Seize the day, boys: Make your lives extraordinary
Accidental Hero Ep #6 - A romance with one foot in the past
Ben and Verity’s Story: Teenagers working on a history project are researching Walter Gibbons, the soldier awarded a medal they found in Verity’s uncle’s antique store.
Walter’s Story: Having just proposed to Hetty, he had no plans to enlist until he was involved in a fight. Fearing he had killed the other lad, Walter fled and joined up, his regiment was posted to Gallipoli.
CW: Mild violence/ threat
I wanted to meet up with Verity the next day at school, but I didn’t see her in any of her usual haunts, and the suspicion that she was avoiding me gnawed at my gut. She’d been the perfect guest during the meal with mum and dad, but silent when I drove her home. I was so angry about discovering what Patrick had done to her that I hadn’t said much either.
The image of him snaking his hand up her skirt disgusted me, but it played on a loop in my head. As the day wore on, I grew certain that acting the knight in shining armour was not a response that would please Verity. She preferred to look out for herself. But I needed to tackle Patrick for my self-esteem. His attitude was wrong on so many levels that now that I knew what he’d done, my silence could be seen to condone his behaviour.
Top of my to-do list was meeting Patrick somewhere so we could thrash it out with no audience.
“Hey Patrick, we should practice. We were badly off our game on Saturday; play like that against the team from Snetterton, and they will wipe the floor with us.”
He bristled, and rightly so— I was the one whose thoughts had been elsewhere. Without giving him time to argue, I strode past with my bag. Patrick is a perfectionist, he wants the glory and this trophy. I knew he would follow.
When Patrick arrived, I was serving tennis balls hard, they hit the chain link with a thunk.
“You mean business, brother,” Patrick observed as he slung his bag down and spun a racquet in his hand. “What’s got you so grouchy? Is hanging with Verity giving you blue balls?”
I’d been planning a rational discussion, but that comment made me snap. A red mist descended before my eyes. I ran at him, grabbing his collar to drive him against the fence, which jangled in protest. Patrick attempted to wriggle and joke his way out of my grip.
“Relax man. Is it meant to be a secret that you’re creeping around with Sunday Girl?”
I shoved him hard enough to bounce against the fence, but he managed to maintain his balance.
“Don’t call her that,” I snarled. “You don’t deserve to say her name. I know about your attempts to get to know her.” Rage was boiling. “Where do you get off with that entitled behaviour? She deserves respect.”
My control was on a gossamer thread. I needed to talk, not brawl. I released his collar like it was contaminated: I stepped back and surveyed him: man to cockroach.
“Don’t treat girls that way, invading their personal space. Have some empathy. Would you like someone to put their hands on you, just because the mood took them?”
I grabbed a handful of his shorts, trapping his plums within the fabric, and tightened my grip.
“Are we dating now?” I sneered.
Patrick’s eyes watered. He gasped like a guppy, pushing at my chest.
“Get the Hell off me — you’re freaking crazy!” he yelled, his face flushed and sweaty.
“I’m the opposite of crazy.” I released him and my voice became icy. I caged him, a forearm on either side of his head.
“I’ve come to my senses about you and your lack of morals. I‘ve wasted enough time with your crowd, fiddling while Rome burns. No more sinking to your standards, you toxic piece of shit. I intend to live my life and make things happen. Keep going to pointless parties, you can play your asinine pranks without me.”
I had a lot to get off my chest, and my glare kept him silent.
“I’ll try not to regret how much time I spent following your lead because that’s just the past crippling me in the present. But know this: I am done with you Patrick.”
He ducked under my arm and backed away. After he’d straightened his shirt, he ran a hand through his messed-up hair. His cocky expression crept back because this jerk was Teflon coated.
“Aww Ben, is Verity jealous? Did she tell you to break up with me?” Patrick made a coy face and an ‘under the thumb’ gesture.
“This has nothing to do with Verity and everything to do with my self-respect. Since looking into historical events, I’m viewing life differently. Nowadays, my biggest fear is wasting the rest of my life. With your crowd, I’ve been going backwards.”
I shoved my racquet into my sports bag. “I’ll be there for the matches, I still want to win the tournament. But there is no us — you and I are done being friends. I question whether we ever were. I was part of the audience for the Patrick Tomily show.”
Leaving him no window for a parting shot, I stalked off the court, angled into my car, and drove away.
On my route home, I called into the antique shop. Verity was out, or so her uncle informed me. He was embroiled in discussing a coin collection with a man in a corduroy jacket, so I didn’t argue. I needed to talk to her, to explore how she felt if she was comfortable discussing it. Maybe letting her rant about Patrick might help.
Now that our confrontation was over, I wished I had been less physical with him, but Patrick had made me furious by referring to me as Verity’s lapdog. Didn’t he credit me with any original thoughts? Mostly I was angry with myself because I’d been that guy, following his lead without question.
Verity was a hell of a girl. She stood on her own feet, facing problems head-on. It couldn’t have been an easy start to lose her parents so young, yet she held her own and was unashamed to be different. She lacked the family support network such as I had, yet she had picked a true path. Verity didn’t talk much about her Uncle Colin, but that was proof he was raising her right.
I drove home, to be greeted at the door by Binky, who ceased mobbing me when I gave her a tummy rub and ruffled her ears. I went upstairs to check my email. I hoped for a message from Verity, but maybe the Verger had found out more about Walter Gibbons.
A message was waiting in my inbox.
A fictional story blended with facts gleaned from various historical sources. The title is a quote from Dead Poet’s Society. Series originally appeared on Medium.
Bravo, Ben! 😊