Dare to Remember

The thought of being dared, dragged me back to the purposely forgotten time of childhood. The bus rides to school, the long slow walk towards the back, following that black rubber tongue licking the orange ribbed metal floor that led towards the one known as, “Larry.”

Larry was a girl who grew abnormally large for her age. Her name was actually Loraine, but no one dared call her that. She demanded to be called Larry for some unknown reason; no one dared to ask. 

She was the referenced, "get out of bed on the wrong side," type person. I don’t remember her ever having smiled. He frown was legendary, at least amongst those in sixth grade and rumored to be the only acceptable choice of those in the lower grades.

But then, that was then, this is now. Although I have nearly erased the memory of big Larry, the memory lingers from time to time as bully types never totally disappear, they just grow older and often bigger…well, not nice people.

I remember periodically when something like a crooked smile, a deceptive wink, eye glasses impregnated with finger prints, the fear, they have followed those remembrances to the here and now.

Having to sit near the back of the bus do to the distance from school, my only hope was that some of the earlier riders had either missed the bus, became ill, or died, as it increased the opportunity of finding a seat not next to or in the immediate vicinity of Larry.

The dare, as it always does, stemmed from the lack of anything better to do, and the imaginative boldness that bubbled from the mind of a twelve-year-old. Hillyard suggested we need do something about Larry. “It isn’t fair. Our lives are being corralled and brow beaten by a giant, who somehow escaped from one of Gulliver’s travels. We need to do something. What are we, wimps?”

No one dared answer, as we knew from experience where this was headed. Hillyard had a macabre sense of reality. His monsters were always more frightening and powerful than any of the others that graced his kingdom. He was addicted to comic books. None of that predictable mummied classic stuff for him. 

Hillyard was the one who always initiated the daring game. He was considerably larger in stature than the others in our small gang, but not nearly as imposing as Larry. He, however, was intimidating enough in his own right to be peripherally ignored by Larry. I believed Larry despite her sarcastically loveable demeanor, to be at heart lacking in self-assurance, thus the formidable sumo façade.

Hillyard knowing of his unique status, used its uniqueness to embolden the aggressive outlook on his invoked spiritual resolution to our problems, his perceived solutions.

The culmination of his solutions never materialized, as the school year ended abruptly, as it did each year. It is the kind of abruptness that relies on the dichotomy between freedom and incarceration, even though being mandatory educational imprisonment, it had the same impact as being on death row, or so we assumed.

The annual school outing to Hiawatha Falls, a picnic, a way of saying goodbye to childhood, took place on the last official day of the school year. We were moving on to Jr. High, a new world of challenges, the same Larry however. 

I was late in arriving at the jumping off point, the schools parking lot. As I made my way down the aisle greeted by the smiling faces of my friends, I realized I was running out of opportunity. Larry loomed large on my horizon, and not just figuratively. There were two remaining spots, one next to Larry and one directly in front of her. I looked behind me hearing the codding footsteps, no doubt intent on overtaking me. It was Clifford.

Clifford was the smallest boy in our class. He weighed so little, he was forbidden on the playground when the winds exceeded twenty miles per hour. His glasses appeared to be made from discarded coke bottles, and his hair, what there was of it, was no doubt the result of millennium of poor genetic choices.

I quickly swung into the seat ahead of Larry’s perch, leaving the remaining partial seat available to Clifford. I watched Clifford cringe visibly, as the realization of fate registered. His eyes began to blink erratically behind his thick glasses, even his hair seemed to tremble at the prospect of having to spend the next half hour next to Larry.

I could view the scene with the aid of the windows reflection. A mirror of sorts into the sordid intimidating techniques of Larry, and her newly acquired prey.

I could watch as Larry’s eyes scanned her subject for possible vulnerabilities. Her tongue licking penciled lips, her ears appearing to twitch with excitement and a finger inching slowly towards the black holes of a bulbus nose. The docking, a missile bound for the moon being encouraged by a nearly imperceptible twitch. 

The landing I have to report, was a success. Although the departure was nearly immediate, it was a success, bringing with it a sample of the planets interior content. Others apparently were also observing the dexterous manipulation, as a gasp escaped the back of the bus with such velocity it caused heads to turn, from the furthermost front seats.

Clifford’s attempt to appear invisible had failed. The missile carrying its payload headed for him. His eyes squinted so tightly his glasses fell from his nose. His immediate impulsive reaction saved him from the lifelong humiliation of future dreams, as the missile missed its target and landed on the green Naugahyde planet of a Backseat Galaxy. 

The accompanying sound can still be heard to this day. I can attest to that. The infamous Larry, faded into the mediocrity that accompanies maturity. Those of us who matured more slowly caught up to, and surpassed, many of the giants of our time. As I think back on the dare that never materialized, and was replaced by our renewed belief in fate, or whatever, I have to admit it gave validity to the term, dumb luck. 

I ran into Clifford the other day. He is different. Not so much in the way he looks, but his attitude, the way he carries his fragile looking frame. He is a public defender. I knew that of course, Hillyard keeps track of all the sixth-grade graduates. He claims it gives him a sense of the vitality of having been young, without having to relive the trauma and disparity of the time.

He told me about Clifford having to represent Larry in a sordid mellay regarding recent constitutional matters, where people died. He said, "she got ten years, but didn’t seem to have remembered Clifford."

I didn’t get the same impression from things Clifford related. He hadn’t forgotten Larry, not in the least. I was going to ask, but didn't really want to know.