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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “At the Zoo” Down in the Dirt v210 (8/23)  Order the paperback book: 
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Talk Louder
Lawrence Zielinski
It was Wednesday morning. The mother, father and the oldest boy, in the tenth grade, were sitting at the kitchen table, waiting, again, for the youngest son, the eighth grader. They were able to be all together for breakfast two or three times each week because both parents could work, on occasion, remotely. And so they waited. The oldest son knew why his brother wasn’t downstairs yet, but he promised not to tell.
“What’s wrong with your brother? Stomach again?” The father asked the oldest boy.
“That’s what he said.”
“Go up and tell him to get dressed and get down here. That’s two days in a row now with that stomach. I wonder what’s going on at school?”
That was when the oldest boy decided to break his promise.
After the youngest son was seated the oldest said, “Ian is having trouble with some fat kid at school.”
The boy glared at his brother. “And you promised too,” he said.
“What’s this all about Ian?” his father asked.
“Some kid keeps teasing him,” the older son answered.
“I didn’t ask you,” the father said. “Ian?”
“H-H-H-He mocks me w-w-when I talk.”
“I told him he should punch the kid in the mouth,” the big brother blurted out.
“That will only get Ian in trouble. I thought that the teasing stopped. And you stay out of the conversation.”
“It did s-s-top, but he’s a new kid. He t-t-transferred from s-s-s-some other school.”
“How long has this been going on then?”
“Ab-b-bout a month.”
“He should punch him in the mouth,” the brother said again.
“Stay out if this,” the father said. “I can talk to the teacher,” he half-heartedly suggested.
“No,” Ian blurted out.
“That would be embarrassing, Dad,” Ian’s brother interrupted.
“For the last time, stay out of this.” The father said sternly. And then he told the other son, “Handle it then. You can make fun of him. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Your brother said he’s overweight.”
That’s when the mother chimed in. “If he did that then he would be putting himself on the bully’s level.”
“C’mon Mom. That kid deserves it. How do you think Ian feels?” the brother asked.
“Well,” the father said quietly, “maybe a new speech therapist?”
“Nah, that d-d-d-doesn’t help anyway.”
“You have to practice the therapy lessons you know. You are pretty lazy about that.”
That evening, after dinner, the boys placed the dishes and utensils into the dishwasher and went to their rooms to do homework. The oldest went into his room and promptly opened his phone. The youngest got to work on his essay that was due the following day. The students had to read their essays in front of the class. That was the reason for the stomach aches.
In the morning Ian rushed into the bathroom and quickly sat down, and just as quickly his brother opened the door and walked in. “GET OUT. CAN’T YOU SEE I’M TAKING A DUMP?” Ian yelled out.
“I’M JUST GETTING MY COMB,” his brother responded loudly. “And you should yell more often,” he added. “You don’t stutter when you yell.”
As the two boys walked to their respective schools the oldest boy asked what Ian was going to do about the bully, but before his brother could answer, he told him, again, what he should do. “I guarantee he’ll stop making fun of you.”
Ian told him that he didn’t want to get in trouble for fighting.
“Ya gotta make that kid stop making fun of you. Make fun of him being fat then. Something. Do you like being laughed at? It’s not your fault you stutter.” They soon parted ways and went to their respective schools.
They were going row by row. Each child in the class of twenty had to stand in front of the class and read their essay. Ian was nervous, scared, his breathing quickening.
When it was his turn he slowly walked to the podium and opened his binder and started to read, “The d-d-d-deepest part of the o-o-cean is M-M-Mariana Trench.....”
He continued like this, struggling, for three very long minutes and he could hear the boy in the back of the class, in the last seat in the last row by the windows, snickering quietly and mocking him. Right after Ian finished reading his essay but before he left the podium the teacher told Ian’s tormentor to apologize to Ian. He did and then she told him to stay after class.
During recess the students were on the playground, just outside the school’s side entry doors. Ian was shooting hoops with some other boys. He dropped the ball when he saw the bully walk out of school. He didn’t say anything to his friends He walked up to the boy and asked, “Hey kid, why d-d-do y-y-y-ou think it’s f-f-f-unny ...”
“Because it is funny,” the bully interrupted.
Then Ian punched him. The boy’s head jerked back from the force of the blow and he just stood there, staring at Ian. Ian clenched his fists at his sides and waited, but one of the volunteer supervisors at the school saw what happened. She took them both to the principal’s office.
The principal told the boys there was zero tolerance at the school for fighting, for any reason. He didn’t even want to know the reason, he told them. “For the remainder of the week and the first two days of next week you both will spend your lunch hour here in the hall next to my office. Now, how do you feel about fighting?”
The bully dropped his head, hiding the slight red mark under his right eye and gave no answer.
“And you young man, how do feel about fighting on school property now?” he asked Ian.
Ian looked at the principal and said, “G-G-Good.”
