HomeThe Black Eye
by Ron Van Sweringen
Tommy Parker's right eye was nearly swollen shut. There was a narrow slit between the lids that allowed him a peculiar view of the world. One he had never seen in his fourteen years. His brain searched for a description of what he was experiencing and the only answer he could come up with was, 'concentrated conception.'
Tommy Parker was no rocket scientist, his C average report card proved that. Fortunately his A+ grades in Art, drawing and painting, made up for any other shortcomings as far as he was concerned. Physically, Tommy was a late bloomer. Most of the other boys in his class were taller and more muscular, some even growing hair on their chins.
Tommy went over his chin every morning, using a magnifying glass he kept on the back of the toilet for that purpose only. He was shocked one morning when the glass showed one golden blond hair protruding from his chin. It was curled like a corkscrew and when Tommy stretched it out gently, he let out a squeal of delight; it was almost an inch long.
Tommy came to the exciting conclusion that there was hope for him. Somewhere between the newly discovered giant hair protruding from his chin and the strange sensation of the 'concentrated conception,' view from his right eye, life was changing for him. It was about time.
An hour after discovering the hair on his chin that morning, Tommy was nearing his high school. He carried an armload of art books, borrowed from the school library. A tall stocky figure suddenly stepped out from a row of hedges growing along the sidewalk. Tommy's stomach rolled over, it was Bart Smith, the school bully who had given him the black eye a few days before.
"What have we got here?" Bart sneered, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest. "That will be a dollar to pass," he smiled at Tommy, "unless you want another shiner."
Tommy's heart pounded, he had a one dollar bill and two quarters in his pocket for lunch in the cafeteria. Was it worth the dollar bill and his lunch for another black eye. He was about to give in, when Bart grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him up on his toes. "I think I'll punch ya anyway, dollar or not," Bart growled, balling up his fist.
Because of the way Bart was holding him, Tommy could only see through the slit in his right eye. He was looking down directly at Bart's crotch with 'concentrated conception'. A flash of heat surged through Tommy's body as he brought his knee up as fast and hard as he could. The thought had not even fully formed in Tommy's brain before the act was done. It was a matter of self preservation.
Bart's mouth flew open and a rush of air shot out followed by a loud screaming groan. The two goons who always accompanied Bart, stepped back in shock and disbelief at what they had just seen. Bart fell to his knees with both hands holding his crotch, then he rolled over on his side in a fetal position, crying and moaning.
For the rest of the year Bart avoided Tommy, the word had gotten out about what happened. Tommy grew five inches that semester and by June had a thicket of golden curls on his chin. He also had the prettiest cheer leader in Stanton High School on his arm.
Bart on the other hand, had learned the hard way, the distinct advantage of 'concentrated conception,' although he couldn't begin to spell it.
