THE BLOODY NOSE
This story is one that speaks of love... a natural, innocent love that is born some where deep within the soul. I dedicate this story to Dave chambers, my soul mate friend, and the person who inspired it's writing from the expression of his own love. The following story is something real from my past, and I just hope that by sharing it, I can touch someone's heart in some small way, and pass a little part of who I am on to you.
It was a cool, gray November day in Austin, Texas where I grew up from birth. It was the weekend, but I decided to visit the play ground of the elementary school I went to... I was in the second grade, not more than seven years old.
The Bloody Nose
As I crossed the field that opened up to the playground, I noticed a group of boys, all older, and I heard their excited yells. I naturally headed towards them, trying to figure out what they were doing. It wasn't until I was almost to them that I realized they, a group of four or five boys, all ten or eleven, were surrounding another boy, who was laying flat on his back. As I walked up, I watched one of the boys kick at the boy on the ground.
I knew most of the boys, a couple of them very well, as they were buddies of my older brother. I also knew the boy on the ground, not as a personal friend, but as one of our school's outcast students. Outcast partly for his misfit behavior around the hallways, but mostly because of his shabby clothes and dirt stained skin, which showed to everyone of the poor family and life style he belonged to.
When the other boys saw me walking up, they quickly wanted to include me in their cruel attacks against this less fortunate boy, who seemed especially dirty and poor as he lay helpless in the dirt on his back. His dirt streaked face was smudged with lines from his tears, and his upper lip was covered in deep red from his bloody nose. My first feelings were of sorrow, and sadness... sadness for his pain... sadness for his shame... sadness for the fear I could see in his eyes.
"Come on, Garith, you can punch him too. He won't hurt you, I promise." one of the other boys said as he grabbed my coat and pulled me into the circle of boys looking down on the poor misfit.
I looked about at the smiling faces of the older boys, and at the strange, excited look in their eyes. I found myself being almost ordered to punch this other kid in his already bloody face. Yells and cheers went out as I was suddenly placed above the defenseless boy and forced to sit down upon his chest. His dark brown eyes were wide with fear as he stared up at me, begging through his sniffles not to hurt him.
"Come on Garith, punch him in the nose. Even a little kid like you can stomp his ass," another boy said as he kicked the boy in the leg, making him yelp again.
"No, no, no... please, Garith, don't do it... don't hit me any more," the boy begged, as if I was the one who had already caused his tears and bloody nose.
"Do it Garith... don't be a wimp... just tighten up your fist and let him have it." I heard from above me.
Half out of fear of going against the older boys, and half out of curiosity, I made a fist and raised it threateningly above my head, and the boy's tearful eyes squinted shut, awaiting the next painful punch in the face. As I sat there, feeling the boy's shaking body below mine, and seeing the total fear in his face, I knew I could never hit him. I kept my arm raised high, hoping everyone would just get bored and leave... but that was not to happen.
After what seemed like minutes had passed, the boy slowly opened his eyes again, and stared back at me. It must have been out of relief that the boy suddenly began to cry openly, his whole body shaking as he heavily sobbed. I could stand no more, and I slowly lowered my hand, tears beginning to form in my own eyes. Before I knew what I was doing, I placed my hand, the one that had seconds before been balled into a fist, against the boy's wet cheek. Slowly I comforted him, much the way my own mom would do for me. The boy continued to cry, but his mouth was able to form a slight smile, and I saw him silently form the words, "thank you."
I heard the other boys begin to mock and complain from my act of kindness, but I no longer cared of the consequences to my actions. I did what came natural... what I knew I had to do. I felt the boy below me slowly begin to relax, as the stiffness of fear began to leave him. One of the other boys tried to kick at him again, but I put out my arm and blocked the blow.
I don't know if it was out of respect for my older brother, or if there was some personal shame that caused the boys to end their attack. I didn't care. All I knew was that they, one by one, turned and walked away, leaving me alone with the misfit boy, still crying between my legs.
It was then that I realized that I was completely different from most of the other kids I was growing up with. I was different from the boy I was sitting on, and I was different from the boys that were walking away. I didn't know what that difference was at the time, but I knew it was real... and I knew that I was thankful to be the way I was. I later learned that the difference had to do with love.
~ Garith ~ 2000
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