“The Consequence of Reasoning: Part 2″

Note: If you missed it, please read “The Consequence of Reasoning: Part 1″ before continuing on.

Oliver’s thick hand thrust like a ram into my chest, securing me to the building while he bent to pluck something from the ground.  Though some of what he said I have managed to forget, open wide was muscular enough to take hold.

It was then that I allowed to be cast my present future.  Most any other kid would have fought back, would not have stood for someone forcing pine needles into their mouth.  I permitted myself to become of the timid minority and gave in to the punk’s request.  The scratchy, bittersweet needles clawed at the insides of my mouth as I squirreled them in my tender cheeks.  Mr. Huss communicated his lack of satisfaction by wrapping his meaty fingers around my throat.

“Chew, Jonny.”

When I mouthed no way both his serrated jaw and his grip tightened.

With his mitt clutching the stick holding my head to my shoulders tears pooled behind my lids.  I took my time crushing the needles in a vain attempt to keep them from causing further irritation to my taste buds and my fading low self-esteem.

Releasing my craw enough to do so, Huss instructed me to swallow my debatable treat.  I hardly resisted this next degradation, pushing the coarse snack into my throat and points beyond.  He patted me on the cheek and, in a manner reserved for the family dog, assured me I was a good boy.

His adoration was momentary, the torment incomplete.  Oliver released the suffocating grip on my neck and squatted to gather more humiliation.  I have the gift of perfect hindsight, and see that I could have used this opportune moment to attempt a hasty retreat.  After all, Oliver was unbalanced and Emily was holding my bike a mere twenty-five feet away. 

Nobody has ever accused me of thinking fast or for myself.  Like a melting ice sculpture at a Christmas in July carnival, I quaked in the balmy sunlight until Oliver regained his stance and his palm returned to its place at my throat.

This time I was encouraged to snack on two or three Junior Mint-sized pebbles.  I resisted harder, and don’t think before this day I had ever cursed out loud.

“Screw you,” I squeaked.  Oliver pressed his talon harder to my gullet.

“I said to open your mouth.”

Gasping for air, I opened up and the pebbles fell on my tongue.  By now, I let myself fall victim to his attack.  I would have climbed Mount Greylock carrying a burning backpack, sucking on a crap-covered pine cone if I thought it would help end this.  Without any coaxing, I swirled the boulders in my mouth, expecting the involuntary gargling to win me favor.  Through tear-clouded eyes, I saw the smile that gave way to Mr. Huss’ true character.

“Swallow them.”

Spent or not, I wasn’t gulping down rocks.  In my most aggressive act of defiance, I spit out the stones, one of the orbs hitting Erick’s sneaker.  Oliver’s grip became unbearable and I began to pass out.  Just when my head started to swim, Huss threw me away from the building.  I stayed standing but flinched when an arm encircled my shoulders again.

“No hard feelings, right?”  It was an order, not a question. 

I shrugged.

“C’mon, Jonny.  We were just having fun, buddy” he lied, dragging in his less-than-innocent pals and releasing our hug. 

“You can go now; and Jonny,” he patted my back, “nobody has to know we played today.”

I woke up sick again this morning after dreaming about that day for the umpteenth time, paled by the haunting words, my head pounding from reliving the slow motion video again.  I decided that today I’d finish what I had been planning for so long.

To truly settle things — my stomach, my mind, the score — I also had to make sure to smother the root cause.  To silence my pain, the right person had to know why I was visiting.  Years had passed, so that bully also had to realize they had conjured a lifetime of anguish and were not that friend they professed to be.

That’s why I’m waiting on this particular porch today, listening to the sirens getting closer.  I am now content that twenty-five agonizing years of nightmarish replays are over.  They validated my conclusion and I’m confident that the real bully wasn’t that guy waiting to choke me with those pine needles; she was the bitch who set me up, who didn’t have her own bike, and was holding mine a mere twenty-five feet away.

“The Consequence of Reasoning: Part 1″

You can’t die my death so don’t try to live my life. 

Anyone could be where I’m sitting now, considering the agony I’ve endured.  Besides, it’s taken me twenty-five years to reach this decision, so it isn’t as if I rushed to judgment for Christ’s sake.  To be honest, what’s worse than the years of mental anguish is that this bully defined me with a single incident.

The confrontation that justifies this precise moment in time happened when I should have expected it — when I least expected it.  The day was a normal day just as much as it was an extraordinary day.  The scripted summer sun was warm and well on cue as I pushed my bike through Burleigh Park.  The uncommon goodness radiated from Emily Santos, the popular girl walking beside me and innocently drawing a smile between my cheeks. 

Em lived on the other side of town but wanted to go out with my neighbor.  She didn’t know the way and asked if I of all people would walk her to Evan’s house.  Emily could have invited any guy in school but I was her pick and I jumped at the chance to have someone catch me with her.  My one regret was taking my ten-speed to meet her, and I was surprised when Em said she didn’t know how to ride.

Most of our conversation consisted of long stretches of silence, but more talking would have spoiled the bliss.  It didn’t matter anyhow, because the spontaneous joy that had been growing within me withered in the same sun that was trying to nurture it.  I had noticed three guys on the other side of the park heading for us, and my unlucky eyes could find nowhere to hide.  Determination wiped all traces of contentment from above my chin and diverted that power to my reflexes.

My mind scrolled through every morning at school, recognizing these thugs I had never considered friends.  Neither were they ones to invite me to pick on other kids with them, though they did manage to include me in the harassment in some way.

Oliver Huss was a dark-skinned kid with a bottom jaw that cultivated teeth like a Venus fly trap.  The other two boys were Erick Ulde, who disguised his true nature under a ‘John Denver’ hairstyle, and a drill sergeant-looking kid who’s name has never been important enough to remember.

I’ve often wondered if Emily noticed how chatty I got.  My attempts to start inane conversation about school and my bike muffled the silence of our once pleasant walk.  The thugs who were falling in line behind their boss matched our haste, blocking our slender escape route through the woods.

It was the schoolyard again and I was too familiar with the wall of boys in our way.  I no doubt could have turned around and outrun them on my bike, but that would have left Emily alone with those jerks.  Instead, I shivered in the sunshine while my skinny legs billowed in the breeze.

When I talked to my father later about the episode, he gave me a speech I could have used that morning:

Don’t run from a bully, he said.  If you defend yourself, his friends will back down.  They’ll see you’re willing to stand up for yourself and they’ll never bother you again.

Well, I didn’t run.

“Jah-nee,” Oliver patronized, dragging out my name.  His hand greeted my bony shoulder.  “Why are you coming through Burleigh Park?”

I have ever since hated that kid who asked himself, when did he tell me I couldn’t walk through the park.  It never crossed my mind that I didn’t need his blessing.  Instead, I let my head fill with so much fear and shame that my eyes dragged the ground.

The bigger boy’s forearm slid across my shoulders and I was ushered behind the pool house, his buddies tagging along behind us.  I didn’t think about what was going to happen or even try to get out of it; I just went with them, leaving my ten-speed with Emily. 

Behind the shed, Oliver wasted no time in clarifying the depth of our friendship.  He dropped both of his tough hands onto my scrawny shoulders, pushed me into the splintery wall, and bent his upper half toward me.  Mr. Huss was now close enough that I could see my trembling reflection in his glassy pupils.

To be continued…