the blue-eyed boy

Many people can go very far back into their memory, but I'm not one of them. At best I can remember places like the house on Adams Court or my kindergarten classroom, but I often wonder if I remember them from pictures more so than memories. The earliest memory I can recall is sitting on the couch in our apartment with my family on Christmas Eve watching the Santa Tracker on the news. My younger brother was not yet born, so I must have been four or five years old. However, most memories from grade school are just small snippets, too quick to catch. They are flashing images, someone rapidly changing the channel in my mind. A fleeting moment, or a smell, or a feeling- all without much context. Surely there are plenty of stories. Stories told and repeated over and over again until they become recited memories. One tends to remember the formative moments though, when things were exuberant or frightening.

We are in the gymnasium, awkwardly dolled up in our mothers' lipstick for our first dance as middle schoolers. More time is spent in the bathroom primping, squealing, and gossiping than there is dancing. I'm disappointed that only boys that I'm not interested in have asked me to dance. I'm jealous of my best friends who seem to be more charming and can easily catch the eye of boys I like. There is one boy in particular. I first met him in sixth grade. He had dark curly hair that was perfectly gelled, blue eyes, and a smile full of braces. He knew I had a crush on him and used it to his advantage. In the lunch line one day, he said my name to get my attention and then put his arm around my friend and kissed her. The twinge of jealousy was quickly replaced with a detestation for that blue-eyed boy. I'd later grow up to learn there were many of his kind and that some never outgrew their abhorrent ways. And now, a grade older, he's paying close attention to me.

He follows me around on the dance floor, smiling as he dances with other girls. He gets other boys to join in on the taunting. I roll my eyes, walk away, and continue having fun with my friends. The end of the night quickly approaches and we make our way outside of the gym to be picked up by our parents. I hear the blue-eyed boy say my name again, and before I can respond, I feel someone grab my backside. I whip around and his braces are sneering at me as he lets go of my behind. My left hand clenches, my foot steps forward, and I land a perfectly placed left hook to his right eye. I'm just as surprised at my action as everyone around me. The blue-eyed boy loses his balance and I watch in slow motion as his arms flap out as he falls backwards. On his way down, he hits his head on a handrail. It's lights out for the blue-eyed boy. All I can hear is my own fast breathing. Everyone rushes to his side and I'm standing there shocked at my own power. My fight turns into flight and I take off running. Hot, embarrassed tears are streaming down my face as I run down the dimly lit street in my purple satin dress and black heeled sandals. Victorian-style homes are whizzing by me and I realize I don't know where I am. It looks like my friend's neighborhood and I think I should try to find his house, but it's dark and I've only been there once.

The memory fades after that point. I know that my dad couldn't find me and went home hoping that I got a ride with someone else. I know that I eventually did. I came home to a very angry father. He was in a rage that I wasn't where I should have been. Now I know that he was scared. Anger is like that; it's a powerful, strong feeling that often covers up the more vulnerable ones like fear and insecurity. I explained everything to him and listened to him lecture me. I should have stayed. I should have made sure the boy was okay. I should have found him and gone home with him. I shouldn't have run. He let out a big sigh and gave me a warm hug and said, "But I'm very proud of you. Don't ever hesitate to defend yourself, especially if someone puts his hands on you like that. Just be prepared for the consequences you will probably face at school on Monday. I would expect a call to the principal's office. Your mom and I will be there." And they were. They made me respectfully listen to the no violence policy and accept my punishment of suspension from school. The blue-eyed boy was also suspended and ended up with a black eye and concussion, and I never heard from him again.