“Fuckin’
dorks!”
I
turned to see a kid who was once my friend, not a close one, but a friend
nonetheless.
“Look
at the two of you,” he yelled from about twenty feet away, “Ya look like a
couple of queers!”
Unfortunately,
as you may have guessed from this individual’s choice of dialogue, we were no
longer friends of any sort. No, Brad Gray had decided before eighth grade year
had begun, that he was better suited to be my bully than my friend. To look at
him was to see Nelson from The Simpsons
and Scott Farkus from A Christmas Story
rolled into one. He was stumpy, chubby and mean, with red hair and freckles. He
was about 6 inches taller than me and outweighed me by at least 35 pounds.
Relying heavily on the bully stereotype, Brad Gray wasn’t much good at scholastic
endeavors. However, he did have a talent for picking on people smaller than
him, and generally being a giant [insert phallic descriptor here].
“Don’t
say anything just keep walking. We’re almost inside.” Aaron instructed me under
his breath.
Brad
still bellowed at us, “Oh guess you two nerds are gonna pretend you don’t see
me? Figures, damn pussies!”
I
ignored Aaron’s advice, “Fuck you Brad you fat fuck!”
You
might as well know, that besides my atrocious language, I had no right to call
Brad a “fat” anything, as I had been
shopping for husky jeans at Sears for several years myself. That being said, I
knew it would piss him off royally, and it did!
Although,
in retrospect I’m not sure that was such a wise course of action.
Brad
looked amazed that I had dared to say anything back to him, but when he heard
the word “fat” his eyes narrowed, his cheeks reddened. “Oh you mouthin’ off
now…”
“Ya,
you heard me, I’m not going to take your shit!” I hollered across the courtyard
at him. “Fat ass!” I couldn’t resist saying it again. In my portly condition as
a child I don’t know that I had ever gotten the chance to call someone fat. It
seemed so villainous, yet oddly satisfying to my twelve year old ears.
Brad
charged across the courtyard to confront me. Even then, I hadn’t realized how
deep I was. It began to sink in when Aaron (you know that friend I was walking
with) disappeared inside the school’s double doors.
I
had been abandoned! To be fair, Aaron wasn’t the one shouting insults and curse
words at Brad, a kid with a reputation for beating the snot out of classmates
bigger than me. It was my fault, my problem; I had made it that way.
Brad
finally caught up to me (he was fat remember?), “What’s yer problem?”
I
looked him dead in the eye and was about to tell him, then realized just how
close in proximity he was. I could see his crazy bloodshot eyes, smell his
medically untreatable halitosis. So as my backbone took leave, I responded with
the only words I could muster, “How’s your dog?”
Brad
seemed not to hear the question. Unfortunately, I still don’t know how Brad’s
dog faired after a bout with lice. Likewise, I was never able to confirm if he
caught it from the dog, or vice versa. By God, why couldn’t I have just kept my
mouth shut!
Brad
grumbled at me, “I’m gonna beat the shit outta you.”
Gulp.
The
gravity of the situation was suddenly very apparent. My mouth was empty without
the insulting adverb and swears with which to fill it.
Brad
saw the children around us trickling inside, wanting to get into their classes
before a quarter after eight. “But not now...” he thought for a moment, his
lips mushed together, eyes squinting. He was really searching for a solution.
“Behind the school, after seventh period, 3:15.”
It
was a pretty big school, but I didn’t have to ask where. There was an alcove
just past where the buses lined up to take all the kids home. It was just out
of sight of the drivers, but lucky for me all of the bus riders would get a
casual view of me getting my face beat in this afternoon.
Brad
punctuated his directive by shoving my right shoulder with his ham-like hand. I
nearly fell over from the force.
First period was a blur.
When
second period rolled around I could think of nothing but 3:15 and my appointment
with Brad Gray. I couldn’t help it; it had taken over my mind.
The
time was now etched in my mind, every second dragging me closer to my doom. Each
second falling away from the clock was like a signal of my approaching death.
By midday I couldn’t tell if time was speeding up- sending me to my destruction
that much sooner- or slowing down- and thereby drawing out the prevailing sense
of dread I felt. It was agony.
At
lunchtime I scanned the cafeteria, luckily I did not see Brad. I can only assume
he was in the gym ripping volleyballs open with his teeth just to see what was
inside. Instead, I saw one of my few friends; Phillip.
“Phil!”
I rushed to him like he was a celebrity. “I’m glad to see you. Guess what?”
I
expected him to have a rough draft of my eulogy ready, assuming he had heard
about my 3:15 appointment.
“Hey
man, what’s up?”
“You
haven’t heard?”
“Heard
what?” Phil said sincerely. He looked extremely wise in his Lacoste polo, especially for a fellow
preteen. Perhaps it was that savvy alligator (or was it a crocodile?)
embroidered on the shirt front.
“Surely someone’s told you about me and Brad?”
“No,
what did his dog get over that lice thing?”
“I
dunno. You really haven’t heard anything?” To me, I assumed everyone in school
had been whispering behind my back about 3:15. So sad, they’d say, he was
such a nice boy, but fat kids shouldn’t call other people fat. It’s just wrong.
Phil shook his
head.
“Brad
is going to fight me at 3:15.”
Phil
broke into a fit of laughter.
“Why
are laughing? He’s gonna kick my ass?”
“Psshhh,”
Phil asserted, “Brad won’t show, he’s a chicken shit. He don’t want no trouble
at school.”
“Really?
You think?” the skies parted, the clouds lifted, I could see sunshine on the
horizon.
“Heck
no man, he’s all the time making threats and stuff, he’s probably done forgot
what he said, or who he said it too.
I
nearly jumped for joy. “Great, whew! That’s great!” While trying to stay
composed I asked gingerly, “In case he does, umm show up, you wanna stop by?”
TO BE CONTINUED!
