here, lets practice for an hour, ok?”

“OK!” Only Johnny raised his hand.

“Yes dear?”

“Do I still hafta do push-ups?”

 

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