by Christopher M. Erdie
All the way through junior high I sat alone at lunch. I was the preferred target for bullies: shorter than many, heavier than most, shy, with soft features, long curly hair, and dressed like I had just rummaged a pile of clothes in the alley behind the Salvation Army. I enjoyed science, Dungeons and Dragons, comic books and poor hygiene. I enjoyed being alone and often I would laugh out loud at something I had just thought in my head. I am not sure that sitting alone was a choice, in fact, as I write this, I guess I wasn’t just the preferred target of bullies, I was the prime target for bullies.
My dad was a Chief Warrant Officer in the Army and his adventures in soldiering took us all across the globe. I attended nearly a dozen different schools by the time I was done with high school. The one thing that was as consistent as the fact that shortly after I made my first friend we would be moving again, was that shortly after arriving at a new school the bullying would start. Unless we lived on the local military base, in which case the bullying lasted exactly as long as it took the bully’s parents to discover who my dad was, then the bullying stopped. I was never really sure if the reason was that he worked for military intelligence—spooks is what the kids called them—or that his rank was probably higher than their own, but the change in behavior was noticeable and immediate; the kids would avoid me altogether. I only attended three military base schools, so those moments of peace were the exception and short lived, but I treasured them so.
Throughout my scholastic travels there were numerous young men (and one very aggressive young lady) who enjoyed using me for humor’s sake, or cruelty’s sake, most of whom I have long since forgotten their names, remembering only their acts or words. Most of them, no longer relevant in my grown-up experience, I rarely think of any more with the exception for one strapping young lad whose torment of me was as thorough as it was brutal and effective. His name was Nate and he would serve as the catalyst for a change in the way I see myself that would make my high school years far less miserable. A new philosophy, really, components of which are now woven into my very DNA; I can no longer abide a bully.
Nate and I had a lengthy history together. And I say ‘together’ because a bully needs a victim the same way a doctor needs a patient; one without the other and their title doesn’t mean much. Nate was not particularly clever, he wasn’t a bullying artist, he didn’t come up with new and interesting ways to ridicule and embarrass people, nor was I his only target. He was broad in scope and a fan of the classics: swirlies, “why are you hitting yourself?”, knocking your lunch tray out of your hands, pushing you into lockers as he passed, wedgies and the like. But on one particular day, right before 6th period, he would embarrass me so viciously that it would both scar me for years and serve as the beginning of my liberation from the yoke of the brute.
In the library after lunch I sat alone reading a choose-your-own-adventure novel. A young lady whose name escapes me now, sat down beside me and struck up a conversation. Strange, to be sure, given that I knew her to be Nate’s girlfriend and that, well, she was a girl. She said she had liked me for some time and asked if I wanted to go see a movie with her after school. I immediately started to blush, my mind racing to figure out what exactly was going on. She pressed the issue, telling me it would be fun. I smiled politely and told her that I couldn’t, I had plans. A lie, yes, and I would like to tell you that I had a good reason to do so. But I didn’t. I was simply scared. Regardless, she seemed shocked by this and asked me if I was sure. I said I was and then thanked her for the invite. Nate appeared from behind one of the book stacks and started laughing. He told me I was an idiot for turning her down and then proceeded to tell me that the plan was to show up to the theater with her and some friends, if I had said yes, to taunt me further. I closed my book, grabbed my backpack and rose to leave. Nate called me a nerd, made several astute observations about my weight and appearance, and I turned and said,
“You know, Nate, you should read a book someday. If you apologize, I might just take the time to teach you how.”
He stopped smiling. If I had been less anxious to pounce on his silence, which I perceived as the prelude to my victory, I would have left it at that. But I didn’t. As I turned to leave the library I continued,
“It would make your mom so proud.”
Some of the people standing around giggled. Someone laughed. I left the library and went to fourth period.
After fifth period had ended I gathered my things and headed to the other side of the school where my final class was held. As I turned into the hallway I saw Nate and his friends standing ahead of me, across from the bathrooms. I employed the age-old practice of looking at my shoes as I walked, as if engaged in thought, oblivious to the stares of hatred being thrown towards me. As I came to pass by Nate and his friends, one of them grabbed my backpack as another pulled my shirt over my face and head and started pushing me to my right. I heard Nate say something about my mentioning his mom and how I shouldn’t have and then I heard a door open. Someone then pulled my pants down to my ankles and shoved me into the girl’s bathroom. I tripped and fell face first onto the bathroom floor, cold tiles pressed against my naked belly. I squirmed and wriggled to pull my pants up and, once I had, to put my shirt back into place. There were several girls in the bathroom, all of whom were laughing, at least it seemed that way to me. I stood up, refusing to make eye contact with any one, went into the stall closest to me, shut the door and locked it. I sat there until the sixth period bell rang. Then I sat a little longer. Until I felt sure Nate and his friends had gone to class.
I didn’t go to sixth period that day. I sat in the girl’s bathroom for some time, then I moved to the boy’s when I felt it was safe. There I sat until school got out and I headed to the bus. I was sure everyone had heard about what had happened and so I hurried to the bus as quick as I could without actually drawing any attention to myself. No one seemed to notice. I was almost there! Then I saw Nate talking and laughing with his girlfriend next to the bus behind my own. I would have to pass them to get home. I buried my face into my chest, grit my teeth and started to pass them when Nate said something to me. I can’t remember what he said, I don’t know that it even mattered, I turned on my heels and threw a straight right at his nose and missed. Unfazed I threw another, another and another and I kept advancing as he backed away from me. He put his hands up and I advanced. He slipped on the curb and stumbled into the side of the bus and I advanced. Large, powerful arms went around my waist as I continued to do my best Street Fighter 2 impression, lifting me off the ground and away from Nate. I flailed for a moment as I realized it was a bus driver who was holding me, another bus driver had grabbed Nate and my desperate attempt to “fight” was officially over.
I was crying as I sat in the office and waited for my dad to show up. To my surprise, Nate had his head down and was sniffling too. Our parents showed up, we were lectured and got suspended for three days. During my suspension I got the flu, giving me more than a full week off from school. When I returned the mood had changed; people looked at me differently. Others who had suffered by Nate’s hand smiled when I passed, or offered me a high-five. People said “what’s up?” as I passed them to take my seat. I even had a couple of guys ask if they could sit with me at lunch. It wasn’t a hero’s reception, to be sure, but I felt for the first time in a very long time that things might just be alright.
I didn’t see Nate that day. Or the next. Then I heard his parents had transferred him to another school and, though no one really knew why, the rumors abound. They found out he planned to kill me and sent him to live with his grandmother was my personal favorite. It didn’t matter, really, the junior high rumor mill latched on to the next thing fairly quickly and I was left alone to my thoughts again, albeit with less harassment and a few more friends at the lunch table.