Every Bitter Thing by Hardy Jones

Author:Hardy Jones [Jones, Hardy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dzanc Books
Published: 2011-10-17T03:15:28+00:00

CHAPTER 9

“What the sam hell are you trying to pull, Bollars?” Dad was angry, and I was confused.

It was our first class after the belt test and Donnie was there sporting a brand new yellow belt just like me. “That boy didn’t take the test, but he’s got a yellow belt?”

“Mr. Royal, he did take the test...”

“When? I didn’t see him there and I taped the whole damn thing.”

They stood in front of Mr. Bollars’s office; Dad’s hands were shoved in his back pockets and Mr. Bollars had on his gi and sweat sparkled on his forehead.

“Donnie came in and took the test on Sunday,” Mr. Bollars said. His eyes moved around and never landed directly on Dad, whose own gazed burned a hole into Mr. Bollars. The rest of the class was in the workout area stretching and supposedly readying for class, but once Dad began talking everyone focused their attention on him and Mr. Bollars.

“Who’d Donnie spar against?” Dad asked.

“Me.”

“But you’re the damn teacher. How the hell’d he spar against you?”

“I don’t have to explain my ways to you, Mr. Royal.”

“Like hell you don’t. I pay you and that entitles me to some explanations.” Dad’s chest puffed out like one of his pigeons. “You playing favorites, Bollars?”

“I don’t do that.”

“Then why’d you let that Donnie boy come in and take his test separate from everyone else?” Dad’s hands now hung at his side.

“Why don’t we discuss this after class, Mr. Royal? Right now you’re disturbing my dojo.”

“And just giving a boy a yellow belt in private ain’t disturbing the ones who showed up for the test and passed it in front of everyone?”

“Wesley,” Mr. Bollars said, “go get in formation. Mr. Royal, if you like, we’ll discuss this after class.”

“No we won’t. Me and my son won’t be here after class. Come on, boy.”

I looked to Mr. Bollars who stroked his mustache; I looked to Rubin who called formation. And there was Donnie with his shiny new yellow belt tied around his dingy gi, and as Dad led me by the hand out of the dojo, I swore that the freckle-faced boy’s eyes watered up.

“I’ll have Rubin teach you at home,” Dad said in the car.

Rubin teach me at home. Which home? The Lopez’s or ours? If it was at the Lopez home, I feared that Rubin would spend more time luring me into the closet than teaching me forms.

“Why y’all home so soon?” Mom asked.

“That damn Bollars went behind everyone’s back and gave that Donnie a yellow belt even though he didn’t take the test.”

“He took the test,” I said.

“You believed that shit?” Dad said. “Bollars was lying, and I ain’t gonna deal with no liar.” Dad got a Michelob out of the fridge and sat in his recliner. “Boy, if you believed what Bollars was saying, you’ve got a long way to go at understanding people. And what’s worse: you let Bollars beat you to the fuck.”

“But why would he lie?”

“Some people’d rather climb a tree to lie than stay on the ground and tell the truth,” Dad said.

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