Why Aren't You Smiling? by Alvin Orloff Page A

nature (very, very bad).
    Kai changed the subject. “What’s up with you and Douglas?”
    In movies and TV shows, the bully always gets his comeuppance at The End. Douglas had gotten his comeuppance, yet nobody seemed to have told him about it being The End. Instead of leaving me alone after the pee incident, he’d redoubled his torments with daily poundings that left both my body and psyche covered in bruises. Even amidst the savage anarchy of junior high, the epic quantity and quality of his persecution became noticeable. Teachers flung out reprimands and detentions, but Douglas ignored them.“Nothing. He just hates me. No reason.”
    Kai shook his head. “If I were you, I’d kick his sorry ass.”
    â€œI’m not into fighting.”
    â€œI heard he kicked your head! I mean, that is cold. You don’t kick someone in the fucking head.”
    â€œI guess he has mental problems.”
    â€œYeah, like he’s totally psycho.” Kai shook his head. “Man, I’d kick that motherfucker’s ass.”
    My conscious mind never abandoned Christian pacifism, but my subconscious was susceptible to peer pressure. A few days later I was sitting on the Benches eating lunch when Douglas saw me and sauntered up. “Gimme those.” He pointed to a pair of chocolate Hostess cupcakes that sat on my lunch bag, awaiting consumption. I started to hand them over, but something (possibly a deep love of cupcakes) compelled me to hesitate. Outraged by my defiance, Douglass leaned over and flicked my nose with his finger. I’d endured far, far worse, but for some reason this particular indignity flipped a switch deep in my brain. I exploded into white-hot rage. Without any conscious thought, I stood up and mashed one of the soft, gooey cupcakes into Douglas’s hard, belligerent face. As he stood before me, utterly stunned, I practiced one of his own favorite tricks, putting one of my legs behind his and pushing him backwards with my hands. Douglas toppled on the asphalt and I quickly sat on his chest with my legs on either side of him, pinning his arms.
    â€œGet the fuck off me, faggot!” yelled Douglas. He tried to free his arms but my legs kept them in place.
    I leaned my face over his and shrieked, “If you ever mess with me again I will kill you. Kill you, do you understand?” I slapped his face!”
    â€œHelp! A faggot is raping me!” screamed Douglas.
    A crowd of Burnouts and Popular Kids ran over and surrounded us. “Fight! Fight!” shouted the less mature.
    Rational thought returned to my mind. “Promise you’ll leave me alone and I’ll let you get up.”
    â€œOK! OK!” Douglas said quickly. “I promise!”
    As I stood, Douglas leapt to his feet and socked me hard in the shoulder. It was his favorite spot to punch me and there was already a terrific bruise there. The pain reignited the rage and I threw my first punch ever, landing it straight on his arm.
    â€œAuugh!” screamed Douglas. “My bad arm!”
    The safety supervisor stalked through the circle of on-lookers. “What’s going on?”
    â€œHe hit me in my bad arm!” shrieked Douglass.
    â€œHe was picking on me!” I protested.
    Several observers began simultaneously offering their own accounts.
    The safety supervisor made lowering gestures with his hands. “Enough! Is anybody hurt?”
    Douglas produced a sort of horse-like whinny. “I am! My bad arm!” He looked like he was going to cry.
    â€œOK,” sighed the safety supervisor. “The both of yous, come with me.” He grabbed Douglas and me by our arms and hustled us off toward the administration building.
    On the way, Douglas kept up a continuous whine. “I had surgery there! There’s a big scar! I think Leonard broke something. It’s my bad arm!”
    Douglas was dropped off with the school nurse while I was dragged into the safety