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

supervisor’s office. For several minutes I sat in a hard wooden chair while he lectured at me. I didn’t hear a word he said as my mind was whirling with fear, exhilaration, shame, exhaustion, and self-righteous anger. The final verdict, though, was clear enough: a note to my parents and a week’s detention. Had I even defended myself? I might have, but couldn’t recall saying a word. When I shuffled back onto the courtyard, I was shocked to find that lunch was still in progress. The whole squalid episode had seemed like it lasted for hours, but only taken minutes.
    News travels at the speed of light amongst pubescents, and everyone had an opinion on what had gone down. As I walked past my former Dweeb companions, they shot me contemptuous looks and quickly turned away. To them, I was a brawler. Douglas’s friends, on the other hand, were outraged. A girl with whom he was often seen necking spat out, “That is low, man, low! His bad arm!”
    â€œYeah,” agreed one of Douglas’s henchmen, a fellow who’d thrown a book in my face at such close range it had left a bruise under my eye. “His bad arm. That is fucked up.”
    I refrained from screaming out, “But I didn’t know!” only because I didn’t want to sound apologetic. I wasn’t sure how I felt yet.
    The Burnouts, predictably, thought the whole thing was funny. “Owwwww, my bad arm!” they said in high, sissy voices. “You hurt me, you bad man, you!”
    I smiled at these imitations, but didn’t engage anyone in direct conversation. I needed to check out, and so began doing homework. When the bell announcing the end of lunch rang, I reluctantly put it away and started off for class.
    Then, in the locker-lined hallway where I’d been tripped, kicked, and punched a thousand times, I saw Douglas. I felt myself tighten up inside, but deliberately kept my outer appearance cool. As energy coursed through my body, I walked deliberately within inches of him. Part of me wanted to punch his bad arm again, another part wanted me to beg forgiveness, and part wanted to flinch in terror. Instead, I walked by him as if he weren’t even there. Douglas did the same.
    I almost couldn’t believe it, but over the next few days and weeks it proved true: I was no longer a target. Douglas and his friends never touched me again. My parents had been right all along, punch a bully back and he’ll leave you in peace. This, of course, raised a huge moral dilemma. How could I call myself a Christian if I believed in fighting? Worse, the thought of Douglas whining about his bad arm filled me with wrath, which was one of the Seven Deadly Sins. The thought of my self-defense filled me with pride, another Deadly Sin. The way so many kids sympathized with Douglas and his bad arm made me envious of him, a third Sin. My mortal soul was in danger!
    Clearly, I’d let being a Burnout and my friendship with Kai distract me from my Journey. I needed to rededicate myself to Love, but could I really do what needed to be done? One sleepless night I went to my Love tree (as I thought of it) to think things through. I sat in its branches staring at the view as a cool breeze whipped through my hair. I imagined Love beams shooting from my heart, or rather tried to imagine them but couldn’t. I felt alone and bereft, un-Loved and un-Loving. I was overcome by a generalized feeling of horribleness so intense that tears welled up in my eyes. I scrambled down from the tree and went home in defeat.
    The next morning I awoke feeling no better. I called information for Rick’s address and wrote him a two-page letter. I was too ashamed of my fight with Douglas to go into detail, but gave a few dark hints that things were not going well. “I’ve been having a hard time Loving lately. People around here are not on the same spiritual trip as me and it’s kind of a bummer.”
    A long, miserable, lonely