GIRL FIGHT

I grew up in a small town in eastern Pennsylvania.  It was an area where many families had lived for generations.  We were new to the town.  My father had been having difficulty finding a job.  Though he earned two PhD’s, one from Duke University and one from The New School in NY and was employed by the UN for many years, he was a dark skinned turban wearing immigrant.  Eventually thanks to affirmative action came an offer for a tenured teaching position, and our new home for my childhood.

There weren’t very many non whites in the area.  One Korean family.  A couple other Indian families.   But in my school on the outskirts of town I was the lone wolf, though I didn’t know it until sixth grade.

The summer after fifth grade, my parents filled up multiple suitcases with everything my sister and I had outgrown, and like three years earlier we hopped on a 747 airliner headed for northern India.   I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay home with my friends Cindy and Carol.  There were too many bugs in Chandigarh, it was too hot, we had to put boiled milk in our cereal, and the ice cream tasted weird.  I hated it there.

Cindy and I had been friends for a couple years.  We met in elementary school and got closer in middle school.  Carol was new to our twosome.  But she was cool and I was happy to have a new friend.  It was a long summer away from my pals, missing out on all the fun.  I couldn’t wait to get home and back to school!

First day jitters fill me up.  Who’s in my class? What’s the teacher going to be like?  Checking out the lay of the land, I find my classroom and pick a desk.  Moments later I see Cindy.  Yes!  I rush over to her, the summer now long forgotten!  She doesn’t seem to see me.  Walking right past to talk to some other girls.

I wait as they have their conversation.  I’m sure it was something VERY important.  Carol coasts in.  A laugh erupts.   

Laughing lightly, I ease into the group.  “Hi.  How was your summer?”  No response.  Cindy and Carol share a look and walk away.

Lost in my thoughts I become aware of a chant rising behind me.  I turn to see a large portion of the class slapping their mouths, making a repetitive sound and lifting their legs.  And looking at me.  They surround me, circling, chanting, hopping, like a Native American war cry from an outdated movie.

Through the bobbing heads I glimpse Cindy and Carol, also laughing, hopping and pointing.  Dazed. Trapped.  Alone.  My emotions erupt.  A mountain of tears swell and fall.   

Swirling around me the chanting is deafening.  I can’t escape it. 

Am I dreaming?  What is going on??  

Suddenly the kids scatter, the sounds stop and I’m standing alone.  The teacher has come and order has been restored.  Still in a fog, I float to my desk.  But it is clear to me, I have no friends in this class anymore.

The isolation deepens as the days pass.  I sit alone on the school bus on field trips.  Walk alone.  My classmates pass me slapping their mouths in mockery of so many things they know nothing about.  It hurts me though.  Each stare.  Each laugh.  Each moment of childhood bonding that separates me from them.

I have become an easy target. 

Sitting at lunch alone, a girl comes to join me, bravely, I think.  She sits for a moment.  I smile at her. 

“Eileen and Sandy want to talk to you in the bathroom,”  she manages to squeak out. 

“Um…. Why?”  I reply in an equally meek mumble.  I don’t know them.  They are the tough girls.  If my white small town school had gangs, they would be it. 

“I don’t know.  They just asked me to bring you.”

This is the first person who talked to me all year.  I guess I should be grateful.

“OK.  Sure.”  I put the rest of my lunch back into my bag and walk with the mousy girl.

Outside the bathroom she pauses.  “Go ahead” she says.

“Um.. alright…”

I enter the bathroom and all the tough girls are hanging out by the sinks.  Kim, Sandy and the big boss Eileen. 

One nods to another and they flick off the light and start kicking me.  Whaaaaa…. Disoriented I reach for walls, skimming the edge of the room, trying to dodge the random strikes.  Finding the door handle, light pours in and I escape into the hallway.

Ducking by the cafeteria I look for a quiet corner where I can hide.. 

Walking the halls over the next few days people whisper… stare at me..  I feel the eyes.  The girl that got beaten up in the bathroom.  Strangers voices would taunt, “Are you going to the bathroom at lunch today?  Or are you too scared?”

Am I too scared?  Am I?  Something compels me..  I start going to the bathroom everyday at lunch.  The lights go out and the tough girls kick me.  I escape.  And then I do it again the next day.

Will they think I’m tough?  Will they like me? 

Sitting at lunch I stare at my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  It has no answers for me.

Then a boy comes and sits with me.  Tim Reed.  I had a crush on him in 5th grade.  Does he know?

“You should fight them.”

“I can’t fight them.  Are you crazy?”

“One on one.  You against one they pick.  I’ll set it up.”

I can’t fight someone….   I don’t know how to fight…  We don’t fight in my family… 

“OK.  If you think so,”  is somehow what comes out of my mouth.  Maybe I still have a crush on him.

Tim became my manager.  And arranged the fight.  And was the only person on my team.   

Lunch came.  He came to get me.  We walked down the hallway to the bathroom.  It was jammed with faces I didn’t recognize.  I could barely get through.  Tim had to move people aside.  Dozens of kids had gathered for the fight. 

I was terrified. 

Inside the bathroom was the usual gang.  And Eileen spoke in her usual confident tone, “Sandy’s going to beat you up.”

Sandy was a big bulky girl.  Twice my width. 

Tim held the door open.  People outside were pushing to see.  The countdown started.  Three, two, One… PUNCH!

I start swinging madly.  The kicks swirling in my head..  The chants..  The loneliness..

There is blood dripping off my knuckles…  Bloody nose!   BUSTED LIP! 

Arms fly up.  Lots of yelling.  And just like that, the fight is over.  I won.

Tim grabs my arm.  “We gotta go!  Teachers are coming!”

We push through the crowd.  Warm hands pat my back, as teachers rush past us trying to disperse the crowd filled hallway. 

In the long car ride after school, I realize I had a secret weapon unknown to these non-friends.  My love for sports.  And my daily gymnastics training in the neighboring town.  Pull ups.  Push ups.  A dream of the Olympics feeding each sit up.  A dream no one at this school knew about.  A dream that gave me strength I didn’t know about…

The tough girls no longer bullied me after that.  There was no more chanting or hopping routines.

Later I asked my ex-friend Cindy why they turned on me.  Her casual slightly remorseful response, “We wanted to see if we could do it.  We wanted to see if we could turn everyone against you.”

It was simple.  It was POWER.  The youthful exploration of power.  The seed of action that takes down not only friendships, but countries.

I learned my own lesson in the effects of power.  Because for the first time in my life I had it.  Other kids were afraid of me.  I bloodied the big girl. 

It didn’t lead to new friends or to being a part of a cool group, but it still felt good.