It’s your first or second week of school. The sky is clear and blue, air is cool and dry, not a cloud in the sky. The strong smell of lawns mowed moist ground wafting and it isn’t even quite 8 O’clock in the morning. Mom in the driveway waiting in the car to take you to school a little hint of that exhaust makes its way to the olfactories and a queasy destitute conflict of dread and excitement begins to permeate the air like an atmosphere.
You’re in 6th grade now looking forward to seeing your new friends (and old) begins to be overshadowed by a one Billy Doland who has decidedly put you on his roster of pain and suffering for God knows why. Maybe because you glanced a tad too long at him in the hallway on your way to second period class with Mr. Bickle or maybe he’s feeling his oats because he’s one of the few kids who had a growth spurt over summer and is now rolling with the cadre of 5 footers while you’re still stuck in the ranks of 4 foot 6 inches. In any or either case all of your senses have embossed a memory of the proverbial “hey kid, I’m gonna kick your ass..”. And so, the preamble’s to autumn for the next several decades fill your thoughts with cool air, sweet chimney smoke sprinkled with a bit of “why did I even wake up today?”.
Didn’t quite make it to the end of the school day hiding amongst the ranks of shorties between classes at your locker was foiled when a gap in the masses just long enough for to you to get caught in Doland’s cross hairs. SHIT! You exclaim to yourself as he makes his way over with two, maybe three of his boot-lickers. Chewing his gum, because that was a thing in back then. He asks your name in that condescending punk like tone with a smirk on his face. He mockingly repeats your name with the “Elvis” lip and exclaims that you’re going to fight after school. Doland never gives you reason why you’re going to fight, hell the Billy Dolands of the world don’t need a reason other than the fact that you just exist because that’s what Dolands do.
Now you know you can’t fight because your mother is going to be picking you up and you can not worry her to death and you can’t fight because you don’t want to and you can’t fight because you hate any kind of conflict and you can’t fight because you never have. But you’ve done the calculus in your 6th grade head that a fight with Billy Doland is inescapable and you have a destiny with pain which turns out to be more mental torment than physical.
A week or so goes by and nary a hint peep or mutter from the Doland kid. You get comfortable and try to convince yourself maybe he’s forgotten about you or you pray he’s moved on to someone else. But that queasy feeling you had the week before comes rolling back accompanied by all of the smells and sensations. Like an idiot you had to go to he bathroom between classes and you’re almost in the clear just need to get to the sink and paper towels ….upppp!! Senses are heightened… and sure enough doorway swings open and there he is with his goons and the only way you’re getting out of this is through a conquest.
Suddenly something in you snaps as if being taken over by a creature and you go into something akin to a berserk mode where you’re not even giving this dude a chance to breath let alone think. An animal has been unleashed. The pent up frustration and fear has morphed into anger and fury instantaneously and you even had the sense to knock this guys legs out from under him and pummel that stupid Elvis lip smirking twats face into oblivion. Of course his two goons jet-bailed as soon as he hit the floor. He begs for mercy as your better half brings you back from the brink of near insanity and as quickly as it began … it’s over.
You catch your breath but the adrenaline has you in overdrive. You help him off the floor and he actually apologizes. Cloths a bit discombobulated hair a tad messy you try to straighten yourself out but not really and head back to the last class of the day. There’s a noticeable tear in your shirt sleeve and you think fast to hide before opening the door to go back into Ms. Hammans music class.
Music playing lights have been turned off with just sunlight pouring into the classroom. Making your way back to your seat you look up on the chalkboard which says: Dvorak Symphony no 9 4th movement; Allegro con fuoco.