The Bully

I used to stare out the dirt-streaked windows of the bus on the way to and from middle school. I didn’t like to sit on the aisle, where people would bump into me with their backpacks and lunchboxes. I preferred to look out into the world, watching the trees slide by in strokes of green and the life on the sidewalks. When the bus waited at traffic lights and the other kids screamed and threw paper across the seats, I glimpsed into car windows on the street, wondering what those people wondered about. Intently, I studied their faces, tracing their profiles with my eyes. I thought that if I looked long enough I could will them into turning towards me. I thought I could will them into noticing me. And sometimes, not always, they would turn. Our eyes would lock in a moment separated by panes of glass and air, and I felt that we could see each other. I felt like I’d made a connection.

My friends Jill and Jodi Rogers often interrupted my window-gazing with their bubbly anecdotes of the day. Identical twins, they were constantly confused by teachers, and they used it to their utmost advantage. Jodi was brilliant at math and painted her fingernails black. Jill liked to wear her sand-colored hair in pigtails and flirt. Whenever Jill had a math test, she talked her sister into taking off the polish and stepping into her shoes. Jodi agreed for the thrill, and no one ever found out except their closest friends. I’d known them since kindergarten, and they seemed nothing alike to me.

The three of us rode the bus together to our low-cost apartment complex in Jacksonville, FL, and talked about all the things that concern the minds of 12-year-old girls. One Friday afternoon of seventh grade, we weren’t free to talk in peace. A girl whom I didn’t know and didn’t like seethed for some unknown reason and sneered at the twins. Taller and wider than most girls in our grade, Shanika was infamously mean. Her mouth spewed so much foul language it had soured her breath. The ashy texture of her black skin made her appear a dark gray, and her cheap weave sat awkwardly atop her head.

From the seat across from Jill and Jodi, Shanika taunted them. The twins did their best to ignore her malicious words and talked to me as if nothing was wrong. When the bus rolled into the stop outside our neighborhood, which Shanika shared, the verbal abuse escalated to physical gestures and facial expressions. Jill and Jodi seemed scared and weak. They didn’t know what to say or how to defend themselves. Climbing down the bus steps, Shanika threatened to kick their asses if they didn’t respond. We were surrounded by a group of people as the bus skidded away. I could see Jill and Jodi shaking, unsure of what had brought this on and how to handle it.

I hadn’t opened my mouth until then. I thought if I said nothing she would eventually stop and move on. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t stand there and watch while she insulted my friends.

“Leave them alone,” I said. “They’ve done nothing to you.”

Suddenly it was as if she saw me for the first time. Her eyes flashed white, and her entire body tightened. She’d found a new target.

“Don’t tell me what to do, you little bitch,” she shot back.

Twice my size and weight, I had no intention of getting in a fight with Shanika. She’d win, and we both knew it.

I turned on my heels, offering her my back and heading toward my apartment at the far end of the street. Jill and Jodi hadn’t said a word, but just watched in awe. Shanika followed me, taunting me, daring me to look her in the face. My heartbeat pounded in my head. It was so loud I could barely hear her. She began jabbing me in the back with her finger as I walked.

“Turn around you little piss ant,” she spouted with every stab of her finger. “Why don’t you just turn around?”

My palms were moist and my breathing shortened. I kept my head up high; I didn’t want her to think she had any affect on me. Jill and Jodi did nothing. I was only a few minutes walk away from home. I could put up with it.

The prodding intensified. She thrust more and more weight behind the finger that she jammed incessantly into my back. The pain began shooting up my spine. Maybe if I looked at her she’d stop. Maybe I could talk my way out of this. I paused. I turned with my mouth parted to form words, and I saw just a blur of motion as her fist smashed into my face. I barely had time to register the explosion of nerve endings in my cheek, when she grabbed me by the hair and rammed my body into the pavement. She jerked me around by the roots of my hair, as I thrashed at her bulky limbs, trying to make contact. I could hear other kids cheering in the distance. Finally I got a grip on one of her ankles and yanked with all my force, causing her to topple onto her side. She’d let loose of my hair. In a crumpled ball, I lied on the sidewalk, face wet with tears I couldn’t even remember releasing.

Shanika stood, and abruptly turned as if she’d lost interest. Jill and Jodi rushed to my side, asking if I was okay. Now, conveniently, they were willing to assist.

“Go home,” I snapped. Gathering energy, I hoisted myself up and trudged the remaining distance home limply.

I never rode the school bus again after that day, and once my mother knew of the incident, she made it her personal mission to get us out of that neighborhood. The twins and I remained friends, but I could never look at them the same way. I was never mean, and I rarely mentioned that it had happened at all. But somewhere in the midst of that five to ten minute blur, they’d lost my respect.

That was the last time Shanika and I ever talked. I never even knew her last name. I saw her in the halls sometimes at school, and our eyes met. I thought I would see something in them – some measure of regret, of fury, of recognition even – but they were vacant. It was as if she was just another stranger whose face I viewed from behind panes of glass. But there was no connection, only miles of empty air.