Andy didn’t know when he started seeing the three-horned bull. If you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you, either. It was when he was rather young though, he knew that much. Andy believed he started seeing the bull in his dreams at around four years old. That was also around the same time when he started to get into art of all types. At around three, he remembered his mother playing on the grand piano that sat by the curved stairway. To any outsiders, the sound may have been a bit dull or even a bit annoying, but for Andy, it was like he could hear angels singing.
The young child of Mr. Tristan and Mrs. Zaregan Amedeo was born in a small hospital in an equally-as-small town known as Peak Valley. Neither Tristan or Zaregan expected to end up in Peak Valley. The very fact they met each other at all was still hard to believe. Both Tristan and Zaregan had been going on a hiking trip up a local mountain. As they walked down, they happened to bump into each other. Soon, they were in love and before they knew it, there was a young child running about, listening intently to the sounds of an ancient piano or watching as Tristan painted on his grandfather’s painting aisle.
Andy was also as sweet as could be, or so his parents believed. Such was the power of fallacies. Sure, Andy’s parents knew that other kids could be downright rotten if they wanted to be, but surely that wasn’t true of their angelic Andy. Which was why both parents were flustered by what Andy’s preschool teacher, Mrs. Alexis had said about him.
“It’s not true,” Zaregan said. “I’m sure the other parents are jealous or something. Maybe they’re paying her off to say that kind of stuff.”
“Zarey,” Tristan replied calmly, “don’t let it get to you. It’s just a letter from an overworked, probably-underpaid preschool teacher. Besides, Andy’s only five. Even if he is doing some mean things in class, he’s still got plenty of time to learn and grow.”
“I know,” Zaregan replied. “It’s just that . . . reading things like that makes you wonder if you’re even a good parent!”
“Hush.” Tristan wrapped his arm around his tearful wife, taking her to the living room and comforting her. All the while, Andy sat on the stairs, way up past his bedtime, hearing everything. He listened for any signs of his parents going back into the art room, before he bolted upstairs and closed his bedroom door behind him. He jumped into bed and fell asleep, trying not to let what he heard get to him. He wasn’t even sure if he understood most of it, but he knew for sure it wasn’t good.
If Andy couldn’t feel safe in the real world, then he could make a place of safety for himself in the dream world. In his dreams, nothing mattered. There were no rules, no consequences. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything at first, except for the three-horned bull. Andy stroked his hand against its thick, black fur. He put his ear to its mouth, listening to its heavy, muscular breathing. This was a dangerous animal, even more so because of its extra appendage. Yet it was the only being Andy felt safety in. It was the only being he considered a friend. The people at the preschool were vicious monsters in children’s bodies. Andy tried not to worry about the possibility that the others might be vampires or werewolves or demons in disguise, especially since he had stayed up to watch many horror movies that he had been told not to. Andy hadn’t been caught yet, but he was very sneaky about it all. The price he paid was a fear of those around him.
Andy figured that the truth would come out eventually, but for now he was safe. He hugged the three-horned bull, closing his eyes and letting the bull take him to faraway places.
~~~~
It was only the first day of kindergarten, and already Andy was struggling. His teacher, Mrs. Doris was a strict, cruel teacher with a nose pointy enough to rival Sherlock Holmes. Even if he was on his best behavior, she still would find something to complain about. She made Andy want to cry, and he wasn’t the only one. Some nights, when Andy couldn’t sleep, he’d sneak downstairs and find his parents talking about the school.
“Andy’s coming home, crying,” Zaregan would say.
“Who’s the teacher?” Tristan always asked. Andy wasn’t sure if his father was genuinely forgetful, or if there was more to it. Perhaps Mr. Zaregan didn’t want to remember Andy’s teacher. She was old enough to have taught Tristan, although Andy didn’t know yet that his parents had only been in Peak Valley for less than a decade at that point.
“Mrs. Doris,” Zaregan always replied.
“It’s a wonder she ever found a Mr. Doris,” Tristan said, before snickering.
“This is not funny, Tristan. That teacher is practically a witch in everything except name.”
“I know a couple other words ending in -itch that I’d use to describe her if I was more crass.”
“I’m telling you, Tristan, that we need to move out of here.”
“Hasn’t that teacher been on the chopping block for years, Honey?”
“From what I’ve heard, yeah. Too bad those penny-pinching, worm-eating goblins on the school board keep her around because ‘Oh, we’re sorry, there’s not enough money to hire somebody better.’ And then they have the nerve to drive around in a fancy car.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky, and Mrs. Doris will get run over by one of those fancy cars,” Tristan suggested.
“That’s not funny.”
“C’mon, Z. Do you honestly think those board people like her any more than we do?”
Despite everything, Andy had to go through the entire school year with the same teacher. It made him upset, and sometimes angry. His only escape was the various times where he could paint or practice playing the piano. There were also his dreams.
As Andy’s brain grew more synapses, so too did his imagination. Whereas his dreams had once been white voids, where it was just him and the three-horned bull, now he was able to form imagery of rocky cliff sides. He could feel the wind against his back. He could see the grass blowing towards the sea. Andy wished to see what was out on the sea. Perhaps he’d find an island where he could live by himself, an island where no rules and especially no Mrs. Doris’ were allowed.
Andy continued the school year. The months passed by agonizingly, despite Andy only having actually started school. But, eventually, the school year did end. Despite everything that had happened, his parents hoped that there would be a silver lining. This hope was dashed like a wooden boat against sharp rocks when Andy brought home a report card. His parents took one look at his grades, and decided enough was enough.
“Alright,” Tristan said, “let’s start packing.”
Andy thought he just hated Kindergarten. It turned out he just hated school in general. His teacher, Mrs. Flour, was a fine person, and quite nice. Still didn’t stop her from not noticing that all the other kids picked on Andy. For some reason, however, they never messed with his art. Perhaps they respected his art. Andy was fine with that if it was the case.
In his dreams, he sailed the many seas aboard a ship known as the S.S. Amedeo. He was joined by the three-horned bull, of course, but he was also joined by The Heart, The Brain, and The Soul. Those three crewmen liked to bicker constantly, and it was a miracle when they agreed on something. It was also a miracle when Andy came across land in his dreams. On hand, he was more or less secluded. On land, he could do anything. There weren't any other captains; there weren’t any other ships. He was the king of the oceans simply by being the only one sailing.
Elementary school was a struggle, but one thing Andy always did well was his art. Drawing, painting, clay were his expertise; he could also master almost any classical song in a day. Andy also dabbled in writing, which he also did extremely well in. Despite his struggles in elementary school, he managed to pull through thanks to his art. Still, the bullying continued.
His parents did what they could to put a stop to it. Alas, it seemed that when one kid was reprimanded, three more appeared in his place. Andy’s mind coped by filling his mind with visions of tall, seemingly-infinite mountains, and seas that stretched on forever. Andy wanted to climb a mountain one day. He wanted to master every art form in existence, and any art form that didn’t exist. He looked at the three-horned bull. He stared into its eyes. It seemed like it was trying to tell him something, but all it would do is moo and grunt. Soon, Andy woke up, and it was already a few days before he started middle school.
Andy flew into a locker, sliding down, groaning. A bunch of taller kids stood above him, laughing. Andy turned his head, seeing a hall guard leaning against a wall, too busy to pay attention. The bullies spoke, but Andy couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then they walked away.
It was only his second week in middle school, and already Andy was struggling. He did what he could to put up with it. He didn’t know why everyone either ignored or pushed him around. He didn’t understand why his teachers were so cruel. He constantly told his parents what was going on, but they could only do so much. Nobody seemed to care. He brought home less art; he brought back fewer poems.
In his dreams, Andy stood atop his ship. The three-horned bull looked at him with . . . what? Disappointment? Anger? Sadness? Andy couldn’t tell. He desperately wanted to make more art, but he just didn't feel the motivation. His three years of middle school were a slog. Names and faces blended together.
He constantly stayed up late at night. Multiple times, he caught his parents arguing. One night, it would be about his constant detentions.
“Andy’s getting in trouble too much,” his mother would say.
“So you want the other kids to kill him?” His father would reply.
“No, of course not . . . it’s just that . . . well, isn’t there something we can do? Maybe we should move out.”
“I doubt it’ll be better anywhere else.”
The next night, it would be about his grades.
“Even his grades in art classes aren’t as good as they used to be,” his father would say.
“He’s depressed,” his mother would reply.
“So have him express how he’s feeling through his art.”
“Tell the teachers to do that, then. Oh, wait, they’re not good at anything.”
Andy wondered how he’d survive in high school if this was how everything would be. He started to lose wait. By seventh grade, he was skinny. By eighth grade, he was gout. Andy bought a diary, and started writing in it. It was the only way he knew how to save himself.
Eventually, middle school would become a bad nightmare. Eventually, Andy would get out of high school, but he wondered what future he had ahead of him.