A DAY WITH A CHILD: THE SCHOOL BULLY

It was a cold dark night. We were stuck in the gardener’s shed. It is quite a bit small for the two of us—me and Lawrence.

It was Lawrence’s fault why we are locked in this room…

…

Lawrence was known as the school bully. Every little child is afraid of him. Even the teachers cannot tame him. If you come in his way, definitely, you are dead!

He is way too big and way too tall for a fifth grader. Actually, he is a bit older for an average fifth grader.

He always teases and beats and provokes fights and makes the weak miserable. One day, I heard that he with his comrades beats up a helpless third grader at the school backyard. The school administration only gave a detention to Lawrence while his comrades gets suspension.

This proves that in my side of town money can make things lighter. I haven’ told you that Lawrence is one of the richest student in school and his parents gives immense donations every quarter to our poor school.

I also heard a story about Lawrence dumping feeble Michael in the school’s big garbage tank. Michael is the first honor in the fifth grade and his sight is awful. In what I learned, Michael refuses to give his assignment to Lawrence… and then, Wapham! He goes in the garbage tank with his assignment. The humiliation made Michael transfer to other special school. As for Lawrence, he only got reprimanded.

Like Michael, I am the type that doesn’t like to be bullied. So when Lawrence bullied me in the canteen, I declared it will be the last time he will bully anyone.

“What will you do, Red-face? Beat me?” Lawrence mocks. He refers to me as Red-face, because my face turned red whenever I’m angry. “Okay then. Let’s see what you can do.”

Lawrence challenged me to fight him after school at the old church’s backyard. I have to fight him. That’s the best way to end this. I thought. My father told me that bravery doesn’t mean that you always have to fight… but this time, I must fight the school bully.

…

The bell rang. End of the day in school. Time for the duelo. I nervously went to the church’s backyard. There I found Lawrence and some spectators from school.

“I thought you would be chicken enough to show yourself here, Red-face,” said Lawrence laughing.

I said nothing. I just sighed. Then Lawrence charged, agitated. He was agitated. He punched me in the face. I punched back right in his nose. Then we wrestled through the church's flower garden. The spectator cheered. It was unbelievable at first… but they were cheering for me.

Then we heard a shout.

“Bastard children! I’ll get you for this.”

It was the wicked gardener. We called him “wicked” because he is old and hostile looking. He tends the church’s plants, including the flowers we wrestled on.

The other children scampered quickly, escaping the grasp of the wicked gardener.

It was difficult for me and Lawrence to get up easily, so the brawny (I hadn’t thought he’s that brawny) wicked gardener got us and locked us up in his locker.

…

I don’t absolutely blame Lawrence. Actually I feel a little sympathy for him.

He curled beside a garden rake like a child afraid of lightning and thunder. I heard him sobbing. It maybe is a laughing stock for you, but not for me. My heart melted while staring at this monstrous bully being transformed to a baby-like coward. I wasn’t able to laugh.

I sat beside him and tap him in the shoulder. He turned to me with his teary eyes. “Are you not afraid?”

“Afraid of what?” I clarified.

“Afraid of being trapped here for the whole night… afraid of the creepy things… afraid of the darkness.”

“Oh yes! I’m afraid of being trapped here—in this dark small room,” I answered. Answering that question made me shiver.

“Why, then—you don’t seem to be afraid. You seem to be brave and courageous?” he asked again.

I smiled. I remember what my father said to me when I was little child and afraid of monster creeping from under my bed.

“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re fearless. Courage is facing what you are afraid of.” I repeated my father’s words.

Lawrence nodded. I put my arm in his shoulders and told him a joke I love. He laughed with a little sob. Then, I told another one. After a while, he told me a joke. It was not a hilarious one but it’s good. We exchanged jokes, recited poems and rhymes, and told each other tales until we fell asleep.

The morning came. The gardener stepped inside the room and let us out. Outside the shed were my father and Lawrence’s mother and two school faculties.

The brawny wicked gardener (whose name sounds like Metaphor) reported that night that he has us and has given us fair punishment during the night. Our parents, as well as the school administration, agreed upon hearing our offense. By the morning, we were fetched from the church’s yard and we gave apologies to the gardener. We, I and Lawrence, promised to help him to replace the flowers we destroyed.

After that, Lawrence and I parted. I am glad that our school bully finally found his courage.

*first posted on Facebook