March 25, 2005

A story about being a boy, a mean girl, her trampoline, and some mud.

A Dirty Little Story

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She didn’t like me. That was clear. I didn’t like her either.

I was a small boy, on a farm trying to pass the long hours of the day while my parents harvested grapes from the vines. This was back in the days where sophisticated toys like hand held computers were few and expensive, and I had done as much with twigs and bugs as my imagination could bear.

On this farm, however, there was a most amazing device that caught my interest and on which I had never played. I had seen and heard of them before. It was a trampoline. But as much as I wanted to, I would not play on it that day because of her. I think she was the spoilt daughter of the adults that ran or owned the farm. She was bigger than I was, and an obvious bully.

She was quite happy jumping up and down on her possession, teasing the scruffy looking boy below, and giving me such a dirty look that said “Watch me, watch what fun I’m having! But don’t you dare try. This is mine.”

I just knew from instinct that the girl was to cause me more trouble and I quietly began to prepare myself.

The trampoline was next to a small building. The building and the grape vines on the farm were separated by a small canal, easy enough for an adult to jump but a frightening obstacle for one with legs as short as mine.

I studied the gap from bank to bank, and marked its distance into the flat dirt. Then, using the safe dirt markings, I tested how far I could jump without fear of falling and getting wet. I could do it! I tried again. Yes, I knew then I could. I now had an escape plan.

An hour passed, perhaps two. I tell you I did not go looking for trouble. It came looking for me. I was by the building, crouched, playing with the mud that was under the dripping tap. Don’t laugh. I was a boy, it was a hot day, and when there is nothing else to do you must do something. So I played with mud. It was soft and cool in my hands, and in its way interesting.

She came to harass me. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t say a thing. I just looked up at her, and continued playing with my mud. We must’ve been a sight. Two little beings, staring at each other with such contempt for reasons not understood but simply felt. She looked down at me and dared me to “just try it”.

Foolish girl.

I hesitated barely at all. She had asked for it. I was merely obliging her request. In a beautiful arc the mud left my hand and flew precisely onto her malicious face. Before it landed I had sprung to my feet and bolted off, following the path I had already planned in my mind. I dared not look back. Now was not the time to panic, but for action. I remember feeling that then. I was afraid, but knew what I had to do. If she caught me, I would be dead. She was bigger and stronger and I had no chance in a physical confrontation. My only advantages were a surprise attack and the hope that she would hesitate at the canal whereas I would not. All I had to do was run as fast as I could, not look back, and not stumble.

I ran and ran. Up came the canal. No time for fear. I know I could. I jumped and made it. Not all the way, but enough. Was she behind me, would she catch me? I didn’t know. I continued running. And I ran up to the glorious sight of my mother working, and stopped in the safety of the space around her. I didn’t tell her about the girl. There are some things adults need not know.

I looked around me for my nemesis, but there was no sign of her. I do not know if she cried or if her pride took a beating. And I did not see her again.

I did eventually get to play on a trampoline.

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