The Bully and His School Victim

The Tie

There was no question about it: he had to have that tie. He justified it to himself by saying that of course he deserved it, since he was the biggest and most powerful and important kid in school and perhaps even in the whole town, or maybe even in the whole state—probably even in the whole world, what the heck. But the reality was simply that he felt special by being able to take things from others.

He certainly didn’t feel special at home. It was just he and his mom at home, and an older sister that sometimes dropped by but not often. He didn’t plan to be at home himself much longer. But to get away he needed money, or at least a car. And in the meantime, he needed that tie. That tie—because it shined so brightly and looked so blue and sparkly. He couldn’t believe that this twerp—this nobody kid—would have the balls to wear such a tie to school. This kid was practically begging to have it taken off him by someone more special—by him of course! Such was his thinking as he stood in the hallway in between bells, leaning against his locker. He was waiting for the twerp to come out from class. Then he was just going to get in his way, demand the tie, put it on, and parade around school like the grand master he knew he was. And everyone would see that he was wearing that other twerpy kid’s tie, and they would laugh and marvel at his own amazing awesomeness. He would strut and show off—and—

There he was—the twerpy kid. Alec stepped off and got in between Bo and his locker (Bo was the twerpy kid; Alec was the bully, of course).

“Hand it over, squirt,” said Alec, not waiting to beat around the bush.

Bo gulped and saw only Alec’s chest in front of his face. He saw Alec’s own tie, which was a thin, puny looking red one that had stains on it and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since forever. Bo winced at the tie—just looking at it caused his stomach to flop. But why was it now suddenly in his face, and why was his path impeded by this large, all too solid looking individual who had just delivered some unclear message to him? Did he say hand it over? Hand what over? What is going on? He had to look up to see Alec’s big, wide, pock-marked face grinning maliciously down at him. He had to look past Alec’s big, too-long peach-fuzzed chin, the craters in his cheeks, and the flaring nostrils to see Alec’s watery blue eyes, cold and sinister, communicating all the meaning to Bo that needed to be communicated—since words were not Alec’s primary mode of expression. If he could say it with his eyes, he would and did. It was the eyes that seemed to penetrate most thoroughly at this moment into Bo’s brain. The words still tumbled over like toys in a dryer drum, making noise but no sense to him—but the eyes: they burrowed with a hot menace like a branding iron right onto his mind, so fiercely that their hotness spread out all over him from brain to boots, instantly.

Bo would have gulped again if he had been able, but he was too overwhelmed by emotion to do anything more than begin shaking all over. His entire body was in the process of melting down completely and if you had asked him at that moment who he was, where he lived, where he was going, or what color the sky was, he would have been able only to chirp pathetically like a half-crushed bird caught in some mighty eagle’s talons. His eyes became unglued in his head and started rolling around—and Alec was no doubt enjoying the spectacle as his prey turned from solid to liquid in a matter of seconds—but the spectacle did not go unnoticed by others, either. In fact, it was noticed immediately by Mr. Turnip, the history teacher, whose classroom was right in that hall and whose door was right in front of where Alec had chosen to do business with the twerp.

“Mr. Flaugherty. Step into my room, please,” were the words that interrupted Alec’s proceedings. Alec didn’t move his head or his body at all—only his eyes turned from the twerp’s melting face to the room from which the words had come. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. He saw the tremendous figure of Mr. Turnip stepping into the doorframe. He saw the hands, now balled like fists, now perched on either hip of Mr. Turnip. His eyes continued to move—up to Mr. Turnip’s face, where Mr. Turnip wore a thick cop-like moustache over his big mouth and wore thick eyeglasses with tinted lenses that made him look additionally cop-like. Mr. Flaugherty’s malicious grin lost some of its maliciousness took on a more playful color, amplified by a small, “Heh heh,” and a kind pat on the head of the poor twerp—who now somehow managed to disappear down the hall like a fast-moving ooze that would re-constitute itself into solid form once it found safety in its next class.

Alec added a further “Heh” just for good measure and then stepped back, turned around, scowled at the lockers across the hall as though all of Hell were now flooding the whole of his field of vision. He stepped off as though not knowing full well his path.

To Mr. Turnip, Alec was a skulking lad who needed to be beaten, and then thrashed, and then beaten once more once the thrashing wore off, and then pressed between two rocks, and so on. Mr. Turnip did not like Alec. Mr. Turnip had never liked Alec. Mr. Turnip wanted to turn Alec into a puddle of goo and spray him down the sewer with a hose from outside.

At home, Alec threw himself onto his mattress. His mother had sold the only computer in the home, so he couldn’t get online. The TV they had on the wall didn’t work; a beer bottle had broken the screen—so he couldn’t watch that. He had no phone for diversion or for calling anyone—not that there was anyone to call. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling fan over his bed. He stared at it and stared it and stared it until he imagined he was dead.

He must have dozed off because when he came to he discovered that three hours had passed and he was hungry. He went outside and sat on the front steps, as he had just as much luck finding food there as he did by going into the kitchen and rummaging through the pantry or the refrigerator. Indeed, he often had more luck on the front steps, for he might be able to smell one of his neighbors grilling outside down the street. If so, he could always make his way in that direction, lean on the fence, make small talk with the neighbor—and, if that didn’t work, he could say something like, “Maaan, those dogs sure do smell good!” and wait for his neighbor to get the hint. That usually worked. The trouble was getting there before the neighbor got the food off the grill and got back inside. He sniffed at the air. Nothing.

His belly rumbled. He decided just to take a walk anyway—for the heck of it.

Up and down he walked. But nothing. Nobody grilling. Nobody out at all. Only the stars, one by one beginning to make their presence known in the sky as the sun dipped out of view. Up and down and up and down he walked some more. Then he sat back down again on his front steps—and wept—and didn’t know why.

The next day, Alec got to school in a foul mood. He wasted no time in beating up the first boy that crossed his path and gave him occasion to vent his spleen. Alec pushed the boy into the bathroom. He usually would get in trouble for something like that—suspended most definitely—but he was careful not to leave any marks this time—at least where they might be visible to others. He pinched and twisted and rubbed raw parts of his victim’s body in ways that would make you cringe if I told you more about them. Let’s just say that even his victim was so embarrassed by the whole thing that he never spoke a word of it to anyone for the rest of his life. Alec left the bathroom with something like satisfaction on his shoulders—for a moment at least—but in truth he did not feel any better.

He sat in homeroom glum-faced. He stared dully at the others in his classroom. His legs were splayed out, taking out the walking path. “Move your big dumb feet, Alec!” cried a girl who did not give two figs about Alec’s pretensions. “Move your big dumb feet, Sherry!” Alec cried back, mocking her. “I hate you and wish you’d drop dead!” Sherry snarled in return over her shoulder before taking her seat in a row further away. “You know you want this, baby!” Alec responded rubbing his hand over his chest as though it might mean something. Poor Mrs. Williams sat at her desk in front of the class, beside herself over what to do. She did not know how to handle this new generation of students—so poorly behaved! She was looking forward to retirement, and in the meantime tried her damnedest to ignore any and all proceedings.

But next class was history. Alec hated history. He hated it because it didn’t have anything to do with him as far as he could tell. He hated it because it was dull and doomed to repeat itself, again, as far as he could tell. He hated it most of all because he hated Mr. Turnip—and he hated Mr. Turnip because, as far as he could tell, Mr. Turnip hated him. Not that it would have mattered much to Alec if Mr. Turnip had loved him—so he told himself—but it certainly did not move him to want to learn about the Founding Fathers when the learning was directed by Mr. Turnip.

Alec tried to get through Mr. Turnip’s class by squeezing his insides like a clenched fist for as long as he could. Sometimes the effort was so intense that he would snap the pencil in his hands. That usually happened when Mr. Turnip said something like, “Okay, class, take out a sheet of paper—time for a quiz.” That happened now, and snap went Alec’s pencil, and he had to tap the student in the desk in front of him on the shoulder and ask for a new pencil. The student handed one back without looking at Alec or turning around.

Predictably, Alec bombed the quiz, and might just as well have not requested a new pencil or bothered wasting a sheet of paper. But if he just sat there doing nothing while the rest of the class took the quiz, he knew that Mr. Turnip would just send him down to the vice principal’s office, and he had no desire to see the vice principal on this day.

His next class did not go any better. Neither did the one after that. But in between period 3 and period 4, he saw the twerp with the brand new bright blue shiny tie—and he laughed with malicious delight. He was drawn to it like a dragon is said to be drawn to gold. But the bell rang and the students hurried off to class. He thought he saw the twerp glance nervously up in his direction before disappearing into a room down the hall. Alec gritted his teeth and grrr’d and balled his hands into fists—and now he was late for class because as he had been standing there looking after Bo, a girl had walked by whom he began taunting. She taunted him back, and their taunting took them all the way to the end of the time allowed for changing classes—and so Alec received a detention slip upon his arrival to fourth period. He sat shaking in his desk, shaking his head, arms folded in front of him, and trying not to move a muscle until the lunch bell rang. He waited until everyone else had left and then he got up slowly and sullenly and headed for the lunch room.

He meant to cut in line because he was still hungry and hadn’t eaten since the day before, but Mr. Turnip was standing right there and his hateful eyes landed on Alec like a dump truck, forcing Alec to take the last spot in the line. Alec vented somewhat by pushing the kid in front of him and spreading some degree of misery—but by the time he got to where food should have been—it was Sloppy Joe day—it was all gone and lunch lady Harriet was filling trays with empty buns and ketchup packets.

Alec took his tray and sat down alone at a table in the middle of the cafeteria. He chatted up the janitor for a moment, complaining loudly about the food; the janitor shook his head and said things like, “I know it!” but then Alec fell silent and brooded.

Just at the moment when Alec’s spirits were at their lowest—he saw it again. That tie! That bright, shiny blue tine! Alec beamed as though a fairy godmother had descended from Heaven to touch him with her magic wand and turn him into a prince forever. That tie! That twerpy kid had been wearing it for days, and everyone had seen it on him—and—oh!—how much sweeter it would be now—now that everyone had seen it on that twerp—now that everyone knew it existed…how much sweeter it would be now for him—Alec—to posses it, to wear it, to show it off to all as his own: Behold! I am the new master of this tie and of all things bright and blue and shiny! Behold and bow down to me! Alec began laughing within himself, overcome by his own imagination. His head popped and fizzed, and he stood up with a kind of drunken wooziness. He nearly stepped over lunch tables, pushing rows of eaters out of his way to get to that twerp—now seated in the middle of a long table between a bunch of other twerpy-looking nerds. It was like being in a slow motion scene of a movie. The air quieted, the eyes moved slowly up towards the predator descending upon them all, some dramatic feeling breathed across the frame—and then—

Alec placed his fist on top of Bo’s sloppy Joe sandwich and smashed it flat, sloppy Joe contents spilling out off the tray onto the table. His teeth were set and his lips sneered into Bo’s face. Bo, terrified, saw as Alec removed his fist from what was left of his Sloppy Joe; he watched as Alec’s two hands went to his own collar, loosened the already well-loosened, disheveled red tie from around his own neck, and whipped it free. Bo watched helplessly as the red tie was laid over his shoulders, his own collar popped, and his own tie loosened by none other than Alec with his big dumb fat dirty fingers pulling and pushing and yanking and violating not only Bo’s sense of decorum but also the very fiber and marrow and memory of all that was holy in his soul. Bo nearly fainted—but he held on—although not well enough, for as Alec whipped the blue tie free from Bo’s neck, Alec also pushed Bo back and back the twerp flew—right off the bench and onto the lunch room floor, his feet now up where his butt had been, his butt now where his feet had been, his head giving him an upside-down view of the whole wide rest of the world, which was now turned in his direction and laughing its awful little ass off.