Origins of The Born Right Hand

There were three of them. They were on all sides of me and I had no escape. Even if I wanted to, there were too many people surrounding me and the guys I was fighting. My breath was heavy but I had all the energy I needed. From behind, one of the guys took his chance and attacked. By spinning on my toes, I grabbed his arm and used the momentum of his attack to throw him and hit the other one that was in front of me. The third guy came next. He was able to hit me on the side of my face. It hurt, but I was to focus to pay it any attention. He tried to hit me again. This time I ducked and then brought my hand upward to hit him below his chin. Once he was off balance, I took the palm of my hand and pushed him in the chest. He fell to the ground with a thud and by then the other two had gotten up. The frustration burned brightly in their eyes, and I couldn't help but feel a bit cocky at the fact that it was three against one and I was winning.

It was almost over and I had the upper hand. But then a whistle sounded. A teacher started pushing through the crowd that had gathered around me and my opponents. A few other teachers were telling the kids to leave and go back to what they were doing. There were a few disappointing groans as the students left. All the adrenaline that I had felt before had depleted in an instant when I saw the scolded look on the teachers' faces.

We, the three boys and I, were taken to the principal's office without a word. Many of the teachers had a tight grip on us so we wouldn't try to get away. But I had no reason to run. I fought those guys because they were bullying a kid, but for what I didn't know. I didn't know the kid, either.

It had been a long time since I had been to the office, and I've tried my best not to get into any trouble since then. However, I won't deny that I have tried to find some trouble if only to make it better. When we reached the principal's office, the teacher told us that she would like to see me first. Mrs. February is the principal at the school I went to. She was a nice lady and I liked her a lot. She was always smiling when I saw her and did some cool stuff on holidays. But when I saw her then, there was no good humor in her expression, just a disappointed look that I have seen before.

"Come in," she said. As walked in, I started to think of the many ways I could tell her that all that had happened wasn't my fault. I took the chair to my right and sat up straight. I was not going to look guilty in front of her, but it was hard to look her in the eyes.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I saw these guys bothering someone and I tried to stop them."

"By beating them up?" she raised an eyebrow, making it clear that she did not understand my motive. "You should of went and got a teacher and—"

"And by that time they got there, the kid would've already been made a bloody pulp," I told her impatiently. Immediately, I felt bad for that. I apologized to her while I let my head rest on my hand. Ms. February was silent for a while. When I looked up again, her expression had relaxed. She knew me well enough to know that what I said was out of aggravation.

She then gave a long sigh, the type one gives when they let go of a heavy load. "One day you're going to learn that fighting is never the answer."

Not true, I thought. If it was, why are there so many wars? Not only do we fight in wars, but also for personal entertainment and gain. But I couldn't say that to her.

While I was thinking, Ms. February was writing something on a sticky note. When she was done, she gave me the note and told me that that would be my detention time. 4:00 in room 401. "I expect to see you and the other three in there at that time." She said. All gentleness that was once in her voice a minute ago was gone when she spoke. "I will also be calling your parents to let them know—" By that time, I stopped listening because I knew—or at least guessed —what she was saying. She also gave me a pass to class so I wouldn't be counted absent for class.

The rest of the day went pretty fast. I missed much of the lessons because all I could think about was what my parents would say when they found out. After classes were over, I then went to the four o' clock detention that was given to me. Inside the room sitting down were the three other boys and a teacher. They all looked toward me and then quickly went back to what they were doing(though, there wasn't much to do). Now, remember when I said that I've been in other fights before? Just about all of them involved these guys and their friends. Granted, I was the one who started this from the beginning with no real reason other than the fact that I didn't like them.

Was it the way they looked? No. Was it the way they talked? Not completely. Was it the way they acted around me and other people? Yes, but the real reason I did not like any of these guys had to do with a feeling I got around them.

When detention was over, I decided to walk home. My house was not too far from the school, but you would not catch me walking in the rain. When I got home, I noticed that there was no sight of my mom's nor my dad's car; they must be working late. I walked into the house and looked down to the floor to find the evening mail. After picking it up, I looked through each envelope to see who they were for; however, I rarely get any mail myself.

I sat down at the kitchen table and started to separate the mail. As usual, all the mail was either for my mom or dad, until I came across one that had my name on it. It looked like an invitation to a school. Curious, I open the letter and sure enough it was an invitation. I didn't think I would get one seeing how much I got into trouble. The name of the school was White Castle University. White Castle, I thought, what kind of name is that?

I put the letter down deciding that I would read the rest when my parents got home. I needed to find out what I could about this school. I searched for an hour, but the only thing that seemed to come up the most was a burger restaurant or whatever that was. The pictures of the sandwiches looked small but worth trying. The thought of food made my stomach growl, so I decided to stop the search for now and get something to eat. It didn't seem too important at the time, and I was so hungry I couldn't think straight.

Even after I was done eating, neither of my parents had come home yet. It must have been a busy night. I didn't want to wait for them, so I went to my room with the university information. My parents didn't come home until I was nearly done with my homework. I was glad they were home, but at the same time, I didn't want to face them after what happened today. If only I was able to disappear for a minute…I would still have to face them.

Knock knock.

I looked up to see my dad standing at the entrance to my room. He wasn't a tall man. His eyes barely overlooked my dread covered head. His skin was a tan in the areas where the sun would shine on. I always thought it was funny that the color of our skin was different—mines being a light brown—and yet we were still related. He had the look in his eyes that told me that he knew what I did at school. It wasn't a look of anger or disappointment but concern and something else I could not read.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Yah"

He took the seat next to the computer and faced it towards me. My dad doesn't get angry easily, but he can stand his own when a situation got out of hand. There hasn't been an argument that my dad has been in where he didn't have the upper hand even when it seemed the odds were not in his favor. My mom is always asking him why he never tried to be a lawyer and he would always say it wasn't for him.

"You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Good."

Pause.

"I know I'm in trouble and I'm sorry for causing both you and mom so much trouble."

"I understand that you started the fight because someone needed help."

"Yes."

"Why?"

���I don't know. I saw that he was in trouble and I knew I could help."

"And how do you figure that?"

I don't know, I thought. Honestly, there were a lot of things that I didn't know. Sometimes, in my history class, I would know the answers to a certain question whether it was in the textbook or not. Other times I would get into fights with someone all because my reflexes would react to the wrong thing. I've been to therapy, put on multiple prescriptions, and was even checked to see whether or not I was awaken asendeit, but no matter what I did or tried, I never seem to get better. Since I wasn't giving him an answer to his question, he continued the conversation.

"There is nothing wrong with wanting to help people, Joe,'' he said, "but fighting everyone isn't going to do that. I keep telling your mother that you should be enrolled in a martial arts class."

"Hey, dad."

"Yes?"

"Do you ever wonder why you're alive?"

"A lot when I was younger."

"So what changed?"

"My perspective on life. The thing is I have had good things come my way. For example, I was able to marry your mother, I live in a stable home, and I have you. But remember this Joe, life does not treat everyone the same way. I mean, we didn't end up here without your mother and I going through our own challenges. And as for why we are alive, I don't know. Think of it this way, a prize horse can't win a race when it's dead."

Having nothing else to say, he stood up and began to exit my room. Before he did, he said one last thing that may have been the worst things he could have said that day.

"Mom is the one is thinking up the punishment this time. She said she was going to get 'creative' this time"

Great.

After my homework was done, I went to bed. As soon as I closed my eyes, I started to dream. Now you remember when I said that would have flashbacks of past events or something along those lines? Well, I would often have dreams of similar events.

It starts with me roaming the woods sometime during the day. After walking for a bit, I noticed a man riding a horse. I felt both angry and scared and I wanted to attack that man then and there. Instead, I waited and watched. The scene changed and I was now standing beside the same man looking out over a vast landscape that I did not recognize but still felt so familiar.

Each dream has different settings with only one thing that stays consistent: the man.