My second year of high school was when Dolores began junior high. Now I'm not sure if I
set a precedent when I wreaked havoc in primary school and middle school, because
teachers and students didn't treat Dolores very nicely.
It was upsetting to Mother. Having Dolores coming home in tears because she was
excluded from school activities and excluded from recess playtime by other girls soon
became upsetting to me too.
As much as that little brat peeved me, she didn't do what most little siblings did. She
didn't annoy me on purpose. Over the years, I have grown a soft spot for her.
So, when I heard her crying to mother, talking about how a group of girls invited everyone
in the class to an outing at an ice cream parlor except for her, I stepped up to the plate.
"Dolly," I began. She turns her head and I'm met with a tear stained face and rosy cheeks.
"Next time those kids give you trouble, you come to me. Let your big brother take care of
it." I say. I think my voice sounds remarkably stern.
Dolly's eyes widen and she beams. She runs to me and hugs me around my middle. Despite
being twelve and I sixteen, she was still small. Maybe I was just large.
"That would be the best! Thank you, Wally!" She says happily.
Mother looks at me wearily. I suppose she believes I will choose violence or otherwise not
handle the situation appropriately. Those worries are valid. I did choose violence.
I did some terrible things to those students. Terrible, murderous things. But more into
that later.
Because middle school students were released two hours after secondary students were, I
hung around by the gates waiting for that dismissal bell. I couldn't do much at this time
because I was hardly grown into my skin and bones.
That did change eventually. When I realized all I could do was push the kids around, I
realized I needed to be more active. I couldn't see myself getting into athletics. And
there was a snowball's chance in hell that I would be joining my school's sports teams.
So I decided to apply for a job. I asked Mother to help me find ads in the newspaper to
apply for a job. There was one in particular that required hard manual labor. I decided
that was my best option.
Mother and I went up to the warehouse and she spoke with the man in charge. He agreed
to sit me down for an interview. I was ecstatic. Not only was I going to become tougher, I
would be making money too.
Minimum wage in 1980 when I was 16 was $3.10 an hour.
I decided for the first two weeks I'd only work twenty four hours a week while I got used
to everything. The manager, Mr. Hans, thought it was a good idea.
Mr. Hans walked me through my tasks and introduced me to coworkers.
I did a lot of heavy-lifting, working with machinery, counting inventory, and putting items
in shipping boxes. I began to grow within no time. It was mainly in my arms.
Though I was growing, I wasn't growing in the way that I wanted to. With my wages, I
signed up for a gym membership. I began lifting weights, using treadmills, and using the
bar for chin-ups.
It took quite a little bit to get used to it, but over time I was able to do more. I practiced
common combat skills with a punching bag and when I was confident in my skills, I
practiced in the boxing ring.
My first fight made me realize I was not ready. Not in the slightest.
When I was at work, a flyer blew its way around outside. I watched it curiously. Looking
around, I stepped outside. I chased after the flyer until finally, I caught it.
A few miles east, police officers who were on leave at the local department were hosting a
training camp for teenagers and young adults. The camp was $1.25 per day and the training
consisted of close combat, self-defense, fighting stances, and training in the usage of
firearms.
Camp days began October 21st and the last day was December 10th. There were two
sessions per day. The first one was four hours and the second lasting five.
I wasn't too sure about the firearms, I heard the recoil was pretty painful. But I knew I
could use the help in the other aspects of training.
I folded the flyer and stuffed it in my apron and walked back inside.
I look at the calendar. It's October 15th.
I was called to leave school early because something happened to Dolores. She was playing
on the playground and someone pushed her off the top of the slide. She fell off the side
and hit her head and she was immediately knocked unconscious.
Mother got an escort from the hospital and called the school. I left and just went home.
Mother called our landline to check in on me.
"Wally, I have a chicken rotisserie in the freezer. Can you please preheat the oven and put
the chicken in for me? It'll need to be in there for about two hours. I should be home in
time to dress it."
"Of course, Mother. Anything else?" I ask. I realize my voice sounds monotone.
"Do they know who pushed Dolly?" I ask. Mother sighs.
"It was a group of older kids. One of them is the older brother to one of the girls who
picks on her all the time." Mother says gravely.
I clench my hands into fists.
"Will she be alright?" I ask.
Mother says her head hit the side of the slide, it knocked her clean out and now she has a
concussion. The doctors say it may leave her with compromised vision and migraines.
If she has to get glasses, she'll be bullied even more. People like to pick on kids with
glasses. I think to myself.
"I'll put the chicken in. Goodbye, Mother. See you tonight." I hang the phone back up on
the wall and walk to the kitchen.
I pull the chicken out and put it in a glass pan. I begin to preheat the oven and walk
outside. I check the mail and bring it inside. By then, the oven is already beeping, letting
me know it's time to put the breast in.
I check the time.
I decided to spend an hour at the gym.
While I'm doing chin-ups, I overhear a group of kids around my age talking. There was a
girl there hanging on the arm of one of the guys smoking a cigarette.
"...I put my arms out like this," He pushed his arms forward and his elbows straightened.
"Grabbed her by the shoulders and she fell right off the side. You should have seen the
little trollop's face!" He face contorted into ugly laughter while his buddies howled.
"I sent that bitch to the hospital. Right, Tracy?" The little girl on his arm is Tracy. I've
heard that name multiple times.
Tracy invited all the girls in my class to a slumber party but didn't invite me.
Tracy pushed me off the swings.
Tracy ripped up my books in my bag.
Tracy did this.
Tracy did that.
Tracy, Tracy, Tracy, Tracy.
My skin boils in anger. I do one more chin-up before hopping off. I puff out my chest and
walk to the group of kids.
"Who are you?" Tracy's brother says, his cigarette hanging from his mouth.
I grabbed the cigarette and stomped on it. I towered over him.
"You sent my little sister to the hospital, you prick." I say, my hands wrapped tightly
around his throat.