Never Bribe a Bully

I remember the rustling crunch of dried leaves beneath my feet as I walked to school in the autumn of 1994. Their spectrum of color ranged from the lightest banana yellow to blood red and cracked dry mud brown. The air was brisk but comfortable and the smell… fresh with a dash of decaying plant life. As a sure sign of the coming winter, trees released what seemed to be a never-ending barrage of leaves, which floated to the ground as gracefully as a ballerina’s dance. The effect was like that of a rain shower, only dry. It took fifty minutes to walk to school on a good day. The walks were usually peaceful and serene. The beauty of this scene was almost enough to help one forget about the darkness which lurked in plain sight, often undetectable by the average joe driving to work any given day of the week.

The area was littered with spent hypodermics, broken malt liquor bottles, and used condoms, which were hidden by layers of fallen leaves. Empty and abandoned factories, signs of the once-bustling manufacturing industry, lined the streets on both sides. Every couple of blocks there were signs of life in small convenience stores. They all sold liquor, cigs, lottery tickets to big dreamers, and candy to small ones. People walking out of the store promising to split their winnings could be overheard outside every time there was a Powerball drawing coming up. Drug pushers pushed, and prostitutes offered to do things to me that my twelve-year-old ears had no business hearing about, for a small fee of course. Home couldn’t save you once you stepped out more than a few feet from your front door. Yet I walked. Nearly an hour every day just to get to school.

Gangs were a problem at school. Not the gangs themselves, but the little brothers of gang bangers trying to impress their big brothers by engaging in hooliganry. They stole bikes, extorted lunch money from wimps, and roughed up whoever they wanted to. The teachers weren’t even safe. Third-period Math class. Sweat dripped from the brow of everyone in this class, as it was right next to the boiler room. The room was darkened so that we could more easily see the projection of the transparent sheet Mr. Maumberg was marking up to teach us about quadratic formulae. The click…clock sound from the second hand of the wall clock drowned out the sound of pencils scratching against the paper as we all took notes. The click started to be overtaken by a clomping sound just as rhythmic but at a pace that was double that of the second hand, growing louder and louder. A darkened figure, the source of the clomping sound, ran into the room and punched Mr. Maumberg in the face. It sounded like two large steaks being slapped together. In a loud thud, Mr. Maumberg’s face hit the floor. He was out cold. The assailant swiftly disappeared, as quickly as he surfaced, back into the liminal space of the hallway just outside of class. We all saw who it was. Luis. The tallest kid attending our school. We all knew better than to say anything though. You never told on someone like Luis without getting stomped, or worse.

I shared a class with Luis. And lucky me, the most violent urban legend himself, sat right at my back. I dealt with his obnoxious and continual tapping on my shoulder or head, his neverending requests for a pen or pencil, which he wouldn’t use anyway, and the smell of marijuana and hotdogs slathered in used motor oil all topped off with a soft spritzing of Drakkar Noir, which permeated into everything within a five-foot radius of him. His head was bald, save for a one-by-four-inch patch of long hair that spanned from one side of his neck to the other. A partially burned and doused Newport cigarette was always wedged into the back of his right ear. The oversized Boss brand clothing he was draped in seemed to swallow him up, despite him being quite heavy-set. His Lugz boots were never tied, the tongue flopping relentlessly in front of a mess of tangled lacing as he walked. His eyes were glazed over slits, puffy all around. He was a nightmare to someone like me.

My goal every day was to fly as low under the radar as possible. Invisible I remained, to the best of my ability. Being the lucky carrier of Asperger's syndrome, as I was, in an environment like this was like having a bad case of verbal Tourette's during a Catholic mass. The affliction rendered me incapable of communicating with others without saying things that I didn’t understand at the time were…bad. If you’re fat you’re fat, just a fact. If you stink, you stink, just a fact…in my mind. Another small attribute of my affliction is a heightened sensitivity to odors. What I didn’t understand was that there was a social standard to adhere to when communicating amongst groups. You must tell white lies, or withhold the truth to protect the fragility of one’s feelings. If you don’t want to be clobbered by the meanest person in the place, don’t tell him he stinks.

That day, I coughed, gagged, dry heaved. The odor emanating from Luis was so thick it could be felt on the skin. Not wanting to lose my breakfast, I raised my hand and Mr. Palmer called on me.

“May I sit somewhere else?” I asked. I could feel Luis's desk shift behind me.

“Why do you want to move” he whispered in my ear with his hot breath.

Mr. Palmer asked the same question of me almost in unison with Luis’s whisper.

“Luis stinks and it’s making me feel sick.”

Just like that, Luis threw his desk aside, which pinched my upper back as it slammed down on the back of my chair. His greasy hand gripped my neck and it felt as though I was being hoisted up by a crane. He was strong. He positioned his face in mine, still holding the back of my neck tight. His eyes, bloodshot, now opened wider than I’ve ever seen, gazing at me with the bloodlust of a man about to murder his wife’s lover. His lips rounded and his tongue bounced behind his teeth as he mouthed the words, “YOU’RE DEAD.” My heart skipped a beat and I felt a cool tingly rush come over my body. Visions of bloody pulp, palpitating, with an uncanny likeness to my face suddenly burglarized my thoughts. How was I going to get out of this? Just as Luis was about to unleash his irrepressible rage upon my face with his wrecking-ball of a fist, Mr. Palmer stepped in, looping his arm into Luis’s, like when lovers take a drink while intertwining arms. He excused Luis to the counselours office, saving me from an on-the-spot pummeling.

“I'll see you soon,” Luis said as he exited the room.

My father had a friend that worked at the local gum and candy factory. Gum and candy were sold to the employees at a discount, and were often just given to them for free. He always brought a sizable quantity of goods to share with us when he visited our house. On my long walk home the day of my incident with Luis, my gears didn’t stop turning. Like wakes from a speedboat, ideas rolled through my mind, helping me figure out how to circumvent this inevitable beatdown I had coming to me. I had no money, so bribery of that sort was out of the question. What I did have access to was an auto-replenishing treasure-trove of Bubbalicious gum. That’s it, I thought to myself. I’ll take a fistful of bubblegum packs to him as a peace offering. It was a long shot, but better than nothing.

***

           I woke up the following day with the confidence of a lion facing a lame gazelle. The front pouch of my book bag was filled with extra pencils, a calculator, pens, erasers, and a couple of my tabletop wargaming characters, all of which I dumped to the floor. The cache of Bubbalicious gum was in my parent’s room, and they were already off to work. In I went. Sitting in a large cigar box, nestled within a larger chest, was the answer to my prayers. This was my salvation. The olive branch, disguised as perfectly wrapped, fruity, and sweet-smelling packages of sugary bliss. Like a claw in a toy crane at the arcade, my hands dug in. I grabbed the biggest fistful of bubblegum packs as a twelve-year-old hand could grab. This should be enough, I thought to myself. With some trepidation, I walked out the front door, imagining two outcomes of today’s endeavor, and headed off to the diplomatically reached truce or my funeral.

***

           This was it. The class I shared with Luis was beckoning. I made it through the day so far without running into him. Scouting the hall, I made sure he wasn’t waiting for me. I’d rather make my offer in class, where Mr. Palmer can at least help to postpone the beating after a failed attempt at a truce. With my head on a swivel, I slinked toward the classroom like an earthworm attempting to elude the robin after a rain. Once safely inside, I took my seat. The doorway darkened shortly after I sat with the ominous looming figure that was Luis. His eyes locked with mine as his pointer finger extended into the air with a back-and-forth motion calling me hither. I fumbled around, shaking, struggling to undo the zippered pouch of my bookbag. The pouch opened after some fidgeting, I grabbed as many packs of gum as I could, and I started to make my way toward Luis. Without saying a word, I outstretched my handful of gum as I got closer to him.

           “What’s this?” he asked me.

           “A peace offering,” I replied. My voice shook and vibrated like the trunk of a classic car with too big of a bass box in it. With both hands, looking like balloons with sausages attached, Luis grabbed the wad of gum packs I held out. He looked at the gum, then back at me. The silence was deafening, and the time crept slower than molasses on a winter morning as I waited for him to speak.

           “Bring me more tomorrow, and every day from now on,” he said. He walked away from me and took his seat, pushing the packs of gum into his oversized pockets. Mr. Palmer gave me a seat in the back corner in light of yesterday’s situation. This was the second victory of the day. I sat through the rest of the class grateful that I would walk out of class the way I came into it instead of leaving as mincemeat.

***

           That evening my father called me into his room.

           “Did you take all the gum out of here?”

           I knew I was in trouble.

I gulped deeply and replied, “I did.”

“Isn’t our room off-limits?”

“Yes.”

           “One rule, broken. Did you steal gum from my chest, which is also off-limits?”

           “Yes,” I replied. A hard man, my father, and quick to discipline with violence, stood before me like a rubber band, taut to the extreme, and ready to snap. His eyebrows furled and his teeth could be heard gnashing against one another, squeaking intensely, as his jaw muscles popped nearly out of his face.

           “Why did you do that?” he asked.

           “I was about to be clobbered by a bully at school, and I thought giving him gum would save me from a beatdown.”

           A look of sheer disappointment came over his face.

           “I need more tomorrow, and every day after to keep him off my case.”

           “I didn’t raise you to be a punk. The gum is off-limits to you. Don’t let me catch you in here again” he demanded.

           “But dad...” I started.

           “But nothing. You don’t give a bully things to leave you alone. You face them like a man, and trust me, they only go after the weakest link. Hit him back once, and you will likely never have to deal with him again. Now get out of here.”

           Back at square one. I left my father’s room, mind racing just like the day after Luis mouthed “YOU’RE DEAD.”   There was only one option left, so I couldn’t think my way out of it this time. I was going to have to face Luis tomorrow, empty-handed, and hope for the best. The rest of the evening I thought my way through a hundred different outcomes of tomorrow's feat. The giant was going to have to be faced, and I was David, without the sling.

***

           There I was, once again, the earthworm after a rain, looking to avoid the robin. Class bell was about to ring, and I was a few feet away when there was a tap on my shoulder. Pivoting on one foot, and not knowing what to expect, I start to catch a glimpse of Goliath.

           “You got my gum?” he asked. A million thoughts were now racing through my mind. Mr. Palmer wasn’t here to save me this time, and I don’t have what Luis wants. I’m empty-handed.

           “I couldn’t get any today, I'm sorry.”

           His fists clenched. “That’s not good enough,” he said. And before I knew it, I was being helped off the floor by Mr. Palmer. I wasn't sure what happened. I must have blacked out. Mr. Palmer escorted me to the school nurse and told her and the vice-principal what happened.

           “I was just about to close the classroom door when I saw Luis beat him up.”

           It happened. I was beaten by Luis, and I slept through the beating. I was asked to sit in the nurse's office with an icepack held to the back of my head while she phoned my parents. I sat there, dazed, battered, and bruised, feeling odd in my own body. It was as if the day passed me by and I missed it.

           “I can’t reach your parents, so take this home with you, and have them call me when they can. You’re free to go.” She dismissed me. The fear immediately struck me in the gut like a dodgeball and it nearly knocked me down. I didn’t want to run into Luis. I collected my belongings and walked out of the nurse's office, and down the hall to the exit.

           I walked down the block toward a group of people waiting for the city bus. As I got closer to the mass of people, I heard someone yell “HEY.” Just over their heads, I could see Luis, Ogerishly stalking toward me. I could feel the blood rush out of my head and my hands begin to tingle in fear. Luis pushed my chest. It felt like a Buick ran me over. Instinctually, I swung my book bag at his head as hard as I could, causing him to stagger back a few steps. Before he could regain his footing, I followed up with a haymaker right hand, and an immediate kick to his jewels. I stood there as he collected himself, I wanted this to be over. Luis took a few deep breaths, rolled onto his but, and looked up to the sky. I waited for him to make another move, with a redied fist and a foot cocked into a position to kick him again. I backed up a few steps and Luis lumbered himself back onto his feet.

           “I’m not going to give you gum every day,” I said to him.

           Luis looked at me for a second, turned away from me, and walked back to the bus bench where he pushed another kid off to make room for himself. He sat down. His right hand grabbed a piece of his shirt and pulled it to his face to wipe off the blood that was trickling out of his nose and lip. Partially relieved, I continued my journey home. My father and I never really got along, but that day, his lesson helped me. I learned that you have to put an end to mistreatment as soon as it starts or it will continue, often getting worse as time rolls by. I was lucky that I only let Luis abuse me for two days before putting an end to it. There is no telling how far he would have gone, had I not stood up to him, and kept giving him what he wanted, like a punk.