Just as I approached the men’s
bathroom, I heard a small whimper
come from within, along with feet
shuffling back and forth. Oh, boy. Here
goes.
I opened the bathroom door and
immediately scanned the interior. I
quickly took in the situation. A young
girl, probably no more than fourteen
years old was being held by two boys,
one on each arm. The girl was Hispanic
and her dark, brown eyes swam with
tears. Blood trickled from one of her
nostrils. She was clearly terrified.
I noted the two boys holding her were
roughly her age and were Hispanic too.
They had been yelling at her when I
walked in, but I couldn’t say what. I then
noticed a third boy, maybe a bit older,
definitely a lot larger, standing by the
sinks. He was taller than my five foot,
seven inch frame. He was also Hispanic
and wore a t-shirt that show-cased well-
muscled and tattooed arms.
The larger boy surveyed me briefly then
turned his back on me. “This isn’t your
problem, Gringa. Get lost.”
I was not easily swayed.
“Afraid to pick on someone more your
own size? I can’t imagine what a little
girl did to cause you to bloody her
nose.”
He turned at me with a sneer on his
face, baring his teeth. “Little girl was
trying to hookup outside of her own
people. Decided she wanted her a white
boy. She knows different now…ain’t that
right Carma?”
The two boys holding her jerked at her
arms and the young girl mewled like a
puppy that had been kicked.
Then it happened…again. I saw the older
boy’s face melt away and morph into
something that was definitely not in the
“hauntingly beautiful” category like Miss
Smellie. His skin turned leathery brown,
and his eyes shrank into beady, black
circles. His nose expanded and tilted
upwards. Two cracked and yellowed
tusks poked out of the corners of his
mouth. Wow, that was nasty! “Now get out of here or else she won’t
be the only one wearing her own
blood.”
He then turned his back on me to focus
on the girl. He clearly didn’t think I
presented a danger. Big mistake.
Upon entering the bathroom, I had also
noticed the janitor had left a mop and
scrub bucket against the wall near the
door. I didn’t once consider going to get
help. I didn’t even pause to consider the
repercussions. I picked up the mop and
swung it hard against the larger boy’s
back. It hit with a satisfying crack
against his shoulder blades and actually
split in half. He went down to his knees.
The end with the mop head went flying,
leaving me with a two foot wooden
weapon. Hey, that worked out nicely!
The other two boys stared at me with
open mouths for all of about two
seconds then they leapt toward me,
releasing the girl.
“RUN,” I screamed at her. She only
hesitated for a second then she went
flying out the door.
I swung the mop handle wildly back and
forth, trying to keep the two boys from
reaching me. I had no plan, and I was
not versed in hand-to-hand combat or
weapons. I always took action with no
plan and usually lucked my way out of
situations. My therapist said I liked to
“court danger”. I’m glad Dr. Tinesdale
didn’t know about that comment.
Swinging the stick in front of me, I
hoped to catch one of the boys up side
his head with a lucky hit. I briefly
glanced down and saw the larger boy
start to stand up. He put his hand out on
the sink for balance, but then
straightened himself up, glaring razor
blades at me with those little piggy eyes.
Oh crap. What to do?
My mind was blank. I had no idea how
to defend myself against three enraged
boys—one sporting a boar’s face—with
only a mop handle. But before I could
even consider a potential plan, the larger
boy jumped at me, grabbing the handle
with his hands. I refused to give it up,
but realized too late that he wasn’t
trying to pull it from me. Rather, he used
his momentum and my reaction to jerk
back, and pushed me up against the wall
with the handle up against my throat. He
leaned in and put all of his weight
against the wooden stick, pressing it
against my windpipe.
All of my oxygen was completely cut off
and within seconds, I started to panic. I
kicked out my legs, not in any grand
scheme to knock my opponent down,
but because my air starved brain was
reacting on instinct. I watched in slow
motion as the larger boy angled his face
toward mine. With his lips and tusks
close to my ear, he whispered, “You
gonna die, b—h.”
I only pondered my imminent death for
two, maybe three seconds, and was
about to start bargaining with a higher
being for my life, when the boy was
ripped away from my body. I started
sucking in huge lungfuls of oxygen. I
slumped to the floor, holding onto my
sore throat, and watched as two
teachers were grabbing the boys and
yelling at them. I looked over to the
doorway, and the young girl was
standing there with a worried look on
her face. It appeared she had gone and
got help. So much for me saving her. Still,
I was very grateful for her fast thinking.
Then someone was kneeling down in
front of me. I turned my head and
looked into the sad, disappointed eyes
of my principal, Dr. Tinesdale, who just
happened to be one of my favorite
people in the world. He was mid-50’s as
best I could tell and almost completely
bald. He wore horn rimmed glasses but
attempted to be very hip in all other
ways. He usually wore jeans to school
each day, along with a t-shirt sporting
the name of some retro heavy metal
band. Today’s shirt was brought to you
by the bitchin’ head bangers of some
group named Black Sabbath. I’m sure
they were good in their day.
“Are you okay, Charlie?” He pulled my
hands away from my throat to survey
the damage.
“Sure,” I tried to say but it came out as a
horse whisper. Ouch, that hurt.
Hurt almost as much as seeing the
disappointment in his eyes. I absolutely
hated myself that I had let him down,
once again.
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