We Didn't Feel Scared

We Didn't Feel Scared

A Story by Mason
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A memoir of a more... innocent time.

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We didn’t feel scared when we walked on the ice. We knew the pond wasn’t deep and Mike’s house was only a few blocks away. We owned that pond. Nobody could tell us otherwise. On a damp winter day in the eighth grade, I was picking away a fishing hole in the middle of the pond with a wood splitter: a steel pipe with a steel block wedge at the end. It was heavy and rusted and I could barely lift it over my head, but when it struck the solid wet ice, it shook our feet, and reminded us of our power over nature.

            Mike and his little brother Brian stood next to me with hammers and crowbars, hacking away without care. We weren’t the cool kids In Bennington and we knew it. We tried to keep to ourselves, and were never ones to start fights. Most of the time, we didn’t even fight back. Everybody picked on us, from our classmates to the high schoolers and their seventh-grader siblings. We were the punching bag of the insecure mama’s boys and jocks of the k-12 school just outside of Omaha. If you weren’t sure of yourself, you could always mess with the weird kids.

            We could sure talk s**t though, and when five popular seventh graders moseyed down to the pond to push our buttons, we let them have the first word. Not to our knowing, that word was a tangerine-sized chunk of ice, glancing me on the forehead with a stinging shock.

            When I regained my balance, I looked up at Kyle Hawkins. Even though he was a grade under me, he was a big kid. I played baseball with him for several years on the town’s little league team. He had a good arm, and it didn’t surprise me when he hit his target. Mike and Brian said nothing. They gave me the same look we had given each other since kindergarten. There was nothing we could do. Even if we fought back, the same cycle of parents and groundings and more fights would ensue, and I hated getting in trouble. We would just have to swear at them with empty threats until they got bored and left.

            Not today. Not with the power of intimidation on our side. As the thin line of blood ran into my left eye, I felt a feeling I had never felt before: boldness. I thought of them as the ice and my pride as my axe. A smirk spread across my face and I narrowed my eyes to Kyle’s. Mike would later describe my look as frightening, almost evil.

            The hate of being pushed around flowed through my veins. I was now the one in control. I gripped my axe tighter with both hands. It didn’t weigh as much this time. My heart racing, I stepped slowly towards them, still looking at Kyle with the same evil grimace.

            Their laughing subsided, the smiles dropped from their faces and their posture lost its grandness. With their fear fueling my rage I walked closer. Before I had gotten half way towards them, they turned around and were running up the hill to the safety of town. For the first time in our lives, we were the tough guys. We celebrated in our places. As I cheered, I could only think of what I would have done had they not ran, and how much of a fool I would have made out of myself. I didn’t bother telling Mike and Brian this. They shared the same feeling of pride that I did, one stronger than those who have it every day.

            Our celebration was short lived. I needed a Band Aid. We trekked through the snow to Mike’s house, and upon reaching the front door, noticed the dog s**t covering everything; the windows, the steps, the door and the welcome mat. I didn’t know what to say. Brian started screaming and cursing at the top of his lungs as he threw his hammer into the yard across the street. There, the five of them took refuge in Kyle Hawkins’ house.

            I went inside and put on a bandage, not bothering to clean the blood off of my face. I grabbed an Omaha Lancer’s toy hockey mask and looked at myself in the mirror. I joined Mike and Brian outside to yell and throw ice balls at Kyle’s windows. Kyle emerged with his friends, and his mom. Needless to say, she was pissed. After all, an eighth grader had come after her son with an axe for no reason. She screamed at us and asked to see the axe. Brian showed it to her.

            “I should call the f*****g cops!” she bellowed. “You better take off that mask so I can see your face!”

            I removed the mask as well as the Band Aid.

            “Look what your son did to my head!”

            She paused, looked at Kyle, and grabbed him by the shirt, throwing him into the house.

            “All of you get the hell out of here!” She yelled over her shoulder as she stormed inside after her son.

            The next day at school, all of them remarked at the scrape on my head, but I wore my bandage proudly, knowing my place among the ranks of our school.

© 2010 Mason


Author's Note

Mason
This was originally a remembered event essay for my English Comp class.

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You have a very interseting style of memory. It's nice to able to claim the defence of a bit off in the head.

Posted 8 Years Ago



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Added on December 1, 2010
Last Updated on December 4, 2010
Tags: boys, will, be

Author

Mason
Mason

Omaha, NE



About
My name is Mason. I love the bizarre. I love to write. I think language is universal, and if we could write poetry to be understood by the other creatures of this Earth, we would be one step closer to.. more..

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