The 400 and Whatchamacallits

The 400 and Whatchamacallits

In 7th grade, they organized our lockers in alphabetical order and by grade. We spent three years surrounded by a lot of the same people.  I had a love-hate relationship with the girl whose locker was next to mine. I loved her, and she hated me.  On the other side of me was a kid who was what some people would call “rough” around the edges.

He was popular in some circles but known for his temper and his boxing ability. He was about a foot taller than me and hit puberty much earlier than I did. I decided fairly early that he was a student that I wanted on my good side, or that I should be on his good side.

I had a job as a custodian making 75$ a week and spent some of that money on lunch treats, but also gum. Gum that I could share with my locker neighbor. Both the girl and boy.

By ninth grade, he (Bob name change) was one of the most popular kids in school. I don’t remember the specific month, but remember the sun was out. A few weeks before this day, Bob broke his wrist during a boxing match.

I was coming back into the school from Release Time, and I saw Bob (name change) arguing with another student. As I got closer to the school, I could hear the two boys yelling and swearing at each other. They were fighting over a girl. The group around them was getting bigger, and a fight was imminent.

By the time I got to the circle, the two boys were surrounded and about ready to throw down. The other boy took a swing at Bob and missed. Bob took one swing with his right arm (the arm that had a cast from his wrist to just below his elbow) and turned his arm just before contact and hit the other boy with his cast covered forearm.

He knocked the kid out cold and broke his nose in the process.

Bob turned around and went into the school and walked straight down to the main office. Some students followed him, and some stayed with the boy on the ground (blood was everywhere).

I went to class.  I was nervous and didn’t want to get in trouble.

Sidenote:  I had zero chance of getting in trouble, but my irrational pubescent brain thought that I might. 

Shortly after, I was called down to the office and asked to write out a witness statement.

Bob wasn’t at school for a while but returned amid rumors and (unnecessary) legend status. We had a small conversation at our lockers at some point during the day after the initial rush died down.

Bob: I heard you had to fill out a statement. What did you say?

Me: I told them the truth. I told them that the other kid swung first and missed and that you were defending yourself.

Bob: Thanks, I owe you one.

Fast forward to our junior year of high school P.E. class.

Part 2 Friday.