"The Best Gifts Aren't Bought" by Joel Austin
The Best Gifts Aren't Bought
by Joel Austin
“Eat shit, freak!” A kid in muddy jeans yelled at Marco. Dirt clods flew through the air, raining down like shrapnel after an explosion onto the twelve-year-old’s back.
Marco was used to this. Garrett and his other eighth-grade friend had been tormenting him daily since the first grade. It used to just be teasing. By the fourth grade, Marco was getting dunked in the toilet at least once a week. After having it saturate his nostrils, he will never forget how badly piss burns.
“You must like this, huh?” Ryan yelled. Another hunk of Earth made contact with Marco, causing him to step forward. “Oh, don’t even think about running.”
More dirt.
Marco always compared people to animals. Garrett looked like his square-headed pitbull. All body and no brains to split between the two of them. Ryan looked mousey but seemed to have a rage that was like a teapot constantly on the brink of whistling. Collin’s sharp beak and beady eyes clearly made him a bird; his height and affinity for the color yellow regularly made Marco think of Sesame Street. Then there was Dominic, who didn’t remind Maro of an animal at all; he looked like his own sister, Denise. Marco had had a crush on her for what seemed like his whole life.
Marco always thought Dominic could have been a good guy if he hadn’t grown up next door to Garrett. He was a good student and even played violin until he quit to pursue more violent extracurricular activities. When his sister got to middle school, he took her under his wing and protected her from bullies like himself, which made Dominic worse than Garrett in Marco’s mind. Garrett was a product of his upbringing, his environment. Dom chose to be this way.
Searing pain shoots like an electrical current down Marco’s spine as another firm hunk of ground hits the back of his head. A hiss passed by his lips as the bell chimed to signal that recess was over.
“You’re lucky, fuckwad,” Dominic yelled as Garrett and the others ran back toward the school.
***
It’s not like Marco hadn’t told adults about the daily abuse. He had. No one ever had time to help. His parents were stretched thin, always working. There weren’t enough teachers to go around, so he found himself crying into deaf ears when he looked for aid. He was abandoned, alone, and so damn angry.
Isolation became a warm blanket. A shield. Each day after school, he retreated to his bedroom and curled into a fetal ball on his bed. Marco fantasized about ways to get back at his tormentors, a flicker of relief at the end of each day. Until the daydreams weren’t enough.
His parents were delighted when Marco began spending more time in the woods. His father, of course, lent Marco any number of hammers and saws for whatever project his boy was working on—a clubhouse, presumably. Marco’s dad never found it strange that his son never asked for wood.
Although Marco’s mood had improved with some regular fresh air, he still preferred to spend any free time locked in his room. His mother left a plate of dinner outside his door, and she would find it partially gone a few hours later. Their dog had been missing for a few weeks, so she was glad to know that Marco was at least eating something.
***
“Hey, Dad,” Marco said. His dad was fiddling with the Blu-Ray player.
“Jesus Christ, buddy!” Marco’s dad jumped at least a foot off the ground. He put a hand to his chest and let out a laugh of embarrassment. “You scared me half to death. What are you doing at home?”
“Mom called me in sick. What are you doing?”
A mischievous grin slashed across Dad’s face. “I’m playing hooky, don’t tell Mom, and you can watch this movie with me.”
In his right hand, he held up a copy of a movie called The Godfather. My first “R” movie!
“Bet.”
***
As the film ended, Marco saw Dad staring at him.
“Too much?” Dad asked. Marco realized that his eyes were practically bulging out of his head.
“I really liked it,” Marco said. “I think I’m gonna go to bed.” A shadow crossed Dad’s face, but Marco didn’t have time to worry about that; a plan—fully formed—hijacked every neuron in his brain, and he needed to be alone. For years, he’d been tormented by these creeps, and no one did anything.
That’s finally about to change.
***
Marco hadn’t seen Garrett or Dominic since they were pulled from school three weeks ago, since all four of the bullies found the gifts that Marco had left each of them.
Marco nodded in understanding when Collin and Ryan walked the halls within a day or two of the event. Finding a small mountain of dead rats on your porch or a scattering of disassembled birds lining your driveway really isn’t the worst thing a person could see.
No, finding the head of your beloved dog on your breakfast table was arguably much worse for Garrett. He deserved it, though; they all did. Even that stupid dog.
Remorse isn’t the right word, as every part of Marco’s plan needed to happen, but he felt a momentary twinge of sadness, a small pressure, in his chest when he got to Dominic. Marco really wished that Dom didn’t look so much like his sister … He really liked Denise.