And
the Crowd Goes Wild
It had been a full
week since I had stood where I was, staring up at the rotund, faded blue
building that read Helen Parkhurst High. The
building seemed no different, but I found myself drawn to the hurricane
shutters that lined the windows of every classroom. I could see the face of
some pussy freshman peering through one of them, looking right at me, and then,
knowing that I caught his gaze, jumping back down into his seat to tell the
world of my return.
The
week before, I had gotten into a fight. Not a “give me your lunch money” fight,
but a real, bare-knuckle brawl. My opponent was Steven Mehler, the kid whose
dad suddenly signed up for the military to “finally do something with himself”
and then just as suddenly came back in a body bag. Ever since then, he had a
nasty streak of aggression. First it was drunkenly taking Rebecca Miller’s
virginity in my parent’s bedroom, and then it was leading a school-wide
vendetta against Ms. Richards, the English teacher who refused to let him sit
in the back corner of the classroom. Recently, his frustration had been
manifesting itself in the form of asking anyone, almost everyone, for a fight.
When he came to me, I figured why not. If nothing else it would get him to shut
up for a while.
Although
his bite certainly did not live up to his bark, he actually gave me a pretty
good workout that day by the outdoor basketball courts. For what must have been
about three minutes, he used up all his energy, flailing his arms around like
someone who knew they couldn’t take a single punch. He had me jumping around, far too worried about him possibly
getting one good shot in to notice that he wasn’t protecting himself at all.
When his battery ran out, he held his arms down by his sides and looked me in
the eye. I could tell he knew his luck had run out, and he was asking me to
show him kindness. I did not. I hit him once, directly in the nose, and he
fell. The crowd, which had grown to perhaps even a hundred people, let out a
roar and I suddenly missed my days of being a star. On the basketball court,
tennis court, in the pool, you name it, I was a champ— until of course everyone
went through a little thing called puberty and most of my physical advantages dwindled
away. I felt that fan support that had been missing for a few years and went
with it. Even though Steven was down, I took no chances that he would forget
this moment. I favored the left side of his face, and let loose with a few
clean punches to his eye. When I saw blood, I moved to his jaw, hitting him a
few more times. I thought I heard him beg, “Please, stop” but by then I was
getting pulled off of him by three members of the maintenance staff and dragged
to Principal Shearer’s office. When questioned as to why I had fought the “poor
boy,” I said all I could think of. “He asked me if I wanted to.”
It was that poor
boy whose battered face was the first I saw upon re-entering my domain. Even
though he was merely standing at his locker organizing things it seemed as if
he was waiting for me. As I heroically flung the double doors of the school
open, he looked up, took a deep breath, and slammed the locker shut. I stepped
over the threshold and as the doors closed behind me I could feel the breeze
from it just barely avoiding knocking me down. I approached Steven with a smile,
looking for a truce. “That’s quite the shiner you’ve got there, Steven, but
it’s looking better than last time I saw it.” The area under his eye was a dark
shade of blue, and under that were undertones of yellow and a lighter blue. His
chin just had one bandage across the middle of it.
“Fuck you.”
“Whoa there, no
need for that.” I cordially took my hand out of my pocket and offered it to
him.
“I apologize.” He
quickly slapped my hand away and directed a venomous stare my way. It was
difficult to stare back, as his eye was too much for me to handle.
“Fuck. You.” He
made sure to hold the pause in between the words in order to properly express
his anger.
“Listen, Steve.
What happened between us, it was not good. I might even go so far as to say
that it was bad. And I’m sorry. But I
got my punishment, and clearly you learned your lesson, and we should leave it
at that. No?”
Steve did not say
word, choosing instead to shake his head as if deciding to not pursue a potentially rewarding business opportunity, and eventually
repeated coldly, “No.”
“What do you want,
then?” This type of talk was more to his liking.
“A rematch.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Wait, you want to
fight me? Again? And you really thought about this?”
“I don’t have to
think about it, I just have to want it.”
“Listen, Steve—”
“I wasn’t asking.
3:30— today.”
“Don’t you want to
at least give yourself time to heal?”
“I have.” I could
tell he wanted this line in particular to resonate with me because after
delivering it, he seemed to want to say no more, and a smirk came across his
face. He continued staring, thinking he had the upper hand, and frankly, he may
have been right. At that moment, I was speechless. Fortunately, the morning
bell signaled the conclusion of our mano y mano and Steven quickly turned around
and scampered to class. His stare lingered.
“What a Mo-Ron,
trying to have at you again. He can’t be serious.”
“He seemed
serious.”
“Well I guess you
gotta teach him another lesson, huh?” My friend Doug was always there to
encourage me, to convince me that I couldn’t take shit from anyone, that I shouldn’t take shit from anyone. Yet not
once did he apply that to himself. I did all the intimidating for him, and he
got to coast through life like he was entitled to the protection. Including
from our chemistry teacher, Mr. Taylor, who was typically late to class.
“I don’t know…
it’s a bit too soon, you know?” Like he always did when something rubbed him
the wrong way, Doug made a grand gesture, throwing his arms up in the air and
rolling his eyes. He took the tone of a trainer pumping up his boxer before a prizefight.
“Fuck that noise!
He wants another go at you, show him what you’re made of. What are you gonna
do, not show? Then everyone will think you’re some bitch.”
“Hey. I’m not a
bitch.”
“Exactly. Thus,
you fight.” His business-like hand gestures and adamant fist pounding on the
table really stuck the point.
“It’s not that
easy, though.”
“Oh but it is, mon
frère. You kicked his ass last time, just go do it again! No harm done.”
“But the harm’s
already been done. Shearer’s got me on his radar.”
“That old guy?
What’s he gonna do, suspend you again? Then you get to miss more school; even
better.” I looked up at the clock. It had only been five minutes, which meant I
had to endure this conversation for ten more unless Mr. Taylor would come in
and just save me.
“I don’t know, he
told me if I did it again, it’d be pretty serious.”
“What’d he say?”
At this point I would have done anything for Mr. Taylor to come in and start
his titration lecture. The attention I always got from Doug suddenly seemed to
all be a hoax, a ruse in order for him to project himself onto a part of me. I
didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.
“He said he’d
probably have to suspend me— at least that’s what I think he said. I wasn’t
paying full attention to be honest.”
Doug could only muster
up a nod to my half-hearted response and the conversation abruptly ended. Just
to make sure I got his point, after a few moments of awkward silence, he turned
to me and said, “I still think you should do it. Can’t have people thinking you
can be controlled.”
“Thank you for
sharing your opinion now shut the fuck about it please.” Then, to myself,
“Where the hell is Mr. Taylor anyway?”
Almost on cue, the
door swung open and in he walked, wearing his typical business suit, something
that made him stand out amongst the other Parkhurst
High employees. Or maybe it was the impeccable comb over, or the precision
with which he put his Samsonite briefcase down every day, sliding it into the
same exact spot under the corner of his desk. He stood at the front of the
class and breathed deeply, making sure to hold up his chest and broad shoulders
as he did so. Even after he exhaled his upper body seemed a little bigger than
it should have been. He looked around the room to scope out the mood of the day
when I must have caught his eye because his shoulders slunk a bit and he let
out a remorseful, “Good to see you again.”
“Why thank you,
sir! It’s good to be back!” I made sure he could see my teeth and catch my
subtle head tilt as he took in my response. He shook his head, looked to the
ground for a moment, and came back up smiling as if our quick encounter had
never happened.
“Shall we begin?”
Just before lunch,
I was called to Principal Shearer’s office. When I walked in I realized it
always seemed dead and lonely, not just when Shearer was in a bad mood. The
faded blue walls clearly had not been changed since the building was built, and
the aged wood that made up Shearer’s desk and drawers made me realize why our
entire school seemed to have a musty smell to it, almost like body odor
combined with old age. He sat behind his desk in a chair whose width would
barely hold someone of my size yet whose highest point nearly touched the
ceiling; I had never seen anything quite so geometrically abstract, except of
course, for the last time I was sitting across from it. I didn’t know why I was there but it
quickly became apparent that Shearer’s motives were transparent at best.
“So how was your week
off? Did you learn anything about yourself?”
“That I suck at Jeopardy.”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t really
have anything to do all week, you know, seeing how I couldn’t get my work or be
with my friends because, well, they were here,
but I did get to watch a lot of episodes of Jeopardy
that my parents recorded. I didn’t fare so well.”
“That’s… not quite
what I was getting at.”
“Then what were
you getting at, Principal Shearer?” He readjusted in his seat as much as he
could.
“Do not patronize
me, young man.”
“Oh, I’m not. I
just don’t know why I’m here exactly, and I’m trying to be as honest as I can.”
“You know why
you’re here.”
“Sir, I honestly
don’t.”
“Because you beat
up Steven Mehler.”
“Beat up? Please,
it was a fight— and I was here for that last
week. I have no idea why I’m here now.”
“I wanted to check
up on you.”
“Is that really
necessary?”
“I don’t know, is
it?” With that, he took off his glasses like he was trying to be my
psychiatrist or something. I already had one of those so I sat in silence, waiting
for him to make the next move. If I played my cards right I’d be out of there
in no more than five minutes; with a little bit of luck, maybe two. Principal
Shearer suddenly stood up. I had never noticed how short he was, and his
attempt to loom over me actually made me feel bad for the guy. Here he was
trying to intimidate a student, me of
all students, and standing over me, he barely had to look down for us to lock
eyes! All of his power was lost before it had even been established.
“I’m worried about
you— and let me finish before you interject. You have a lot of potential. I can
see it, your teachers can see it, and I think you can see it. But for some
reason, for some reason, you think you’re better off being the way you are
now.”
“The way that I am
now? That’s who I am. That’s who I’ve always been.”
“And that’s the
way it’ll always be, right?” Damn right that’s the way it’ll always be. Nobody’s
going to make me who they want me to
be, some idealized image of the things they didn’t achieve for themselves. This
guy clearly did not know who he was talking to. I wasn’t some weakling who was
going to let things fall into place after following the rules for x amount of
years; I wasn’t going to lead a cookie-cutter life full of the typical family
photos and reunions and all that bullshit. I was going to be who I wanted to be, and I was going to do
what I wanted to do. If only I could
have gotten any of this out before Shearer continued. “Wrong. Because you can
change. Not whenever you want, but when you are ready. You need to realize that
some people are ready before others, and it is their duty to pursue the call at the moment it reaches out to them. ” He
stood there for a few moments, as if waiting for a response from me, but I was
not going to give him anything. There he was, trying to frighten me into
following his rules and becoming the student he wanted me to be, as if the
principal of a public high school has any right to tell people what they should
and should not be doing.
“Are we done?”
It was two minutes
before my poetry class started when Ms. Richards told me that we had an exam
that day. I had missed the classes discussing the material we were to be tested
on, but I was still responsible for the material nonetheless. I was a victim of
circumstance.
“Whoa
there, you’re telling me that I have to recall facts and information that I
don’t have and didn’t even know I had to know for today?”
“Despite
your poorly-phrased summing up of the situation, yes, you are correct.”
“That
doesn’t seem very logical. Am I wrong?”
“You
are not wrong. However, the rules are the rules. You weren’t sick, you were
merely absent.”
“A
forced absence! I was suspended.”
“For
something that you yourself did. Which would mean ultimately it is your fault
that you are in this situation, and nobody else’s.”
“Give
me a break, here.”
“I’m
sorry, I cannot. I didn’t come over here to discuss, but merely to inform.”
I thought about
grabbing my balls and telling her to inform those, but using my better judgment
I merely kicked the leg of my desk and paid her no more attention. She stood
looking over me for a few moments before mustering up a “if you have a problem,
take it up with Principal Shearer” and heading back to the front of the room to
begin distributing tests.
The sun fell
behind the clouds and the clock struck 3:30. Thinking I could get out of a
lose-lose situation, I found myself walking briskly towards the school exit.
The eyes of students at their lockers seemed to be focused on me, and as I got
closer and closer to the light at the end of the tunnel I had a feeling that I
was being led to something. My suspicions were confirmed when I finally felt
fresh air once again, only to see a circle of kids, tens, maybe even a hundred,
surrounding the area around my parked car. Steven placed himself in the middle
of the circle and paced around, doing his best impression of a hype man trying
to pump the crowd up. All the students gave in and a slow clap ensued. After
the spectacle was complete, I made my presence known. The crowd opened up for
me and I entered the arena. Steven would not even give me the benefit of
acknowledging my presence; he was now merely squatting, slapping the pavement
in order to convey his supposed dominance over it. The bruises on his face made
it hard for me to picture him as anything other than my punching bag. I still
could not believe he had the gall to think this was an appropriate course of
action. I had won fair and square, but humiliating himself as much as possible
seemed to be part of Steven’s MO.
Steven stood up,
cracked his neck and his knuckles, brought that deviant stare back into my
gaze, and bluntly said, “let’s do this,” as if our lives depended on it. His
might have. He got into a sparring pose and seemed as if he were going to
approach this a bit more strategically than last time. He circled me, and I
rotated my body to make sure he was constantly in sight. As I did, I found my
eyes wandering towards members of the crowd. There was Rebecca, who seemed to
want nothing more than to see me get what I deserved. How she could still like
Steven was beyond me, particularly after he had taken advantage of her like
that. I saw Doug hitting his fist against his palm, seemingly full of more rage
and will to fight than even I was at the moment. Suddenly, Steven reminded me I
had business I was supposed to be attending to and cheap-shotted me in the
stomach. I keeled over, more from the surprise than actual pain, and almost
instinctively raised my left leg to his chest. The weak, wounded boy fell over
almost immediately.
This was pathetic.
One punch last time, one kick now? Who was this kid pretending to be? He lay on
the floor for a moment, stunned at his own weakness. I imagined his other eye
just as black, and he now looked like a raccoon, at a loss for how to possibly
defend himself against this bear of a man. He tried to stand up but could not
by himself. Doug took a step forward, raised his hands in the air, and yelled
“That’s it!” The crowd moaned and Steven tried to stand up again.
“Bullshit! This is
not fair!”
“The rules are the
rules my friend.” But Doug was not in charge, and there were no rules laid out.
There didn’t need to be. This was my problem and Steven’s problem, and all the
fanfare played no part into how we were going to settle this. Without saying a
word, I walked over to Steven and helped him up. The few students who had taken
Doug’s word suddenly came back and the circle was full once again. Steven
winced a little as I got him to his feet, and I grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Quit being such a pussy.” I let go, turned around, and took a few steps away.
I stayed turned toward the crowd but I could feel Steven’s rage building
towards me. He was all-but motionless, but his breaths became deeper and
longer, and his pain had clearly subsided to the point that he felt physically
capable again. I stood for god knows how long, waiting for him to do what I
could not believe he had not done yet. I finally could feel him approaching and
turned around. I clenched my hand into a fist and closed my eyes. He grabbed my
shoulder, turned me, and I relaxed my fist. I brought my arm up slowly toward
him, but he hit me square in the cheek with a fist of his own. It did not hurt
as much as it stung, almost like a shot at the doctor’s office. The cool air
made the sting last, and Steven quickly hit me on my other cheek. The crowd let
out a loud roar and it was clear what they had wanted to see all along, since
over a week ago. I gave it to them.
I half-heartedly
threw another punch, which Steven easily avoided. He jumped behind me and put
me in a headlock. This was almost crossing the line, but just as soon as he got
me in it he was throwing me to the ground. He jumped on top of me and began
pummeling my face, clearly at odds with his feelings of vengeance. I heard only
claps, and nobody seemed to be doing anything else. Even Doug was getting off
on Steven’s rage. After what could have been ten solid strikes to the face, I
decided I’d play dead. I turned my face to the pavement and closed my eyes. I
could feel Steven wanting to hit me one more time, but he did not. I continued
to lie down on the hard pavement with my eyes closed for what must have been like
a long time. There were no more footsteps of students walking away, no more
engines revving. I did not open my eyes but figured I was lying there all
alone. Everyone else was at home, with their families, or hanging out with
their friends, or on the phone discussing what they had just witnessed. Whether
they felt bad, or proud of Steven, or disappointed that I did not put up a
better fight I did not know. I figured I’d lie there for a while.
