When I Was Ten (Portfolio 2009)

I'd almost forgotten about this piece. I'd hidden it away in my Documents.
It's non-fiction, shockingly. But hey, I'm a fiction writer, who knows if I'm telling the truth. ;)




"Well," Bin's mother began meekly, as she gently, almost nervously, handled the strand of fake pearls around her neck -
"...everyone knows, Maria. Everyone knows that you're going through a divorce, and that's why she acts out like that." Her eyes darted towards my dirty sneakers, then back at the folded hands of my own mother.
My mother sat perfectly still, her hair a frazzled mess, her eyes smoldering protectively. She rose from her seat and I could smell the hand sanitizer on her palms, metallic and heavy.
"Well, Marilyn, everyone knows your boy's a touch stupid, but somehow you managed to get 'em worked into the gifted program just to aggravate my kid."
She grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me from my usual seat at the principal's "discussion table."
"We're done here." my mother spat, turning to shoot one last glare at the slight, gangly figure of Binford Mayfield. Her hips jingled and clacked with prison cell keys as we performed our heated march to her white mini-van.
The night before I’d put on a clever performance, sobbing and choking as I tried to explain to my mother how I’d been brutally assaulted by a boy in my class, and I’d only been trying to defend myself, when realistically I’d beaten the shit out of him for laughing at me. I showed her the tender window in my teeth were I’d lost a baby tooth that day eating lunch, and fought back fake tears as I quietly explained that he’d sucker-punched me in the jaw. My mother yanked me closer by the chin so that she could inspect the bloody gum of my mouth. She lowered her eyelids and a darkness filled her lash line; a touch of what I would later recognize as insanity shaking around the edges of her eyes, but she caught it before it got inside of her, pushing it up into her messy hair. I did everything I could to suppress a grin.


I fucking hated obstacle course day.
The monkey bars were the worst part; they sat there, at the end of the obstacle course, kicking sand in my face, taunting me.
I'd take my time trudging through the other sections, like pull-ups or jumping jacks, but there it always stood, cemented into the ground, the sun reflecting off of its unholy arms and legs.
I'd hang from its neck, my hands clasped so tightly onto it that they burned and itched, our P.E. coach offering kind and encouraging words, my stubby legs flailing dangerously close to his face, but there was no moving me from that first rung. So there I would hang, like an anchor tied up by just a sewing thread, until the bell rang for class.
I wasn't a cute kid when I was ten, either.
I was a squat, exceptionally hairy little girl with mis-matched socks, and only my four top front teeth would show when I grinned my fleshy, crooked grin.
Our gifted fifth grade class room had eleven kids, all of which I hated save my twin sister. If Erica looked at me funny, I would insult her dirt poor family and her hand-me-down clothes until she cried whenever the teacher wasn't around. If Curt laughed at the thickness of my eyebrows, I would spit in his food, then smile in his direction as I greedily devoured my own at our lunch table. My sister sat silently, aware that no one was safe from my tirade.

As we gathered our books into our plastic backpacks after school that day, I heard the taller boy, Bin, whispering to Curt, mocking my earlier attempt at those damned monkey bars. I spun around menacingly, my hands pulled tightly into volatile little knots
"Shut up, Bin!" I hollered, slinging my heavy work load into the back of his shoulders, the weight of Science and Mathematics slamming into the base of his neck. He tried to defend himself, and even got in a few kicks, as I ruthlessly beat him into the tile floor. Smiling to myself, I watched as he fell to his hands and knees, shaking and guarding his face with his arms.
I harnessed my weapon across my back, humming to myself as I walked serenely from the classroom.



"I can't believe that boy didn't get in more trouble!" My mother exclaimed as we climbed into her car.
I pouted enough that she would catch it in the rear-view mirror.
"I know it." I mumbled as I watched the Mayfield's staring in our direction, a smirk creeping up into my gums.
"He's such a bully."