3: God For a Day

Riding up and down the incline, I’m staring at my sketchbook. I peeled the ‘on’ and the ‘ide’ off of the cover so all that was left was BranDiv. Unorthodox I know, but it was fun saying it over and over in my head. I’m twenty minutes late for school, but I feel unconventional today.
Reason why- getting off the incline, I’m texting my mom. We did this everyday because she’s not home much. She’s a physiatrist and didn’t get a lot of free time, but when she did, she was texting m. When I got done, I’d go to school, come home, and see her around 8. This went on every day and every day I drew something new (yesterday I drew somebody covering their ears as a plethora of numbers swarmed him because we were learning about the Greek symbol pi in math class). But aside from that, I don norhing. Come home, draw, eat and sleep. I wanted to do something unordinary.
This happens once a month for me. Last month I gorged myself until I threw up at an all you can eat restaurant. The month before that I told everybody on my bus several fake stories in a southern drawl each time as the day went by. The month before that, I wore business suits for three weeks. And this week, I didn’t know what I’d do.
But I walk into school late and pulled out my book. I began sketching and wishing the day would go faster.

Seventh period and we’re wrapping up gym and going to the locker. Upstairs is a fight club that kids in my class do because our teacher is too obese to walk up the stairs which is ironic for a phys ed. because he’s a phys ed. teacher the same way an addict tells you not to mess up like them) so kids can do whatever they want. And every day the normal kids get challenged and called pussies for declining these bulky kids from a match. They were the Greek gods of this school, looking down from Mt Olympus laughing and as I walked passed them they challenged me.
“Divide, get in this.” They referred to the next fight. I looked up from the floor, shrugged and said “Sure, why not?”Jaws dropped as I stood there- Hercules, half mortal, half god, challenging my predecessors. There I was: Brandon Divide- audacious and dashing. Bold and charismatic.
My opponent was kid from track, popular and fast as hell due to the extracurricular activity. I figured I’d draw my defeat later, like a sketch on an ancient vase. And as I made up all of these metaphors, I began to grow a god complex. The track kids name was Greg and I wondered if the cross he did on the side added endurance. I would find out soon because someone called out ‘fight’.
I threw my glasses off my face and prepared to start swinging. Greg charged, flailing fists hitting me as the crowd cringed and moaned with each connection. But I could take this-I’ve practiced with cousins, but they didn’t know this. Me and my cousins were about the same age and we fought no rules-weapons were allowed so we could grow from each other. So when I grabbed him by the throat like a horror movie, he was stunned.
A shot to that priceless face of his and I let go of his throat and started kicking him. After about six seconds of hacking his legs, he took me and pinned me to the lockers. He opened the one next to me and used it to bash me in the face. As soon as I felt it I saw red and I could admit-it hurt like a bitch. I leaned against a wall next to the lockers trying to recover from the pain. As I did this, Greg set a stool up in the middle of the room. He was going to jump off and kick me into the wall.
But as soon as he charged, I charged too and at the last second, I picked the stool up, holding it right above Greg’s knees. He awkwardly charged into the stool, making a clanking sound and falling onto it, breaking one of its legs. He screamed obscenities as he hit the floor and I stayed in fighting stance in case he wasn’t done.
A bit breathless, he rose grabbing his ribs and said “Shit Divide, you could’ve killed me.” But he stuck his hand out and we shook. As I went to pick my glasses back up, I had a pounding headache, but it was weirdly alleviated by the explosion of cheering from the locker-room. And like Ares, the god of war. I stood in pride, my followers praising me. But don’t get me wrong, I never get too hung up on ego, so I just made my exit.
Looking in the mirror, I realized I had a huge line on my face from the locker and that I had a couple of bruises, but aside from that, I was fine. After gym we were allowed to walk out of school, so I got up and left. So as soon as I walk outside, I make a left and hear from behind me: “Whoa Divide, what happened.”
I turned and saw Autumn and she looked concerned. “Me?” I said stupidly as if there was another kid referred to as ‘Divide’. “I got into a fight” I told her and her eyes got bigger. “Are you okay? Who was it?” I shook my head and said “No, its okay, we were messing around.
From her mouth, a sigh of relief. “Oh ok, sorry to sound like your mom. I just hate when kids get picked on, you know?
I nodded, holing my sketchbook under my arm, she looked. “Bran…Div?” She asked changing the subject.
“Yeah,” I half smiled awkwardly. “I just tore some letters off and…”
“I like it.” She interrupted me in a good way. “I’m going opt call you that from now on, okay, BranDiv?” I just nodded and smiled. She had a nickname for me.
“Well you stay safe okay?” she finished and again I nodded my head, but this time we both walked away from each other and I smiled. Maybe she wasn’t as scary as I had thought.

Riding the incline again and I’m relaxed because my day wasn’t the same as it was every day. I was laid back, with my eyes closed, enjoying the steady inching down the inching down the large mountain.
Then as I was about to ride it down for the fifth time, I saw a kid with a suit on and a very conservative, almost bowl cut haircut. “Hello,” he said holding out his hand. “My name is Miles.” I shook his hand “What’s your name?” he asked. “I’m Brandon.” I told him and then he asked to see my sketchpad. I showed him and he flipped through each page slowly examining each one thoroughly. Then finally when the doors opened, he went to hand over the book. “thank you Brandon, here you g-“ and he dashed out. Quickly I went after him.
Here I was-Hermes, god of speed, messenger bag in tow, hitting everything in my way with it, trying to chase this kid down for justice. Miles ran out, looking left to right and chose right, towards the Southside. He ran down East Carson Street, me chasing him until the end of it and he panicked. There was traffic so he couldn’t cross the road, but if I caught up to him, I’d pull the Ares card again like I did to Greg.
And like that, he dropped my stuff and ran. I would’ve chased him down, but I had to pick up my stuff, and besides, he looked too soft to fight anyway. But behind him, he dropped a bottle of ink. I picked it up and put it in my pocket, grabbed my sketchbook, and started to head home.
But riding on the incline back to Mount Washington, I realized Miles didn’t ruin my day because today I was a god. Sitting back, relaxing again, I felt like Zeus, resting on top of Mt Olympus, cutting the world I was responsible for out if only for just a few seconds.