The Story Behind "Bryson Forrestor"

“Bryson Forrestor” is the revision of the prologue for The Black Ring. I sent the original draft of the story to a childhood friend who is an English professor at the University of North Carolina at Wilmington and her responses largely influenced my direction in the second draft. The main idea I wanted to focus on for this draft was to play with time, so there’s the main arc that takes place in the stories “present” and then we flash back to what led Bryson to the present. This also allowed me to start with a more concrete scene, rather than the initial moving street scene the prologue started with. Since I’m not sure about whether I’m going to finish The Black Ring, I’m using this as a short story. As of right now I’m sure I’m not done with drafts for this piece.

Bryson Forrestor, Part 3

Julie's voice hit his ears first playing a sour note in his noggin, “Bryson, please speak to me, we really need to talk.”

            No. The word popped into his head, but never issued from his lips.

            “Come on, man, it's not what you think,” came Ian's voice through the window.

            I'm sorry, the dagger in my back will not allow me to comply.

            “We're not going to give up until you come out and talk to us,” Julie reported.

            Give up trying to talk to me, or give up humping each other’s brains out.

            “Will you please just come out and talk to us?” Ian pleaded.

            Nevermore, quoth the raven.

            They issued a few more pleas, but with pillows over ears, Bryson refused to hear them. Not only that, but he seemed to have fallen asleep during the barrage, after all heartbreak can take a lot out of a man. In his twisted dreams toy soldiers blasted the hell out of invisible aliens, cheating girlfriends, and conniving best friends. When he woke up three hours later to the DVD menu for Predator he knew what he would do: join the military.

            Of course, it wouldn't be that easy; for a freshly graduated former high school student he was grossly out of shape. Besides his short stint in sports, what little physical education he had to take during high school he never took seriously. So to make boot camp easier he started getting up in the mornings to walk, run, or bike. It was the only time he'd leave the house, and he made sure to go as early as possible to keep from running into either of “them” which is how he started referring to Ian and Julie a few days after the incident. Dehumanization was his friend.

            During the day he remained in his room except to eat and use the bathroom. His parents wondered what was up with him, but he refused to answer any questions, after all, he knew they would just think he was overreacting and that this was just a phase. While he was in his room he watched movies and researched the military on the net to determine what field would be the best for him. The Air Force would be easy, but it would be far too easy for a guy who wanted to kick his life into high gear, and he didn't want to go into the Navy because he knew he didn't want to ever be referred to as a “Seamen.” The Army was a viable choice, but most people chose to go into the Army, it was the biggest branch of the military after all. He wanted a challenge and to become a badass, so the only choice was the United States Marine Corp.

            For a month straight he kept up his routine, and “they” kept their routine as well. Every day like clockwork Bryson's mother would come to his door telling him that “they” wanted to talk to him, and every day he would tell his mom that he didn't want to speak to “them”. Every day after the rejection “they” would appear at his window pleading to speak to him, and he would remain as quiet as a church mouse until “they” left. By the end of that month since the incident he had steeled himself against the attack so that he was able to keep his functionality, he would even routinely do sit-ups or pushups as “they” shouted through the window.

            When that month was up he knew his next course of action. After he finished with his run that morning he ran a little further right down to the Marine recruiter's office. When he walked through the door he was nearly blown back outside by the excellence and honor that exuded from the office. Marine Corp decor littered the walls, as well as motivational posters that weren't cheesy but instead badass, and he never thought that was possible. The recruiter behind the desk made him think of the Spartans of old, he exuded a confidence that didn't feel like it derived from an ego in the least bit. At the same time Bryson felt both at home and proud that he made the right decision and slightly intimidated by this gladiator sitting behind his desk.

            He proceeded to step in before the recruiter and made no bones about what he wanted, he wanted to join up and ship out as soon as was humanly possible. Staff Sergeant Blake smiled and told him that there was an Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery test available today, or he could schedule one for next week if he wanted to study. When he told Blake that he wanted to take the test today, the recruiter gave him a look of incredulity and told him testing starts in an hour. S. Sgt. Blake reached into a drawer in the desk that stood between them, and pulled out a book and handed it to Bryson, “I recommend you give this a once over before the test starts.”

            Bryson took the book and sat down in a chair across the room and began to look through it, but wasn't really taking much in. For one thing the intimidation of the warrior sitting across the room coupled with the thought that in a few hours his life would probably be changed forever stalled his mental progress. On top of that the other testers were starting to file into the office taking seats next to him. Increasing his nervousness was the fact that a few of them had gone to school with him, but luckily he didn't know any of them closer than a fleeting glance here and there.

            The hour passed fitfully slow, and then the recruiter called them all into the back room where they were to all take the computer test together. After they finished the preliminaries, Bryson felt at ease once he started taking the actual test. He scored high on the SAT and the ACT so he knew he'd ace an aptitude test to enter the military no problem. He was the first finished, and when the score was tabulated by the computer he had achieved an overall score of 77, allowing him his pick of any job he wanted in the military. He already knew he was going to pick Intelligence, but he still had another obstacle to overcome before he could say he was ready for boot: Medical Expenditure Panel Survey or MEPS. He had to pass the physical to get into the military and before he could choose his Military Occupation Specialty.

###

           

            Here in the MEPS office he sat waiting for the trip out to Paris Island. He had been sworn in, he had passed his physicals, he had filled out all the paperwork, and he had picked his occupational specialty. He didn’t get Intel though; his choice to leave earlier didn’t coincide with the dates of Intelligence training. Instead he was going to be working Motor Transport which Sgt. Thompson jokingly referred to as “Grunts on Wheels”. While Bryson was a little disappointed by the job change he took it willingly to be rid of the history of this place, to be rid of “them”.

            One month ago everything had changed. All it took was one moment to determine a course for the rest of his life. Now, here he stood waiting to board a van that would take him up the east coast to the Marine Corp training facility in Paris Island, SC. Where he would go after that he did not know, he just knew it would be far away from “them”.

            He found a spot in the back of the van, and looked around at all the families with freshly minted recruits about to board the van and leave on their way to a life of bravery and American tradition. As he looked out the window behind him he thought he saw Ian in the parking lot looking directly at him. He turned and looked the other way and never looked back. This was a time for moving forward, he could never turn back.

Bryson Forrestor, Part 2

Here Bryson was, running the gamut through every emotion dealing with loss, while Ian and Julie lay canoodling in her bed. That's why he went over there: it was supposed to be him lying there nose to nose with Julie, not Ian. They had made plans today to lie around and do nothing, sit around and do nothing, or walk around and do nothing. Had she become so tired of doing nothing that she was driven into the arms of someone more like-minded?

It was just all so sudden: he walked over there knowing her parents wouldn't be home, walked in without knocking as he normally did when they were gone, and stepped into her bedroom to see Ian and Julie lying there nose to nose. What were they doing, or what would they say they were doing? What would be their excuse?

“We were just discussing the deeper meaning of life and preparing for future lessons in philosophy at college when a seizure overcame me and Julie was giving me mouth to mouth and you walked in at the moment her tongue became disengaged from my throat,” Ian might say.

Or maybe Julie would chime in: “It's not what it looks like, I was just practicing on Ian what I was going to do to you later, after all he is a suitable stand in; don't you think? When I'm screwing Ian, in spirit I'm really screwing you!” Yeah, Bryson’s spirit felt screwed all right.

At any rate, it was over, for both of them. As he reached his house, he was determined to find his own way. Sure, he had already been accepted into the same college as Julie and Ian, but he didn't have to go there. He might have just barely squeaked out a 3.0 GPA when school was all said and done, but he'd find somewhere to start a new life with new friends and a new girl. Maybe he wouldn't even go to college; maybe he'd just dive into the workforce. There might be a lot of sharks in the water ready to devour a small fish like him, but he was more up for that challenge than having to see either Julie or Ian ever again.

He made his way to his room avoiding any eye contact or words with his mother or stepfather, afraid the slightest bit of human interaction would send him into a barrage of tears and unstoppable shakes. As he went into his room he quietly closed the door, despite the fact that he wanted to slam the door shut several hundred times he knew that would quickly arouse suspicion. Once he was in his room he quickly closed the blinds to make it as dark as possible in the room. Eventually, they would come to his house to tell him that what he had seen was an accident of some sort, and at that time he would alert his parents to the fact that he didn't want to see them. Of course, they wouldn't stop at the door, they would try knocking on the windows when the door didn't work and he didn't want to look at them.

Right now all he wanted to do was turn off his mind and give in to a movie or TV show or something that didn't require a thought to enter his sad little brain. Maybe Tenacious D: the HBO skit “Death of a Dream” seemed apropos at the moment. What was the next step in the death of his dream? Door to Door Rocking? No, there were too many memories to be had with Tenacious D that would keep his mind on the current situation. An action movie might fit the mood better. For sure a few explosions would cheer him up a bit. Maybe Predator. The idea of a humanity murdering unseen alien force ripping through a team of special ops soldiers only to be thwarted in his scheme to take over the world by an overly ripped Arnold Schwarzenegger seemed to warm his broken heart. It seemed like an allegory for his soul: the Predator was his heartbreak, and now Schwarzenegger must be his mind fighting back the heartbreak and ultimately defeating it.

As he lay on his bed, huddled under covers and pillows watching his mental metaphor on film, it came much sooner than he expected. He heard the rat-a-tat-tat on the front door followed by the muffled sounds of his mother talking to someone. The edges of his sight became black and his vision blurred as his heart began to race with the sound of footsteps making their way down the hall toward his door.

“          Bryson, Julie and Ian are here to see you,” came the typically soothing voice of his mother through the door, delivering this message of certain doom.

Thickly he replied, “I don't want to see them right now.”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to talk about it. Please just tell them to go away.”

“Okay,” the response seemed to almost question if this was truly his wish, but she reluctantly seemed to trudge back down to the hall to deliver the message. He heard her muffled voice from the front door followed by the sound of it closing. He started to breathe a sigh of relief, but the sigh caught midway in his throat as he realized this can't be the end. Sure enough, the steps came back down the hall once again. “Can I come in?”

“Not right now, Mom, I'm… indecent.” He felt like a fool as the words came out of his mouth. Was he now transported to the early nineteenth century that this phrase now issued from his lips? Of course, he knew he meant this more about his mental state than his physical appearance.

“Okay, well if you need to talk about anything, your stepfather and I are here for you.”

“Thanks Mom,” the words came out thicker than before and he had a hard time getting them out as a couple tears leaked onto his cheek. Of course, he would never talk to his parents about what happened this day, not in twenty or a million years. They'll question his choices once he makes them, but they were his choices to make and they'd just have to accept the fact that he made them. Right now wasn't the time to think about those choices though.

Not to mention the attack on his mental state wasn't quite over yet as the rat-a-tat-tat came to his window.

***

Bryson made his way to the phone; his feet felt heavy as if he was walking the green mile. What would he say? What would his parents think? Well, he wouldn't have to worry about too much fallout now, he'd be gone for three months, and during that time they'd get over the fact that he left so abruptly, and they would embrace the fact that their son was in the Marine Corp serving his country the way his stepfather thought every young man should.

He made the call. His mother cried, his stepfather dejectedly told him he was proud of him. He was sure his mother was thinking he was going to end up shipped overseas where he would be shot by some evil insurgent with the highest contempt for America. He wasn't sure himself what was going to happen to him from here on out and didn't want to think too much about a future that led him to war. Bryson told them he loved them and would call them when he reached Paris Island to let them know he got there safe and he hung up the phone.

Bryson Forrestor, Part 1

Bryson sat alone. Everything was moving so fast now, but for the most part the pace had helped him keep his mind off things like the events of a month ago. The physicals, the tests, the papers he had to sign, the people he had to meet, and the overall hustle and bustle of the office kept him preoccupied. Now came the “hurry-up-and-wait” he had been told to expect, and everything came flooding back to him like a bad dream. A single tear traced its way down the crease of his nose and landed on his shoe. He reached down and wiped it off before erasing the trail it left on his face. This was the home of bravery and masculinity, not of tears and bad memories; still the thoughts remained.

“Forrestor, Bryson!” he heard as he sat with his head buried in his hands. Slowly he pulled himself off the chair and made his way toward the uniformed titan standing in the office doorway.

***

Everything had been beautiful outside when Bryson left his house on that humid Florida morning, or at least he thought it was. Now that he was returning in shame everything was losing its color. What once was a bright deep blue sky now took on a gunmetal gray sheen, and the green grass he passed was masked by what appeared to him as ominous shadows; an omen that should have foretold the coming disaster that was spread out before him as he left home. As he reached the sidewalk he couldn't bear to even look at the cars that passed by for fear of more heartache; that doom would reach through the window of a passing car and rip his stomach out the way his heart had already been stripped from his chest. Such a thought didn't ease him any, and as he made his way to the nearest tree he felt all the life drain out of him, just as his breakfast spewed forth from his stomach and drained down the trunk of the tree.

            How could this happen? Just a week after graduation, everything seemed to be in perfect order. He was enrolled in college, the same college that his best friend, Ian, and his girl, Julie, were enrolled in. It seemed like it would be the perfect set up. He was almost certain that when they got to school he'd be rooming with Ian, and Julie would be a stone's throw away. Maybe later on they could rent a house or a large apartment together; most likely after Ian found the love of his life like Bryson had. They could do everything together, and why wouldn't they: Bryson and Ian had been friends since they were six years old, and he had been dating Julie for the last four years. They were practically family.

            Of course, “were” was the key word now. That one word incensed Bryson as he started back out on a brisk walk toward home. The walking pace didn't last, though; as he thought more about the word “were” he quickly moved on from a brisk walk to a run. “Were” ruined friendships. “Were” tore apart lovers. “Were” broke apart families. “Were” brought nations to their knees. “Were” caused the world to stop spinning. “Were” was a destroyer of the future. If the world ended today, aliens would pass by the wreckage and say, “There WERE humans there.” When you die your conversations with other dead people would most likely begin, “If I WERE alive...” “Were” was the most useless, no, heartbreaking word in the English language. Then again, “Was” wasn't very far off, in Bryson's mind. “I WAS going to college,” he thought.

            How could he have been so stupid, though? He always felt that Ian was making eyes at her, or whatever it was called these days (a steady diet of old television programming, like The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, sometimes clouded his judgment on exactly what lingo was considered modern). Bryson lived in such an old school world in his mind that he never thought once of it; let alone twice. Seriously, though, how could he have forgotten the way Julie looked at Ian? Bryson knew he, himself, was lazy, but he could have taken Ian's place as captain of the soccer team easily if he had the ambition. He could have even run the Math League had he not been busy with World of Warcraft. Captaining the football team might have been a tad bit harder, but Bryson was confident he could pull it off. Okay, maybe he was kidding himself a little bit. Wait, a little bit? Try a whole lot! There was no way he was as good a person as Ian, and that made things hurt that much more. He knew he would never be on his level. For Christ's sake, he would be lucky if he finished his undergrad, let alone go on to further education like Ian was destined to do.

            In all honesty, he could take betrayal from Julie more than he could from Ian. There was more than one occasion where she had left him in the past and he had always taken her back. Even Ian had wondered why Bryson had always taken Julie back. Bryson never had a question in his mind about it though. Each time Julie left him, he took her back with open arms, no matter what had happened. Why wouldn't he? She was the class president and captain of the volleyball team. On top of that she never neglected her participation on the yearbook staff or as the editor of the Astronaut Herald.

            All in all he wondered where he fit into their schemes and things. He tried playing sports his freshman year of high school but gave that up when the coach pissed him off. There was that time he tried out the school choir but got himself kicked out when he had the whole boy's section cracking up in class as he made fun of the choir director. Now that he thought about it, he was more known for spreading joy through the lower levels of the student body with his shenanigans than he was ever known for his school spirit or academic valor, while those closest to him embodied those latter qualities.

***

Bryson walked into the office and sat down in a chair opposite the burly uniformed individual that had called him in. Looking him over Bryson saw that his name tag read “Sgt. Thompson”. As Bryson sat there Sgt. Thompson kept jotting notes in his notebook, a serious look on his face. What he was writing Bryson was not sure. He hadn’t had a chance to look at his own face so he wasn’t sure if his eyes were red as if he had just been crying or not, but he hoped that he wasn’t giving off a wussy kind of vibe. After all, he needed this.

            “When were you thinking you wanted to leave for Paris Island?” Sgt. Thompson asked, not looking up from the paperwork before him.

            “As soon as possible,” Bryson answered without hesitation.

            “Well, you have a few choices: each Friday for the next three weeks we’ve got groups shipping out; otherwise, there is one that will be leaving here at seventeen hundred hours today.”

            “I'd like to leave today, if at all possible.”

            For the first time since Bryson entered the room Sgt. Thompson looked up from the paperwork with a surprising smile gracing his lips. “Oorah! That's what I like to see, a gung ho future Marine. Well, I'm sure you'll want to call your family to let them know you'll be leaving.” Thompson walked him out of the office, and pointed to a corner of the waiting room where a pay phone stood. “You can use that phone over there, call’s free courtesy of the USMC. You can tell your parents that you'll call them again when you get to Paris Island to let them know you arrived safely. When you're done just come have a seat back over here, we have more paperwork you'll need to fill out before shipping out today.” As Bryson walked toward the phone Sgt. Thompson called Garrett, David into the room after him.