Last of the Mighty by Phineas Foxx

1950s. Oyama was a karate master who used to fight bulls. Bare-handed. Killed three of them, each with a single strike. The others he wrestled to the ground then used a fist to break off the bull’s horns.
    I’d just broken my fifth branch of the day with a knuckle strike when Shemja-za and the Watchers crept into my mind. I was hoping Uncle Will’s flood numbers were right and that most of the Watchers were still in lockdown. Maybe Shemja had been the only one to escape. And even if all the Watchers were on the loose, what’d that have to do with me? For now, I had enough going on with Tucker and Chool.
    Couldn’t find Tuck-face at school again. Wasn’t too upset because I knew I’d see him tonight, at our first wrestling match of the season. Coach Burns had already told me Tucker was wrestling, and I was going to ride the pine. Said I had to heal a bit more and prove myself in practice. Since Burns was always so mega-stressed before a match, I didn’t give him any grief.
    When I got to the hospital for some Merryn time before the match, my aunt and uncle were already there. Merryn was checking out. Her torso was wrapped in a cloth bandage and her wrist was in a splint. Three faint scars, where Tucker had bitten her, were carved into her upper arm. Other than that, she appeared fine.
    I was amazed at how well she was handling it, both physically and emotionally. Why hadn’t she broken down and cried on my shoulder about how scared she’d been? How she thought she was going to die and wished I’d been there to protect her? I wanted to hear that. Wanted her to know that she could shed tears in front of me, lose her composure, express her fears, and show me her softer side.
    Of course, I was happy to see Merryn healing so well and to hear that she’d been given a clean bill of health. But part of me, the ugly, selfish part, wanted Merryn to stay in there for another week, month, or year. It’d been awesome dropping in on her at any time, having an excuse to do that whenever I wanted. To know she’d be in and we’d be able to talk for hours. That I’d get to see the way her nose flared right before she laughed. How her thumb and forefinger would absently tap together, three times, when she got nervous. And to feel my heart heat up when her lips parted and her smile lit up my world.
    Now she’d be busy with homework and friends and essay contests. I’d have to think up excuses to see her. We’d be interrupted by the noisy buzz-shudder of incoming text messages and callers with their own individual ringtones. That and the kajillion other fifth-wheel intrusions that’ve been squashing the beginnings of love relationships since the dawn of time.
    It’d never be the same.
    As we were leaving, Nurse Jackie caught my attention and subtly motioned for me to meet her in Merryn’s empty room.
    Once inside, the nurse looked around nervously and whispered, “Unknown,” then put a finger to her lips.
    Took me a second to figure out that Nurse Jackie had been busy on the second floor. My dad’s name was not listed on the Certificate of Live Birth.
    I wasn’t thrilled with the result, but hugged Nurse Jackie, touched by the gesture, and thanked her anyway. I kissed her on the cheek and left to meet my aunt, uncle, and Merryn at the elevator.
    In the parking lot, Uncle Will and I held the doors of his Jeep Cherokee open while the girls climbed in. After we closed them, Uncle Will smiled at me and gave me a clap on the back.
    â€œThanks for staying with her, Og. It means a lot. To all of us.”
    It was my pleasure, but I thought it would sound stupid to say it. Stalkerish. So I just kind of half-grinned with my eyebrows tall and arched while my chin began to wobble with an idiotic up-and-down seesaw thing. It wouldn’t stop either. I’d turned into one of those bobble-headed dolls you see on car dashboards. I know. Real smooth.