NO DRAGONSLAYER IN SIGHT
“You haven’t seen them yet, but you will,” the faded-eyed kid from across the street quavered. Jimmy Dordon slammed on his bicycle brakes, barely missing the kid. “Just like I do,” the kid continued, features trembling like gelatin under cellophane.
Jimmy instinctively backed away. The weird kid was Revelations Plant, son of a local hellfire-and-damnation street-corner preacher, Nehemiah Plant. After last night’s fourth beer, Dad had slammed his fist on the table and declared that papery looking Revelations was wrong in the head. Like always, Mom had locked her lips and said nothing.
“Seen what?” Jimmy asked, confused.
“Dragons,” Revelations whispered.
Jimmy’s hand nervously went to his bicycle basket. He fingered the gray bag that held Bigtooth, his new plastic dragon model. Jimmy had wanted the model (“Bigtooth--The Ultimate Dragon!!” the ad banner had said) since he had seen one in Neil’s Hobbies, down on Kingston Pike. He had mowed what seemed like every lawn in west Knoxville that summer to get the money for it. How could the weird kid even tell what the opaque bag contained?
Jimmy caught movement from the corner of his eye. Braze Feldon, five years Jimmy’s senior, lurked behind a line of garbage cans. Last spring, Braze had gotten thrown out of Knox County Vo-tech for hitting a teacher with a wrench. Ever since, he had stalked the streets with his blister-raising BB gun, to the sorrow of neighborhood cats, pigeons, and kids.
“Run, Revelations,” Jimmy called.
Revelations took off down the street. Jimmy pumped his bicycle hard. He heard an air-gun’s whump behind him, but the pellet missed. Jimmy felt bad about leaving Revelations in the lurch. But the neighborhood adults couldn’t corral Braze--Braze’s quarryman father, Cornett Feldon, would slash the tires of anyone who tried. What could Jimmy hope to do?
Jimmy pulled the bicycle into his front yard and chained it to the sassafras tree. He surveyed the tiny blossoms of horseweed dotting the property. Horseweeds only bloom at summer’s end. The blossoms reminded him that only a few weeks remained before sixth grade began. Jimmy, not intending to waste his remaining freedom, dismissed Revelations Plant from his mind.
Cradling the boxed Bigtooth in his arms, Jimmy ran up the steps into his house. He dashed past Mom mixing ground beef and stuffing mix for another of her meatloaves, barely calling out a greeting in passing. He darted upstairs to his room and closed the door.
Jimmy eyed the posters on his walls. The Hildebrants’ “Smaug” hung where he would see it every morning. Beneath it were program covers from the last three years of Atlanta’s ‘DragonCon’. Jimmy hadn’t been yet, but the library’s computers could print pictures of each year’s spectacular new dragon. On the shelf beneath the posters rested a figure of Vermithrax, from that crappy Dragonslayer movie, beside the purple and orange anime dragon figures he had picked up at Neil’s Hobbyshop.
Jimmy reverently removed the box (“23 inches tall!! 35 inches long!!” it said, in letters that resembled stone) from the plastic bag. He opened it and admired the finely detailed scales, the intricate membrane of the wings. He ran his finger over the back spines, reveling in their sharpness. His fingers stopped at the outsized teeth that gave the model its name. Jimmy smiled. “The Ultimate Dragon” indeed. Let would-be dragonslayers beware!
But working on Bigtooth in Jimmy’s cramped room--water marks on the ceiling from last winter’s snow, hairline cracks in the window glass, carpet that smelled of a dog that died before Jimmy was born--felt just plain wrong. No, Jimmy’s dragon would come to be in a fitting environment. Jimmy glanced out his open window and smiled.
When he was younger, Jimmy had launched balsa gliders from the almost flat roof below his window. Now that roof would launch something grander. Jimmy gathered his brushes, turpentine, and paints; even the special “Aztec Gold” that would put the correct sheen on Bigtooth’s beaky snout. Carrying Bigtooth, he climbed out onto the roof.
Revelations Plant peered at Jimmy from the darkened window of his own house. Below, Braze chased stray cats with a baseball bat. Jimmy knew he should feel sorry for the cats, but here on the roof, his dragon left no room for lesser considerations. Fixedly, he set to work.
Jimmy devoted every moment of the next week to painting Bigtooth. From polished ebony hind claws to the weathered jade underside, he lavished attention on each of Bigtooth’s 318 parts. Through challenging, painting paled beside assembly, which took the next two weeks. Jimmy made sure every part meshed with NASA-like precision. At last, on the final Saturday morning before school, it was done. Or almost. Jimmy had only to glue the looming head in place.
He sat on the roof, warm east Tennessee sun on his face. Carefully, carefully, he placed the dollops of glue--no drop must show. Carefully, carefully, he lifted the head toward its throne atop Bigtooth’s double-curved serpentine neck.
Whomp! the sound came from the street below. A jagged hole, black, yawning, and awful, appeared in Bigtooth’s swelling chest. Whomp! the sound came again. Bigtooth’s lower jaw shattered into jagged fangs of plastic. The sound came a third time and a wasp-sting exploded in Jimmy’s back. Instinctively, Jimmy’s hands shot to the pain. Bigtooth went flying. The dragon bounced, breaking a wing before rolling off the roof. Spinning end-over-end, the dragon tumbled down, landing with a shattering plastic crack.
Jimmy turned, horrified. Grinning, Braze Feldon gave Jimmy an ironic salute with his BB gun.
Jimmy’s stomach churned. He rose to his feet, a black roar in his ears. As much as he didn’t want to, he looked down. Jimmy blinked, trying to fight back the tears--Bigtooth was broken beyond hope of repair.
“Over here,” a voice rang out. Jimmy looked up. Revelations Plant looked out his open window. His watery eyes burrowed into Jimmy’s. “Now you can see dragons,” he called. “They’re all around,” Revelations continued. “Just look.”
Jimmy wiped away the tears that clouded his vision. As he did, Revelations’ face swam into focus. He had never before noticed how thin the kid looked. Did his father starve him? Preacher Plant appeared in the window behind Revelations.
“Get away from that window,” the old man snarled. He closed the window and pulled down the shade. But as he did, Jimmy saw Mr. Plant’s hand slip into Revelations’ pants.
Jimmy glanced down at the street. Cornett Feldon appeared, carrying the heavy leather belt he wore when he worked at Cedar Bluff Quarry. Jimmy had never before seen anything on Braze’s face but the pleasure of inflicting pain. Now, he saw sheer terror. Mr. Feldon began to swear, calling Braze names for not carrying out the trash. Braze cowered, putting up his hands to protect himself. The heavy belt struck Braze with all the force a man who lifted heavy chunks of limestone for a living could muster.
“Jimmy?” Mom’s voice rang out from his room, behind him. Jimmy turned and climbed back through the window. Mom began to talk. Jimmy tried listening. He couldn’t. Why had he never noticed her bruises before? They were so obvious, usually appearing after Dad had been drunk. How could all the times she looked like she’d been crying never registered on him?
Jimmy suddenly felt very small. Despite the late summer warmth, he shivered. Jimmy Dordon had seen dragons … all around, with no dragonslayers in sight.
