A Walking Parody

      The sweat began to bead over Boyd’s brow and his heart beat faster as the eyes of the hound fell upon him.  Recognition was swift.  A diabolical grin appeared.  The hound circled back.  Boyd stood frozen with fear.  He was being stalked.  He wanted to run, away from the battle, away from retribution, but Morley’s deep displeasing eyes kept him still.  Boyd moaned.  His advisor had become his captor.  He pleaded with Morley.  I’m not a hero, he whispered.  I’ve never been a hero.  But Morley stood resolute, his foot resting on Ernest’s prone body, as he pounded on his chest like a tribal war chief.  Boyd was frightened.  The images were taking him into danger.  He needed a plan, fast, and he tried to shake Morley’s image from his mind.  Grace’s image appeared, laughing at him.  The hound was moving toward him.  He panicked.  His mind imploded.  He wanted to run but any escape route had been cut off.  He had no choice.  He had to fight.  He removed his glasses and stuffed them into his shirt pocket.  He closed his right hand behind his back and locked every ounce of energy, of fear, of retribution into his fist.  As the hound neared Boyd closed his eyes, reached back and pushed his arm through the air with as much force and as much strength as he could muster.  Everything turned black.

      There was laughter.  Strong, hearty, robust laughter escalating in volume all around him.   He had to strain his eyes to make out their faces.  There was Grace, laughing so hard that she actually fell out of her lounge chair.  The Fernwoods were laughing at him, which was nothing new, from their usual perch slightly hidden behind the curtains of an upper floor window.  Sedgewick was laughing as he stuffed croissants into his mouth and one-franc notes into the g-strings of strippers.  His children were laughing as they took turns kicking each other and anyone that approached them.  Morley was laughing, F. Scott was laughing, even Ernest, lying on the canvas, was laughing.  Boyd closed his eyes and wished that the laughing would stop.  What had he done to deserve this abuse?  Was there nobody to support him?  And why did he suddenly have this throbbing in his head?  The laughter finally stopped.  He heard a voice, a familiar voice, Grace’s voice, telling him that he was right—he wasn’t a hero.  She was crouching over him and offering her hand to help him up.  He ran his hand across her face and was soothed by the softness of her skin.  But her skin began to peel off in his hands.  Chunks of flesh fell from her cheek and her chin.  When her lips fell into his hands he screamed.

      He sat up.  Several strangers stood around him.  Pain was shooting through his face.  He rubbed his chin.  No blood.  There was no sign of the hound, just these spectators who had obviously watched him being beaten and were now waiting to see if there would be more action.  He reached for his glasses but they had fallen out of his pocket.  He ran his right hand along the cement in search of them.  His left hand still held his portfolio.  A man who looked like Morley leaned in and handed Boyd his glasses.  There were too many eyes upon him.  He had to escape the eyes.  He tried to stand but lost his balance and fell into the arms of a couple of the onlookers.  They helped him stand.  He wanted to thank them but they just stared.  Everybody stared.  He turned and limped away as fast as he could.

      The bright lights of the terminal accentuated the pounding in his head.  He glanced back to ensure that the eyes were not following him and again lost his balance, this time falling into a group of teenagers.  They shoved him away.  He could see their faces.  They each had Morley’s disappointed face.  He hurried away.  He had to find a place away from all these critical eyes.  He covered his face as he stumbled along.  Nobody could see him.  He was hideous. He was the elephant man.  His head pounded.  His eyes hurt.  His heart raced.  His body started to numb.  He couldn’t go any further though and he collapsed against a wall.  He rested for what seemed like an eternity.&nbs