Bullied (6 page)

Just at that moment, I saw Mom just entering the upstairs bleachers with a worried expression on her face. I am so glad she is here. Wow, I thought, they all have to sit there and listen to me, no matter who they are, or how much bigger they are. I felt another rush of excitement, a lot bigger than that other feeling from my brief presentation in class two weeks ago. Feeling a rush of power, determination and authority that surprised and thrilled me, I began the presentation.

As I began speaking in my confident voice, all of the people that I knew began to grin or chuckle and whisper to each other. After I was well into the presentation, the looks on all of their faces was much different. Of course, Rick still had that familiar sneer. As I proceeded, my well-rehearsed pauses and the parts that I emphasized seemed to surprise some of the people watching and listening to me. This feels like the most control I have ever had in my life! My voice had always been deep for a child my size but now it really sounded loud. My Mom had a big smile on her face and her eyes seemed wider than usual. When I finally got to the end of the presentation, there was applause that gave me a big thrill. Listening to it, I got little bumps all over my arms and chest. What a feeling! Wow, I guess I did OK.

The shock came later, after the last three older students from the ninth grade presented to the audience. They took a pause for a few minutes, and then announced the winners who would attend the formal presentation at the Optimist Oratorical Society. I was one of the two winners selected to represent the school. I was stunned. This was the first time I had won anything at school in my entire life. Mom was more excited than I had ever seen her, almost jumping around, and she took me out to dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Salvatore’s, to celebrate. This was certainly a lot bigger event than I expected and, down deep, its results were earth shaking for me. There was actually one thing I could do better than my classmates could, and it was public speaking.

Going on to the real presentation at the Optimist Oratorical Society was also fun but nowhere near the thrill of what had I learned when making the presentation in the auditorium. We all walked away with little trophies from the final presentation and, according to the Optimist Oratorical Society, we were all winners. However, I feel like I was the biggest winner of all because I got a small but brief glimpse of the highly competitive world that I was preparing to enter. Speaking before that group did not have to do anything with how tall, attractive, or tough I was, it had to do with how hard I worked, trained and spoke plus my surprising newfound courage in participating and winning. I did not know it at that time, but this event changed my attitude toward life forever, thanks to Sister Mary Elizabeth and Sister Helen.

Well, all good things must end and, before I knew it, I was back in my normal world of unpleasantness and violence.

It is January and I am 13 years old. I am getting older but I am still the shortest and smallest boy in my class, as well as shorter than most of the boys in the lower class. I am not getting any taller, but there are things changing in my body and I do not know why I have so many overwhelming physical and emotional feelings. I thought things were going to get better as I got older; instead, they seem to be getting worse. I have this constant ache and warm glow in the middle of me and, as usual, my penis gets stiff all the time. Then there is that desire deep inside of me, for something having to do with females. In addition to the ache, I still have that awful pain that I wake up with every morning that goes from the middle of my thighs to the middle of my chest. I know that pain is from the fear of what I have to face that day in bullying, violence and more pain. Maybe it would be better if I just did not wake up. Life is uncertain, scary and pure torture.

Now it is just another morning, I have to get through another day until about four o'clock. If I do not have to stay after school, I will be working out in the basement, doing my paper route, then have dinner and finally be home safe, for the evening. The thought of walking out the front door of my house and immediately having to confront Rick, Donald or any number of the people that want to punch me, hurt me and call me names is frightening. It seems that death would be preferable to having to face all this pain and fear.

After what happened to my father, I definitely will not kill myself, as he did. I am determined that I will make things work somehow because I will do whatever I have to, no matter what it costs me. In spite of my determination to have a real life someday, I still have that familiar feeling that I do not have long to live. If I just go by what I am experiencing right now, a life full of fear, intimidation, preaching, people grabbing me, people yelling at me, punching me, pushing me, bumping me in the hallways, and hating me, I do not want to continue to live. However, I have another smaller feeling deep down that, life can be whatever I make it to be. I just have to make it happen, as my father could have, in spite of his personal pain.

Well, if I do not have long to live, I am going to fix it so that I am not easy to kill. Maybe I will start killing my bullies, one by one, instead. I have to do something about my fear because it is so big now that I can hardly think about anything else. Some of the kids, when they call me names like “Redhead” and “Red” also taunt me that redheads are supposed to have hot tempers. Maybe I can change this terrible fear into real anger, which will make me strike back at the monsters that do these things to me. If I do this rather than being afraid, maybe they would not be so quick to push me, or punch me, and call me names. Yes, I am going to work hard on changing these feelings - - - - - - - - - - - - every day until I make it happen.

On cold winter mornings, I have to get up, shiver in the cold, crouch near the family room stove with my sister to try to warm up while we put on our clothes and get ready for school. So today, I put on a pair of grey pants, white shirt, tie, and a thick dark blue pullover sweater to keep me warm. As long as the white shirt and tie show after I put on the sweater the Nuns will think it is okay to dress this way. I am always cold and have to have a sweater on or I will freeze, even indoors. This morning we are having breakfast at Grandma's house downstairs because Mom has to leave for work early.

After Lauren left for her walk to school, I am still sitting at the breakfast table. The kitchen clock shows minute by minute, it is getting closer to 8:30 AM when the bell rings and we have to enter the school. As the clock moved towards ten minutes after eight, Grandma started suggesting that I should leave right away or I might be late. Only when the clock reaches fifteen minutes after eight, do I get up, put on my jacket, pick up my books and race out the door. At my age, I am walking faster than I used to but I cannot get there too early or it means trouble, but I cannot be late either, I thought. I have to time it just right.

Things go smoothly as I pass the corner of my block, make a gradual right turn, go down Broad Street and past another short block towards the school. I pass the Boys Club on the right, go to the next block and pass the public school across the street. When I start to cross the street to the St Ambrose schoolyard, I notice one of the big kids named Bob, standing outside the school entrance watching me. Just then, the bell rings and everyone starts to go into the entry doors to their classrooms. I have to go in the door on the right, but that is where Bob is. He did not move and he smiles when he sees me coming across the street. He is waiting for me.

After crossing the street, I wait near the curb until the other kids file into the school, then I know there is no choice but to try to pass him. As I get closer to him, he looks around real quick and then punches me in the stomach. "Queer, weirdo”, he said as I stand hunched over, and then he gives me another punch, this time in my left side. After that, he laughs, steps inside and runs up the stairs to his classroom on the second floor. I also had to go upstairs and so I run up the stairs as fast as I can but I am still last to enter the classroom, so I get a stern look from Sister. I go to my seat and sit down as quickly as possible, but my stomach and side still hurt. I have tears in my eyes but Sister does not seem to notice. After all, there are about forty-five of us in this small room with her.

This is just a normal way for me to begin the day. At least I am safe for now. I try to focus on what Sister is saying at the front blackboard, but I cannot help fidgeting and looking around me to see what the other kids are doing in this packed room. "Pay attention Patrick,” Sister said. She comes over to my desk, looks at me closely and says, “Look up here at the blackboard when I'm talking, Patrick”. Trying to get through the whirl of commotion in my brain and the ache in my side, I focus my eyes on the Sister. She looks back at me several times, as she begins discussing the subject for our first period of class.

Bored as I am with some of these subjects, the day is moving on. By 10:30, when it is time for our ten-minute bathroom break, I really have to go. When the bell rings, Sister dismisses us; some of us get up and walk into the hallway. When I get into the hall, it is full of the normal commotion with kids talking and some heading quickly to the restrooms. I walk towards the boys’ bathroom at the end of the hall.

After entering the bathroom, I walked past the stalls on the right and left to the urinals at the end of the bathroom. There are several urinals not in use but I do not stop. I go to the last urinal in the corner. I know I have to use this one because if I stop at any of the others, kids might walk behind me and punch me in the back. When using the urinal in the corner, I can sense or see someone coming behind me and know he means to punch me.

This time, bully Bob, who had punched me this morning, was with two of his friends and they came over toward me as I was just finishing. I saw them coming and turned around to my left with my back against the wall. I like the wall behind my back because then no one can get behind me. The three boys begin calling me names like “little redheaded fag” and “short weirdo” and others. These names might hurt some of the other kids or the girls, but I am so used to it that I do not care. I am only interested in what they are going to do to me.

I watch their hands and their eyes because this tells me their intentions. Bob had his hands clenched into fists as he stood in the middle of the group of three. The other two were just calling me names, hands unclenched, and laughing so I am sure they are not going to hit me. Some of my rules that I was trying to make for myself came into my head. The first one was," Do I have to fight"? Because I am against the wall, in the bathroom, and confronted by three people, one of which had hit me this morning, I knew there was only one answer to this question, “Yes”. There is no choice.

I had told myself what I was going to do the next time I got in this situation and rehearsed it repeatedly in my room at night. Suddenly, I swung my right fist hard and hit big Bob in the face. The three of them were so surprised that one immediately started laughing loudly, and I ran quickly around them into the hallway. As I run, I can see the three of them come out of the boys’ room with Bob in front. I made it to my classroom and walked in quickly. According to school rules, these people are in different classes so they cannot come into this room.

As I sit down at my desk, I think of what I just did. That awful pain that I woke up with and was in the center of me just a minute ago is now gone. I am always surprised when that morning pain suddenly disappears. For sure, hitting someone makes the pain go away! This is not the first time that I experienced some relief from this morning pain after hitting someone but this time I also feel another more pleasant, slightly exuberant feeling. I wonder if I could get that good feeling if I hit someone that was not bullying me. Probably, but I have never ever started a fight, and do not think I ever want to.

I know for certain, that when I leave the school this afternoon that the three of them will be waiting for me. I take my escape route out the Nuns small side door on the other side of the school and walk quickly down the narrow alley next to the church to Washington Boulevard, north to Main Street and then home. It is a longer way home but safer. I see a few kids I know on the way but none of them bothers me so I am able to get home without incident.

After getting home, I go down into the smelly basement, pull out my hidden brochures on jujitsu and start reading them one more time. As I read, I try to identify what other moves or strategies I could have used in that bathroom situation. I have been in that spot many times before but this was the first time I threw the first punch. It was effective getting me out of that trap, but I have to figure out more strategies that work. Now that I am trying to think about fighting, the fear starts to come back along with the pain. I am thrilled that I defended myself effectively and the pain disappeared for three or four hours. Many times when I tried to hit a big person, the punch did not seem effective. After all, I am still less than 5 foot tall and weigh less than 75 pounds. Bob is probably almost twice that weight, I bet. I know I will eventually get bigger, gain weight, and get stronger, but it will be a while and I still feel the all-consuming fear.

I need to gain some more weight, especially since so many of these fights sometimes get into wrestling. In addition, when I try to defend myself from a bigger person, he always has longer arms. Even if I have my fists up to block a punch, he can easily punch me in the face by going around my defenses with his longer arms. One way I might be able to gain some equality is to grab him by the neck and pull him down to the ground where, if I am as strong as he is, I stand a better chance of hurting him, which is my first priority, even if I lose the fight. Feeling a punch in my face as often as I do is painful so wrestling might be better. I will start eating more food and maybe it will help me to gain some weight.

I know that Bob the Bully will be waiting for me somewhere tomorrow as I walk to school and the thought of that is very frightening. I do not think he knows where I live but he knows what direction I come from when I walk to school. I will have to be sick, tomorrow because that is the only way around it. Since tomorrow is Friday, I will have the whole weekend before I have to go back to school and take the chance of running into him again. I hope he will forget about it by then, but probably not.