anger and resentment was always there, a nagging and pervasive feeling that there would be a price to pay for all of this, that there were those around us whose dislike for Joseph would eventually surface and whose actions would force us to retreat and to rethink how we felt about each other and what it all meant.
Joseph didn't seem to resent the oppressive rules of the school the way I did and though he would often agree that some of our teachers were basically useless, he refrained from ex hibiting much lack of respect for them , even if I persisted in doing it. This was smart on his part because he understood that resistance was a no win proposition; we were the prisoners and they were the guards, and for him, avoiding confrontation would prove a better strategy. Besides, he had no choice but to pick his battles carefully and whatever confusion or frustration that I felt in school was trivial compared to the issues that he now for the first time had to sift through. I was just beginning to understand in a real way what he had to face and what might lie ahead, and though bigger questions were to emerge in the coming years, things we could never have imagined back then, two questions were right there in front of us; how was he going to survive in this environment, and what would I do or not do to help save him?
We were not going to wait long for the answer, at least with regard to the second question. School was out for our four-day Thanksgiving break and we bolted from our last class that Wednesday afternoon before the holiday. Mom was planning a big meal on Thursday, with 15 or so of our relatives invited, an d I told her I'd come right from school to help her with some of the mundane chores; bringing the folding chairs from the basement, rinsing and drying the china that hadn't been out of its cabinet since last Easter, and generally offering some company and support as she worked away in the kitchen. She'd already started the day before with the three pumpkin pies and the scrumptious sweet potato and marshmallow casserole awaiting their cue in the refrigerator.
We were cutting across the field behind the school when quite suddenly Jamie and company materialized like banshees. Where you going girls? We're going home if it's any of your business. Come on Clifford, I want to go. Going to suck each other off more likely. We tried to keep moving, but the four of them formed a circle around us and were very close. I looked around but couldn't see any immediate way out of our predicament, this time the bad-tempered Mr. Strickmann was either on his way home for the holiday or bullying some kid whose situation would have seemed almost welcome to us if we could have somehow switched places with him.
I tried to walk past Jamie, but as I brushed by him, he shoved me backwards right into two of his foul looking friends. That's when the greasiest looking of the group decided to take a swing at Joseph that sent him to his rear end. I tore right into his rancid face, connecting a couple of times pretty good before he could recover enough to fight back. We went at it for probably 15 seconds before he started to stagger backwards as I seemed to be getting the best of him. He finally went to the ground right before I felt someone holding my right shoulder and arm behind me, then the blunt force of several blows from the biggest of Jamie's crusty friends, the last one landing solidly on the left side of my face just below my eye. I was on the grass now in pain barely able to see Jamie kicking at Joseph's midsection through the blood that was running into my eyes. I rolled over and tried to get up to help him, but I was seized by a wave of dizziness and nausea; I could only keep trying to breathe in more air and attempt to fight off the vertigo. Then, as quickly as they appeared, I heard them laughing as they seemingly vaporized like some strange ghouls back to whatever hell they inhabited.
Oh shit,
Joseph didn't seem to resent the oppressive rules of the school the way I did and though he would often agree that some of our teachers were basically useless, he refrained from ex hibiting much lack of respect for them , even if I persisted in doing it. This was smart on his part because he understood that resistance was a no win proposition; we were the prisoners and they were the guards, and for him, avoiding confrontation would prove a better strategy. Besides, he had no choice but to pick his battles carefully and whatever confusion or frustration that I felt in school was trivial compared to the issues that he now for the first time had to sift through. I was just beginning to understand in a real way what he had to face and what might lie ahead, and though bigger questions were to emerge in the coming years, things we could never have imagined back then, two questions were right there in front of us; how was he going to survive in this environment, and what would I do or not do to help save him?
We were not going to wait long for the answer, at least with regard to the second question. School was out for our four-day Thanksgiving break and we bolted from our last class that Wednesday afternoon before the holiday. Mom was planning a big meal on Thursday, with 15 or so of our relatives invited, an d I told her I'd come right from school to help her with some of the mundane chores; bringing the folding chairs from the basement, rinsing and drying the china that hadn't been out of its cabinet since last Easter, and generally offering some company and support as she worked away in the kitchen. She'd already started the day before with the three pumpkin pies and the scrumptious sweet potato and marshmallow casserole awaiting their cue in the refrigerator.
We were cutting across the field behind the school when quite suddenly Jamie and company materialized like banshees. Where you going girls? We're going home if it's any of your business. Come on Clifford, I want to go. Going to suck each other off more likely. We tried to keep moving, but the four of them formed a circle around us and were very close. I looked around but couldn't see any immediate way out of our predicament, this time the bad-tempered Mr. Strickmann was either on his way home for the holiday or bullying some kid whose situation would have seemed almost welcome to us if we could have somehow switched places with him.
I tried to walk past Jamie, but as I brushed by him, he shoved me backwards right into two of his foul looking friends. That's when the greasiest looking of the group decided to take a swing at Joseph that sent him to his rear end. I tore right into his rancid face, connecting a couple of times pretty good before he could recover enough to fight back. We went at it for probably 15 seconds before he started to stagger backwards as I seemed to be getting the best of him. He finally went to the ground right before I felt someone holding my right shoulder and arm behind me, then the blunt force of several blows from the biggest of Jamie's crusty friends, the last one landing solidly on the left side of my face just below my eye. I was on the grass now in pain barely able to see Jamie kicking at Joseph's midsection through the blood that was running into my eyes. I rolled over and tried to get up to help him, but I was seized by a wave of dizziness and nausea; I could only keep trying to breathe in more air and attempt to fight off the vertigo. Then, as quickly as they appeared, I heard them laughing as they seemingly vaporized like some strange ghouls back to whatever hell they inhabited.
Oh shit,
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