I hit back, and kept hitting. I was afraid to stop hitting.

When I was in junior high I had a bully. He waited for the school bus at the same location as me. He was good-looking, and already smoked: the girls loved him.

I was tall, but still skinny. New to the area. And bookish.

He'd pick on me as we waited, and the girls waiting there for the school bus would laugh.

I had previously told my mother about the situation, and she had counseled me to ignore him. That wasn't working.

This time I went in to talk to my Dad. My Dad was an ex-Marine. His eyes perked up when I told him my situation. He then explained to me that I had stand my ground, or it wouldn't stop. Make him throw the first punch. And, if I lost, there was nothing to be ashamed of. But if I won, make sure the bully fully knew that I won.

So the next day at the bus stop my bully picked on me, as usual. The girls laughed, as usual.

I told him I was tired of this, and dared him to throw the first punch. Daring someone as a kid was a big thing. He laughed, threw a punch, and missed.

I hit back, and kept hitting. I was afraid to stop hitting. Even after I had him on the ground I kept hitting, until he yelped for me to stop.

The girls weren't laughing now, which might have even been better than beating him.

The next day at the bus stop he lit up a smoke, then offered me a cigarette.

I accepted. I didn't know how to smoke, but I did my best. Coughing, etc. He told me everyone coughs when they have their first cigarette, no big deal.

We didn't become friends or anything. But I got to join the circle, waiting for the bus.



--jj

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

So: he was framed. A devious plot. And -- of course -- the HR woman didn't believe him. Because: woman.

There was a guy who used to come to the bar on a fairly frequent basis; this coincided with when he lost his job. Some people, when they lose their jobs, gravitate towards the bar. I assume the reasons are pretty self-explanatory. If an explanation is needed, then: alcohol. He said he lost his job because of a woman at his work: she had it in for him. He never quite explained why she had it in for him -- details are often hazy when people don't want to go into detail. The key was she had it in for him: that's where it all started, although it obviously started before that. She complained about him to their company's HR woman. He said it started as a misunderstanding, but that then the woman just began to out-and-out lie about him. Which may indeed be something that someone who has it in for you does; again, details were hazy. He always made a point that his company's HR person was a woman, though:  I assume his reasons are pretty self-explanatory. If an explana...
Read more

To let go would be to acknowledge the embarrassment of clinging to an embarrassing position like it Somehow Even Fucking Mattered.

It happens in politics, it happens in families, it happens in the workplace, so -- of course -- it happens at the bar: people who were once close turn on each other. And, like in all of those places, it makes the people close to them uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with easy access to an alcoholic beverage, yes, but still: uncomfortable. Sometimes it is politics, sometimes a sense of betrayal. Sometimes a principle, sometimes unrequited love. Some causes seem rational, some seem silly, but that doesn't really matter. If the people involved are taking it that seriously, then the needle is in the red. And the needle stays in the red, because no mechanic wants to take on that shit. A lot of people think that, somehow, the bartender can fix these things. Because bartenders are Magic. They turn your money into alcohol, which is always a good trick. But unless one of the Red Needle People is a lousy customer, then there is not much he or she can do: the bartender is paid to serve c...
Read more

Sometimes he listens to these conversations: sometimes he arches an eyebrow slightly, sometimes an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

There is a man who comes by the bar infrequently; mid-sixties, keeps to himself. I have spoken with him a few times, but he is not the talkative kind. Polite, short sentences, then back to reading his book. He grew up in the Soviet Union, then came to America after the USSR dissolved back into being Russia. I would love to hear his stories, but, as I said, he doesn't talk much. He listens, though, and it is very interesting to watch him listen. This is Seattle, and Seattle is Proudly Progressive: when people talk politics they often talk about how it really isn't Progressive enough. The Big Ideas are held back. By the Republicans, by Big Business, by the Usual Suspects with the Usual Reasons: Greed, and, well, greed, mostly. Sometimes he listens to these conversations: sometimes he arches an eyebrow slightly, sometimes an almost imperceptible shake of the head. I don't know if such small gestures come from a man who is naturally quiet, or if growing up in the S...
Read more