TheFish
04-04-2011, 11:08 PM
It is four o’clock and once again I must cross the field. To cross is to confront possible injury and humiliation. Not to cross adds forty minutes to my walk home, but more importantly, would be an act of cowardice. The sky is overcast and holds the eventual rain: I take a deep breath. Hold. And I release. The boys’ names are Scott and Kyle, and they are identical twins. Although they are only a year older than me (they are in grade seven while I am in grade six), they look more like fifteen year olds while I am small for my age. However, without being egotistical, I can say that I am superior to them intellectually, as well as anyone else at this school.
This is my first year of middle school and my first year in public school. I used to go to a private school, but my parents no longer have the salaries for that to happen. No more library with works such as L’étranger, On the Three Representations, or The Art of War, the last of which I have recently done a research project.
When the recession hit, everything changed. My parents, who both worked in the car manufacturing industry, became unemployed, and I am now forced to public school with the smokers, the sluts and the thugs. My parents give me lunch money with enough left over for me to buy an after school snack. So I have developed the habit of going to the European bakery to indulge. The last two days, my money was stolen by the twins, leaving me pastry-less. The fighting for booty stems from a desire for reward.
Today, I did not bring any money.
“Hey there, buddy!”
The voice comes from behind a green dumpster on the edge of the field, beside the path I have always taken. I realize the crucial mistake I have made. Such an obvious hiding spot should have been avoided, but anxiety makes focus difficult. The bandits reveal themselves; they were waiting. The Way of War is a Way of Deception. When near, appear Far.
I immediately regret crossing the field. My heart beats too fast, and I feel hot: why did I do this? It was a poor choice. Although every instinct in me tells me to run, I decide against it, since they would probably catch me and the consequences would inevitably be worse. Scott and Kyle’s voices are so similar that I cannot tell which one yelled at me. They’re big, have brown hair and freckles, but their most striking characteristic is the smile they share. It is malicious with a touch of mischief, so I know they are enjoying every bit of this. They walk slowly towards me, making it even harder to bear.
“Where’s the money, buddy?” one of them asks in a mock-friendly voice. I do not respond right away.
“I don’t have any.” I had planned on telling them I didn’t bring any on purpose but now that I was here, I did not want to make them mad.
“Scott, you buying this?” Kyle asks his brother.
“No way, man.” responds Scott.
“I guess I have to hit’em then.”
“Wait! I seriously don’t have any money, you must believe me!” I plead.
“Why should I believe you?” asked Kyle.
“I didn’t bring any because I thought you’d take it. And I’m not going to bring any money ever again.”
My boldness surprised me and, by the look on their faces, it surprised them as well. Kyle lost the smile, now he just looked angry. Then he hit me across the face with the back of his hand. It was not the pain, but the initial shock that made my tears flow. They give each other a high-five and they laughed, like they’d just accomplished something worthwhile. I lost all assertiveness, and that was the only power I had.
***
At home, I find my dog sleeping on the couch. Dropping my backpack, I walk to my room and my dog follows me. We enter together and when I close the bedroom door, he jumps up onto the bed, lies down and gets comfortable. I sit beside him and pat his head. He is the only one I can really talk to because I know he will never tire of me. I tell him what had happened after school and he listens.
“Hector… I don’t know what to do,” I say in a hushed voice. He looks at me intently; all of his focus on me. I know he does not understand the situation entirely, how could he? But I need to communicate to someone.
“You’re my favourite dog in the whole world. Did you know that?”
“David? Can I come in?” The door speaks with my mother’s voice. My back stiffens and I wonder if my tears are still obvious. I also wonder how much she had heard. I tell her she can come in.
“How are you doing?” my mother asks, closing the door behind her.
“I’m alright, I guess.” I lie.
“It sounded like you were upset. Will you tell me what’s wrong?” This was not the plan; I wish the house was empty.
“How much did you hear?”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just lying on my bed and it sounded like you were upset.” I sigh again, embarrassed.
“Please don’t be angry with me, I just want to help.” She sits down onto my bed, with Hector lying down between us.
“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself for not realizing you were home. I’m mad at the situation. I’m mad at the fact that you heard me pour my heart out to a dog.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, David. I understand. Hector’s a good listener; I talk to him sometimes too.” I did not feel the need to respond.
“Are you having trouble adjusting at the new school?” she asked.
I do not want to tell her what had happened. The thought of her reaction somehow seems worse than what is happening to me.
“I don’t have any friends at the new school, mom.”
“Oh, David.” She looks defeated, and her shoulders slump as she breathes out. The fact that she cares about me is not lost on me, but it breaks my heart to see her sorrow. She lets go and looks at me with such compassion that it stings. When she puts her arms around me, it makes me feel better and worse at the same time.
“I’m so sorry, David. I know it’s hard on you that we had to leave our old home. It makes me sad too, especially when I think all the friends you had to leave behind. But please believe me: we didn’t have much of a choice. We just didn’t have the money to stay there anymore.” She rests the palms of her hands on her thighs and looks at me. “We all just have a little adjusting to do.” She tries to smile to cheer me up, but it’s empty. I do not think she is happy here either.
“I know, Mom. I guess it’ll just take some time for me to figure things out. I’ll make new friends, I’m sure.”
“Of course you will. It’ll all work out.” Her big smile shows her relief, and her shoulders relax: she must not handle stress very well.
She tells me that she has to get dinner started but that I could talk to her anytime and as she gets up to leave I feel a strong inclination to tell her everything.
“Mom?”
She turned around. “Yes?”
“Thanks again.” I try to hide my anguish. I cannot mention the real problem to her. I cannot.
Once she closes the door, I realize what I have to do; I have to take matters into my own hands. I tried to solve my problems using words, but diplomacy was not a language Scott and Kyle could ever understand. I need to be able to protect myself next time they attack. With wealth of information on the subject of self-defence in my father’s bookcase, it was no trouble to find a suitable book. The Art of War has always been in the top-left hand corner of the shelf. I have never been interested in fighting and violence, but now I need it to save myself. I return to the living room, walk towards the bookcase, and I grab the The Art of War.
“What’s that’cha got there, buddy?” my father asks, frightening me.
I have to conceal a shudder, because there were only two others who called me “buddy”.
“I was just curious about some self-defence stuff, y’know I thought it could be kind of interesting.”
My father’s face lights up and says: “You don’t need that book.”
“I don’t?”
“I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” I had always known my dad was a martial arts enthusiast, but this was the first time I could see his warrior’s spirit. His posture, his expression, and even his eyes exude confidence. He is assertive, self-reliant. “Follow me into the garage.” he says.
On the cold concrete floor, my dad shows me what he calls the basics of self-defence. We work on the front and rear elbows, the open palm strike, and the front knee. I learn that foot placement is essential even for hand and elbow techniques. He tells me not to fight fair. We don’t have a punching bag to work on so my father holds a couch cushion for me to hit. I imagine Scott and Kyle’s faces on the cushion as I smash into it. As we finish our training session, he says: “When in doubt, strike the eyes, and the groin. That’s all you need to know.” He is no Sun-Tzu, but I see him for what he is, a martial artist, an artist of war.
***
The plan has been memorized. As always, Victory cannot be divulged in advance, but I have prepared. I am as ready for them as I ever will be. I just finished class and, looking at the field, I feel capable. It is a sunny day but it sheds no light on my problem. The cold weather makes me feel refreshed though, and I breathe it in. My path begins at the back of the school, where my foes and I will probably meet. This part of the school is deserted because most kids get picked up in the front parking lot.
I did not bring any money again for fear of it being stolen. Perhaps on a brighter day, I’ll buy as many pastries as I want. Beginning to cross the field, and there is still no sign of the terrible two. Sweat forms at my lower back where the backpack lies and I keep walking. I am so cold but I still sweat… Where are they? This is the worst part: being constantly aware tires the mind as well as the body, but then I remember my father’s words “Your first line of defence is to stand tall. If you look like a difficult target, the aggressor or aggressors will move onto an easier victim.” The sidewalk is just a dozen meters away.
As I step onto the pavement, I know I have done it; I have crossed that wretched field. As begin to think of home, Kyle steps out from behind a car in front of me, blocking my way. He is all smiles; his teeth seem yellow in comparison to his pale skin. For the first time I notice his eyes; they are completely black. There is white on the outside, but his irises are as black as charcoal. I cannot believe he was waiting there, crouched, just for me. How long had he been waiting? Why go to the trouble? If he wanted the money, he could get a job. I start to step backwards and wonder where Scott is. When I am pushed to the concrete, face down, I realize where Scott was and why Kyle was smiling. All I see is blackness as I stare at my own shadow, nose pressed against the ground. I can hear Kyle’s laughter and I feel heat rise up my cheeks as my vision blurs. Wiping my face, I roll onto my backpack in a semi-sitting position and I stare at Scott with all the intensity I can muster.
“I HATE YOU!” I yell, but it has the opposite effect. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes and laughs. He laughs for a long time. I decide to stand up and take off my backpack. I throw it into the air above Scott, eclipsing the sun just for him. When he puts his hands up to catch the bag, I run at him full sprint and get low. Attack where he is unprepared; appear where you are least expected.
Hips pushed forward and bringing my knee up, I drive it into Scott’s sensitive area. He makes a funny noise and bends over, letting the backpack he meant to catch hit him in the face. I am pushed to the ground once again, this time by Kyle. He jumps on me and as he winds up to punch, I jam my fingers in his eyes. I can feel a warm gelatinous texture of his eyeballs as my fingers press inwards. He cries out and I push him off me. I should run away, but I don’t. I look down at Kyle moaning and holding his hands over his eyes. He is rolling onto his side and then I stomp on him.
“Uhh! Ohh…” It was the wrong thing to do, but it felt good, really good. Unfortunately when I look up, a teacher stares at me, at what I had just done. Even though he has a bad comb over, and is at least fifty years old, he is still menacing. I feel like a ninja who has finally been caught by a samurai. His stare is furious; it is unlikely he saw the two boys assaulting me. As he approaches, I realize that I am not only to be Scott and Kyle’s victim, but a victim of the disciplinary system at school as well.
***
The suspension I received did not really change my life very much. It was an in-school suspension so I still have to go to school. A nice change was that I now got a ride home school courtesy of my Mom, so I “can stay away from those mean bullies” my mother says. Instead of going to class in the morning, I now go to a special orange room meant just for people like me, suspended people. The wall is something between orange juice and pumpkin pie. Along with the round white tables and blue plastic chairs, the room truly is the worst colour scheme I have ever encountered. So for six hours I do my school work alone in this room where I can actually get tasks done. After three days of suspension, I am a week ahead in homework, which leaves me time for leisure. It is kind of sad that I can get more done without any teachers but that was the truth. I spend my time looking out the window and watching the elements outside, so random and unpredictable. One moment it is overcast to the point of darkness, wind picking up litter and blowing it by the window. Two hours later yellow and orange light saturates the otherwise hideous place. After three days of this, I manage to get my parents to drive me to the library to get some books to read so I will be less bored during my imprisonment.
On the last day of my suspension, a Friday, I had already studied the Art of War quite thoroughly so I start writing Haikus and practicing my Chinese calligraphy. I do not know what any of the symbols I write mean, but it is still enjoyable.
I hate Scott and Kyle
Smash them, hit them, break them both
Go to hell, you two.
Why you assault me
I do not know, but perhaps
You too, have your tears
After much meditation and expression through the art of Haiku, I conclude that my tormentors are most likely nothing more than products of their questionable upbringing. But I also realize that this does not make what they do acceptable in the least. They will only ever bother me if they feel confident, and they will only feel confident if I am not. Ultimate excellence lies not in winning every battle, but in defeating the enemy without ever fighting.
On the next Monday, my suspension was over and I went to my classes like I used to. I notice whispers follow me wherever I walk. Since I did not have any friends, there was no explaining for me to do. My status was clearly elevated. Had I become the alpha-male type that I had always detested? I did not think so, but the thought worried me nonetheless. On my way to my classroom I notice the comb over teacher who caused the suspension staring at me. I pretend I don’t see him and quickly get into class. The whispers continue during the first two blocks of class, making it difficult to focus on French grammar. After what seems like a whole day of school, the bell rings to let us out for lunch.
Outside it is raining lightly and I am thankful. Now I can be alone and have some peace and time to myself. There is a large tree that can provide sufficient shelter from the rain, and there I can sit and meditate. A quiet place is sometimes hard to find; if it were a sunny day, kids would be running around that tree all lunch hour. Ying and Yang, cold and hot, the cycle of seasons. Once I sit down I notice something moving, people standing by the school in the rain. It is Scott and Kyle, but they are not looking at me, the palms of their hands as well as their eyes rest on the brick wall of the school. Even though it is raining, they are only wearing cargo pants and now drenched T-shirts. What are they doing? Then I hear the crying, and I notice they have a girl even smaller than me pushed against the wall. Sickness rises in my stomach: it hurts to see the injustice. They are not hurting her physically, at least not yet. I start to walk towards the brothers and their new victim. It was at this point I remember what I did to them on our last encounter. I do not think I can defend her or myself if I have to… surprise is no longer on my side. I walk over to them; my legs seem to move on their own. Once I am within shouting distance, I inhale and let out a yell. But no sound comes out, it is like those horrible dreams where you scream and no one can hear you. I am scared; I do not have the courage to stand between the girl and the bullies; I do not have the indomitable spirit required. If the enemy is strong, avoid him. Looking at the large blue doors of the school entrance, I start to make my way towards them, just hoping Scott and Kyle will not notice me.
Before I enter the doors I take a last look at the girl. She is crying, her tears mixing with the rain on her face. She is looking upwards at the twins, pleading. It is unfair of me to observe this and do nothing. To watch injustice is to sustain it, and I remember what Master Sun said: Wisdom, integrity, compassion, courage, severity. The tenets of a good commander begin to develop in my mind and I realize that I must attempt to help, regardless of the possible outcome.
I walk towards them, and I stand tall.
This is my first year of middle school and my first year in public school. I used to go to a private school, but my parents no longer have the salaries for that to happen. No more library with works such as L’étranger, On the Three Representations, or The Art of War, the last of which I have recently done a research project.
When the recession hit, everything changed. My parents, who both worked in the car manufacturing industry, became unemployed, and I am now forced to public school with the smokers, the sluts and the thugs. My parents give me lunch money with enough left over for me to buy an after school snack. So I have developed the habit of going to the European bakery to indulge. The last two days, my money was stolen by the twins, leaving me pastry-less. The fighting for booty stems from a desire for reward.
Today, I did not bring any money.
“Hey there, buddy!”
The voice comes from behind a green dumpster on the edge of the field, beside the path I have always taken. I realize the crucial mistake I have made. Such an obvious hiding spot should have been avoided, but anxiety makes focus difficult. The bandits reveal themselves; they were waiting. The Way of War is a Way of Deception. When near, appear Far.
I immediately regret crossing the field. My heart beats too fast, and I feel hot: why did I do this? It was a poor choice. Although every instinct in me tells me to run, I decide against it, since they would probably catch me and the consequences would inevitably be worse. Scott and Kyle’s voices are so similar that I cannot tell which one yelled at me. They’re big, have brown hair and freckles, but their most striking characteristic is the smile they share. It is malicious with a touch of mischief, so I know they are enjoying every bit of this. They walk slowly towards me, making it even harder to bear.
“Where’s the money, buddy?” one of them asks in a mock-friendly voice. I do not respond right away.
“I don’t have any.” I had planned on telling them I didn’t bring any on purpose but now that I was here, I did not want to make them mad.
“Scott, you buying this?” Kyle asks his brother.
“No way, man.” responds Scott.
“I guess I have to hit’em then.”
“Wait! I seriously don’t have any money, you must believe me!” I plead.
“Why should I believe you?” asked Kyle.
“I didn’t bring any because I thought you’d take it. And I’m not going to bring any money ever again.”
My boldness surprised me and, by the look on their faces, it surprised them as well. Kyle lost the smile, now he just looked angry. Then he hit me across the face with the back of his hand. It was not the pain, but the initial shock that made my tears flow. They give each other a high-five and they laughed, like they’d just accomplished something worthwhile. I lost all assertiveness, and that was the only power I had.
***
At home, I find my dog sleeping on the couch. Dropping my backpack, I walk to my room and my dog follows me. We enter together and when I close the bedroom door, he jumps up onto the bed, lies down and gets comfortable. I sit beside him and pat his head. He is the only one I can really talk to because I know he will never tire of me. I tell him what had happened after school and he listens.
“Hector… I don’t know what to do,” I say in a hushed voice. He looks at me intently; all of his focus on me. I know he does not understand the situation entirely, how could he? But I need to communicate to someone.
“You’re my favourite dog in the whole world. Did you know that?”
“David? Can I come in?” The door speaks with my mother’s voice. My back stiffens and I wonder if my tears are still obvious. I also wonder how much she had heard. I tell her she can come in.
“How are you doing?” my mother asks, closing the door behind her.
“I’m alright, I guess.” I lie.
“It sounded like you were upset. Will you tell me what’s wrong?” This was not the plan; I wish the house was empty.
“How much did you hear?”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just lying on my bed and it sounded like you were upset.” I sigh again, embarrassed.
“Please don’t be angry with me, I just want to help.” She sits down onto my bed, with Hector lying down between us.
“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself for not realizing you were home. I’m mad at the situation. I’m mad at the fact that you heard me pour my heart out to a dog.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, David. I understand. Hector’s a good listener; I talk to him sometimes too.” I did not feel the need to respond.
“Are you having trouble adjusting at the new school?” she asked.
I do not want to tell her what had happened. The thought of her reaction somehow seems worse than what is happening to me.
“I don’t have any friends at the new school, mom.”
“Oh, David.” She looks defeated, and her shoulders slump as she breathes out. The fact that she cares about me is not lost on me, but it breaks my heart to see her sorrow. She lets go and looks at me with such compassion that it stings. When she puts her arms around me, it makes me feel better and worse at the same time.
“I’m so sorry, David. I know it’s hard on you that we had to leave our old home. It makes me sad too, especially when I think all the friends you had to leave behind. But please believe me: we didn’t have much of a choice. We just didn’t have the money to stay there anymore.” She rests the palms of her hands on her thighs and looks at me. “We all just have a little adjusting to do.” She tries to smile to cheer me up, but it’s empty. I do not think she is happy here either.
“I know, Mom. I guess it’ll just take some time for me to figure things out. I’ll make new friends, I’m sure.”
“Of course you will. It’ll all work out.” Her big smile shows her relief, and her shoulders relax: she must not handle stress very well.
She tells me that she has to get dinner started but that I could talk to her anytime and as she gets up to leave I feel a strong inclination to tell her everything.
“Mom?”
She turned around. “Yes?”
“Thanks again.” I try to hide my anguish. I cannot mention the real problem to her. I cannot.
Once she closes the door, I realize what I have to do; I have to take matters into my own hands. I tried to solve my problems using words, but diplomacy was not a language Scott and Kyle could ever understand. I need to be able to protect myself next time they attack. With wealth of information on the subject of self-defence in my father’s bookcase, it was no trouble to find a suitable book. The Art of War has always been in the top-left hand corner of the shelf. I have never been interested in fighting and violence, but now I need it to save myself. I return to the living room, walk towards the bookcase, and I grab the The Art of War.
“What’s that’cha got there, buddy?” my father asks, frightening me.
I have to conceal a shudder, because there were only two others who called me “buddy”.
“I was just curious about some self-defence stuff, y’know I thought it could be kind of interesting.”
My father’s face lights up and says: “You don’t need that book.”
“I don’t?”
“I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” I had always known my dad was a martial arts enthusiast, but this was the first time I could see his warrior’s spirit. His posture, his expression, and even his eyes exude confidence. He is assertive, self-reliant. “Follow me into the garage.” he says.
On the cold concrete floor, my dad shows me what he calls the basics of self-defence. We work on the front and rear elbows, the open palm strike, and the front knee. I learn that foot placement is essential even for hand and elbow techniques. He tells me not to fight fair. We don’t have a punching bag to work on so my father holds a couch cushion for me to hit. I imagine Scott and Kyle’s faces on the cushion as I smash into it. As we finish our training session, he says: “When in doubt, strike the eyes, and the groin. That’s all you need to know.” He is no Sun-Tzu, but I see him for what he is, a martial artist, an artist of war.
***
The plan has been memorized. As always, Victory cannot be divulged in advance, but I have prepared. I am as ready for them as I ever will be. I just finished class and, looking at the field, I feel capable. It is a sunny day but it sheds no light on my problem. The cold weather makes me feel refreshed though, and I breathe it in. My path begins at the back of the school, where my foes and I will probably meet. This part of the school is deserted because most kids get picked up in the front parking lot.
I did not bring any money again for fear of it being stolen. Perhaps on a brighter day, I’ll buy as many pastries as I want. Beginning to cross the field, and there is still no sign of the terrible two. Sweat forms at my lower back where the backpack lies and I keep walking. I am so cold but I still sweat… Where are they? This is the worst part: being constantly aware tires the mind as well as the body, but then I remember my father’s words “Your first line of defence is to stand tall. If you look like a difficult target, the aggressor or aggressors will move onto an easier victim.” The sidewalk is just a dozen meters away.
As I step onto the pavement, I know I have done it; I have crossed that wretched field. As begin to think of home, Kyle steps out from behind a car in front of me, blocking my way. He is all smiles; his teeth seem yellow in comparison to his pale skin. For the first time I notice his eyes; they are completely black. There is white on the outside, but his irises are as black as charcoal. I cannot believe he was waiting there, crouched, just for me. How long had he been waiting? Why go to the trouble? If he wanted the money, he could get a job. I start to step backwards and wonder where Scott is. When I am pushed to the concrete, face down, I realize where Scott was and why Kyle was smiling. All I see is blackness as I stare at my own shadow, nose pressed against the ground. I can hear Kyle’s laughter and I feel heat rise up my cheeks as my vision blurs. Wiping my face, I roll onto my backpack in a semi-sitting position and I stare at Scott with all the intensity I can muster.
“I HATE YOU!” I yell, but it has the opposite effect. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes and laughs. He laughs for a long time. I decide to stand up and take off my backpack. I throw it into the air above Scott, eclipsing the sun just for him. When he puts his hands up to catch the bag, I run at him full sprint and get low. Attack where he is unprepared; appear where you are least expected.
Hips pushed forward and bringing my knee up, I drive it into Scott’s sensitive area. He makes a funny noise and bends over, letting the backpack he meant to catch hit him in the face. I am pushed to the ground once again, this time by Kyle. He jumps on me and as he winds up to punch, I jam my fingers in his eyes. I can feel a warm gelatinous texture of his eyeballs as my fingers press inwards. He cries out and I push him off me. I should run away, but I don’t. I look down at Kyle moaning and holding his hands over his eyes. He is rolling onto his side and then I stomp on him.
“Uhh! Ohh…” It was the wrong thing to do, but it felt good, really good. Unfortunately when I look up, a teacher stares at me, at what I had just done. Even though he has a bad comb over, and is at least fifty years old, he is still menacing. I feel like a ninja who has finally been caught by a samurai. His stare is furious; it is unlikely he saw the two boys assaulting me. As he approaches, I realize that I am not only to be Scott and Kyle’s victim, but a victim of the disciplinary system at school as well.
***
The suspension I received did not really change my life very much. It was an in-school suspension so I still have to go to school. A nice change was that I now got a ride home school courtesy of my Mom, so I “can stay away from those mean bullies” my mother says. Instead of going to class in the morning, I now go to a special orange room meant just for people like me, suspended people. The wall is something between orange juice and pumpkin pie. Along with the round white tables and blue plastic chairs, the room truly is the worst colour scheme I have ever encountered. So for six hours I do my school work alone in this room where I can actually get tasks done. After three days of suspension, I am a week ahead in homework, which leaves me time for leisure. It is kind of sad that I can get more done without any teachers but that was the truth. I spend my time looking out the window and watching the elements outside, so random and unpredictable. One moment it is overcast to the point of darkness, wind picking up litter and blowing it by the window. Two hours later yellow and orange light saturates the otherwise hideous place. After three days of this, I manage to get my parents to drive me to the library to get some books to read so I will be less bored during my imprisonment.
On the last day of my suspension, a Friday, I had already studied the Art of War quite thoroughly so I start writing Haikus and practicing my Chinese calligraphy. I do not know what any of the symbols I write mean, but it is still enjoyable.
I hate Scott and Kyle
Smash them, hit them, break them both
Go to hell, you two.
Why you assault me
I do not know, but perhaps
You too, have your tears
After much meditation and expression through the art of Haiku, I conclude that my tormentors are most likely nothing more than products of their questionable upbringing. But I also realize that this does not make what they do acceptable in the least. They will only ever bother me if they feel confident, and they will only feel confident if I am not. Ultimate excellence lies not in winning every battle, but in defeating the enemy without ever fighting.
On the next Monday, my suspension was over and I went to my classes like I used to. I notice whispers follow me wherever I walk. Since I did not have any friends, there was no explaining for me to do. My status was clearly elevated. Had I become the alpha-male type that I had always detested? I did not think so, but the thought worried me nonetheless. On my way to my classroom I notice the comb over teacher who caused the suspension staring at me. I pretend I don’t see him and quickly get into class. The whispers continue during the first two blocks of class, making it difficult to focus on French grammar. After what seems like a whole day of school, the bell rings to let us out for lunch.
Outside it is raining lightly and I am thankful. Now I can be alone and have some peace and time to myself. There is a large tree that can provide sufficient shelter from the rain, and there I can sit and meditate. A quiet place is sometimes hard to find; if it were a sunny day, kids would be running around that tree all lunch hour. Ying and Yang, cold and hot, the cycle of seasons. Once I sit down I notice something moving, people standing by the school in the rain. It is Scott and Kyle, but they are not looking at me, the palms of their hands as well as their eyes rest on the brick wall of the school. Even though it is raining, they are only wearing cargo pants and now drenched T-shirts. What are they doing? Then I hear the crying, and I notice they have a girl even smaller than me pushed against the wall. Sickness rises in my stomach: it hurts to see the injustice. They are not hurting her physically, at least not yet. I start to walk towards the brothers and their new victim. It was at this point I remember what I did to them on our last encounter. I do not think I can defend her or myself if I have to… surprise is no longer on my side. I walk over to them; my legs seem to move on their own. Once I am within shouting distance, I inhale and let out a yell. But no sound comes out, it is like those horrible dreams where you scream and no one can hear you. I am scared; I do not have the courage to stand between the girl and the bullies; I do not have the indomitable spirit required. If the enemy is strong, avoid him. Looking at the large blue doors of the school entrance, I start to make my way towards them, just hoping Scott and Kyle will not notice me.
Before I enter the doors I take a last look at the girl. She is crying, her tears mixing with the rain on her face. She is looking upwards at the twins, pleading. It is unfair of me to observe this and do nothing. To watch injustice is to sustain it, and I remember what Master Sun said: Wisdom, integrity, compassion, courage, severity. The tenets of a good commander begin to develop in my mind and I realize that I must attempt to help, regardless of the possible outcome.
I walk towards them, and I stand tall.