Bully

The hustle and bustle of Central Park united in a slow motion hum and just as the woman came close enough to realize what was going on and fill her lungs with air to scream, time stopped completely.  Colin stood there at that moment alone and frozen with the rest, hands clawed, confusion on his face but clarity in his eyes, and destruction cold and waiting gripped in his thin fingers.  It had built to this moment slowly, they had pushed him and hit him, made fun of him and called him names, they had picked on him and had done all but destroy him.

                They spotted him again after school and when their eyes met he ran as fast as he could.  His books strapped together in a belt dragging and bouncing down the sidewalk on 67^th Street until he flung them down an alley by some trash cans just before he hit Eighth Avenue.  Colin darted across the street into the traffic oblivious to the oncoming cars, horns, and screeching of brakes that formed and orchestra of panic around him.  Martin, Tommy, and Lance gave pause at the noise and congestion that had formed giving Colin a little more time to make it through to the Tavern and into the park.  Martin, the largest of the three looked at his two cohorts and after looking at Lance and seeing the hesitation gave him a hard shove and ran into the halted traffic.  Tommy turned and socked Lance in the shoulder and then took off after Martin towards the park.

                Out of the Tavern and into Sheep Meadow Colin ran turning a hard left and feeling the burn in his legs as he darted out through the green and into the open.  He gained ground but by the time Martin and Tommy emerged into the Meadow he was exposed and spotted easily.  Up the Meadow and through Cherry Hill they ran with Martin and Tommy slowly gaining ground until finally they caught him just before Bow Bridge.  Martin lunged with Tommy close behind and clipped Colin’s feet sending him sprawling and tumbling across the grass and onto the sidewalk before the bridge.  Tommy caught up and grabbed Colin by the shirt hoisting him upward and punching him soundly in the chest knocking the wind out of him and crumpling him back down to the ground.

                Martin was up and drug Colin back to his feet and over to the bridge.  Tears streamed down Colin’s face as they hoisted him up and onto the railing of the bridge.  He looked up at them and sniffled.  “Why?” he asked quietly.  Martin laughed and pushed Colin into nothingness.  He hit the water hard, head over heels into the freezing lake that was still seeking warmth from the early spring sun.  It shocked his system and drowned out his tears.  He stayed down in the cold blackness until his body found itself again and pulled for the surface.  When he broke the water and gasped for air the boys were gone.  He looked around and the bridge was empty, for as busy and full of life as the park was, there was nobody around, nobody to help, nobody to care. 

                He swam toward the bush-lined shore and crawled his way up.  Through the mud and into a clearing he sat down shivering, pulling his legs tight to his chest and burying his head in his knees.  He didn’t understand what he did, he didn’t understand why they picked on him, what he ever did to deserve this.  He was quiet, he kept to himself, didn’t bother anybody or have any friends to speak of, spent most of his time reading and writing and drawing.  Martin and Tommy had never even noticed him before, but this year they came back from summer vacation bigger than most kids and mean.  All year they had picked on him, all year they had made breaking him their special project.

                He finally stood, anger coursing through his veins.  Colin wanted to scream, he wanted to yell, he wanted to break something.  He found a pile of rocks and grabbed one, turned, and threw it as hard as he could into the lake.  Another, then another, one more, and then…and then he stopped cold, arm trapped mid-throw.  He glanced back at his arched arm and traced the shape and the ridges, the safety lever, and the pin that kept the whole world from exploding around him.  Colin looked around quickly and withdrew his prize from the open and buried it with both hands into his chest.  He walked back through the park dripping, with his bravery hidden under his shirt to retrieve his books and make his way home. 

                In his bedroom with his prize hidden safely under his pillow, he slept peacefully for the first time all year with dreams of being able to live quietly again.

                The morning came quickly but the day drug on.  He held his prize close all day and it made him feel safe, it made him feel protected, it made him feel secure.  That day, school ended like it had every other day that year.  Their eyes met outside of the school and he turned and ran, down 67^th street and through Eighth Avenue, the squeal of brakes, the sound of horns, they were closer this time and it happened. 

Louder than the horns and the screeching of tires, stopping him cold, spinning him around as soon as his feet hit the curb on the other side was the dull wet thud of skin and bones on metal.  Colin turned as Tommy’s limp body flew through the air and he landed unnaturally like a broken wet rag doll in the middle of the street.  The screams came from inside the cars on the road but the loudest was Martin, running to Tommy’s side and lifting him from the pavement, Tommy’s neck cracking sickeningly as his head hung back on his shoulders grotesquely.  Colin’s eyes shifted from the horror to Lance, still on the curb across the street with a large wet spot forming on the front of his pants and a vacant look on his face.

Colin ran.  Out of the Tavern and into Sheep Meadow Colin ran turning a hard left and feeling the burn in his legs as he darted out through the green and into the open.  Up the Meadow and into Cherry Hill he kept hearing it, every time he blinked he kept seeing it.  Tommy’s body, Martin’s screams, Lance’s numbness.  It seared in his brain, overwhelmed his senses.  He slowed through Cherry Hill until he came to a stop.  He looked around at the trees that surrounded him, the pink flowers emerging in the cool spring air.  It all looked like death.

The hustle and bustle of Central Park united in a slow motion hum and just as the woman came close enough to realize what was going on and fill her lungs with air to scream, time stopped completely.  Colin stood there at that moment alone and frozen with the rest, hands clawed, confusion on his face but clarity in his eyes, and destruction cold and waiting gripped in his thin fingers. 

The pin hit the ground.  The safety pin ejected into the air.  The screams came and tears streamed down Colin’s face.  He looked up at the sky between the cherry blossoms and sniffled.  “Why?” he asked quietly.

(Photo: Diane Arbus - Boy with toy hand grenade, Central Park 1962)