So, there I was, minding my own business with Eddie telling me about his hopes for Christmas that year, when I hear a voice from behind me.
“Hey Stinker, whatcha got in the bag?” At first, I didn’t realise the comment had been aimed at us, but when I heard it a second time, followed by a cackle of jeers and snickers, I knew something bad was headed our way. “Hey, you, Stinker. I’m talkin to ya!”
I turned to look over my shoulder and saw not just Reedy or a small group, but what looked like the whole damn school. There must have been 70 kids following Reedy, easily the tallest kid in school, and also the fattest. He was trudging toward me at the head of his army of supporters, a shirt tail untucked and rubbing one fist into his other palm.
“This don’t look good, Eddie,” I said.
“Whatcha say, Stinker?” Reedy said, now just a few feet away and still advancing. His crew had stopped a good distance back and now began to form a circle around us
“Nothin,” I said, trying to sound composed, but I won’t lie; I was shitting bricks. He didn’t stop until his gut had reached my chest, his face glaring down at me. I could smell his sweat, and grinned a little at the irony of the name he called me. I guess he saw the grin and took it as some sort of insubordination, because the next thing I saw was a bunch of stars floating in front of my eyes as pain exploded in my left ear.
He had swung his mallet of a fist at me and it sent me sprawling. My lunch bag went toppling end over end in the dirt and was then pulverized out of existence by Reedy’s right boot heel, his leg twisting this way and that, like one of those rock ‘n roll dances the kids do nowadays.
Anyway, so there I was, face first in the dirt, grit between my teeth and heat pulsating in my ear when he charges in for another go. He must have put his whole weight behind the kick he was now prepping for, because when I rolled to one side at the last second, his boot whistling past my right ear, he lost his balance and crumpled to the ground beside me.
The kids knew better than to laugh at him and all we heard was a communal ‘aaahhh’ from the crowd. He sat up wide eyed, the anger forming deep wrinkles on his forehead and he swung a fist sideways at me.
“YOU STINK LIKE YOUR DEAD MOTHER!” he screamed as he swung, the crowd shocked into united silence.
Have you ever had a moment in your life where you knew that there was no coming back once you crossed its threshold? Well, Jim, that was mine. When I heard the words that came out of that fucker’s mouth, I didn’t just hear one scream of rage; I heard two.
It was my scream that pierced the lunchtime air of the schoolyard, and it was my brother Eddie’s scream that filled my mind. It was like my head was so full of rage that it felt as if it was about to explode. I sat up, turned and took one final look into his eyes.
In the split second before I crossed the threshold, our eyes met. His turned to terror when he saw the look in mine. The pain in my head had all but disappeared as I sprung to my feet then catapulted onto him, my hands groping wildly for anything to hang onto. One hand dug deep into his thick mane of blond curls, while the other grabbed the front of his throat.
He strained to shake me off, his hands trying to pry my hand from his hair. But that was when it happened; a small window opening up and giving me a tiny snapshot of what was to come. I looked at his face, still angry and yelling at me. Then, as if driven by pure instinct, I put my head down and bit down on his ear.
I could feel almost all of it in my mouth; felt the body that I was clinging to temporarily pause, as if trying to decipher what would happen next. My rage was building again as his words repeated themselves over and over and over again, as if being screamed by Eddie.
My teeth came together tighter and tighter as I began to feel a warm trickle of blood on my tongue. His screams went from loud objections to high-pitched screeching that seemed to drill into my ears. More and more blood began to run into my mouth and then I felt it shooting onto my cheeks, up my nostrils and run down into my shirt in warm rivers of satisfaction.
Kids in the crowd now also began to scream as the fat tub of guts began to spin wildly from side to side, desperate to get the monster off him. But I clung on tight, driven by anger and hate and pure rage. Eddie was screaming in my head to keep going, to make him sorry for what he said and I just kept biting, grinding my teeth together.
There was a hard thump as I felt us hit the ground, the arms now limp, the screams no longer coming from beneath me but instead, high above me. I could still feel my own screams through my bloodied mouth as I continued to clamp, grind and twist. Then I felt a massive bolt of pain in my back as something struck me. Powerful hands pulled my head up by the hair and then more hands ripped
