The Tie: A Short Story About Bullying and Power

The Fixation Begins

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, most powerful, and most important kid in school — and perhaps even in the whole town, or maybe the whole state, probably even 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 who 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 shone so brightly and looked so blue and sparkly. He couldn't believe that this twerp — this nobody kid — would have the nerve 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 between bells, leaning against his locker, 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. Everyone would see that he was wearing that other kid's tie, and they would laugh and marvel at his amazing awesomeness. He would strut and show off — and —

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

"Hand it over, squirt," said Alec, not bothering to beat around the bush.

Bo gulped and saw only Alec's chest in front of his face. He saw Alec's own tie — a thin, puny-looking red one with stains on it that looked as though 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 suddenly in his face, and why was his path blocked 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 was going on?

He had to look up to see Alec's big, wide, pock-marked face grinning maliciously down at him — 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 Bo needed. 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 penetrated most thoroughly at that moment into Bo's brain. The words still tumbled over like toys in a dryer drum, making noise but no sense — but the eyes burrowed with a hot menace like a branding iron right onto his mind, so fiercely that their heat spread out all over him from brain to boots, instantly.

Bo would have gulped again if he'd been able, but he was too overwhelmed to do anything more than begin shaking. His entire body was 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 could only have chirped pathetically like a half-crushed bird caught in a 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. 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," came the interruption. Alec didn't move his head or his body — only his eyes turned from the twerp's melting face toward 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, hands balled into fists and perched on either hip, a thick, cop-like moustache over his big mouth, and thick eyeglasses with tinted lenses that made him look additionally cop-like.

Mr. Flaugherty's malicious grin lost some of its maliciousness and took on a more playful color, amplified by a small "Heh heh" and a patronizing pat on the head of the poor twerp — who somehow managed to disappear down the hall like a fast-moving ooze that would reconstitute itself into solid form once it found safety in its next class.

Alec added a further "Heh" for good measure, then stepped back, turned around, and scowled at the lockers across the hall as though all of hell were flooding his field of vision. He stepped off as though not knowing quite where he was going.

To Mr. Turnip, Alec was a skulking lad who exemplified the classic school bully — someone who needed to be held accountable and then held accountable again, and 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.