when i was a whippersnapper, used to try to get a kiss
i’ve only ever come close to getting beaten up over a girl once, and it was a very long time ago.
back between 5th and 6th grade, going from elementary school to middle school, me and my cousin franchesca got sent to Ebon Academy. in typical ignant fashion, it was “ee-bawn,” rather than the actual pronunciation, but whatever. (as a side note, the founders ran off with the money a few years later.) it was a school for young and gifted black kids, which promised computers at each desk, an olympic size pool, and several other things that would enhance our education.
when we got there, we had rooms, sans computers, and an olympic size pool, so they weren’t total liars. everything else was pretty weak, though. i honestly don’t remember any of the classes i took there or what i did. it’s just a blur of faces and names. there was the guy from ohio with cuts in his eyebrow who swore he was in a gang and got sent to live with his auntie because he got in trouble (probably true, in hindsight). there was the smelly kid no one liked, who seems like he’s at every school. at the next school i went to, dude was named terrence and he smelled like burnt corn all the time.
anyway, there was a girl there named Sparkle. i might have liked her a little bit, and we spent some time hanging out and doing whatever the 10/11-year old version of flirting is. i was young and short, still waiting for puberty, and i think she was a little taller than i was. that was the story of my life, up until recently.
now, the plot twist is that i was unknowingly talking to OPP. she was apparently seeing, or liked by, this cat going from 6th to 7th grade, making him a year or so older and several pounds heavier than i was. so, you know, me not being a fighter at that age, this was kind of a big deal. i start being a little more careful with my routes, hanging with my friends because there is safety in numbers, and so on.
and yeah, one morning, i think it was a weekend because i didn’t have class, i gotta do laundry. i pack up my clothes, go down to the laundry room in the basement, and see about doing something about my dirty clothes. and yeah, i got caught slipping.
this guy, whose name i’ve entirely forgotten in the years since, comes down to the laundry room with a couple of friends. maybe two? three? it’s fuzzy. he was the only one that mattered.
a few thoughts race through my head immediately. one is that they just came in the only exit, so that’s gone. another is that literally the only weapon to be found in a laundry room is some dirty underwear, so that’s not even an option. the third is that i’m seriously about to get beaten up by this guy, this is serious.
i’d like to think that i didn’t cry because my fourth thought was to take the beating like a man, you don’t get to cry when you screw up, but that’s almost undoubtedly a lie. it was probably because i was too busy trying to think of a lie to tell to get out of the situation i was in, or too scared to cry.
regardless, i didn’t cry. i undoubtedly looked scared, though. after some tough talk and a lot of me saying “i’m sorry man” he eventually looked at me and realized that he was about to beat up on a little kid. he hit me with a few more not-so-veiled threats and bounced.
the only moral to this story is to be a little underweight kid if you don’t want to get beaten up.
