Bully Butcher

It started way down in the late eighties, my innate gift of being bashed up. Those who loved me loved me better than they did themselves and those who bashed me up were mostly people who hated themselves more. And my first acquaintance with a bully was my first form teacher Mrs.M… . Mrs.M was a terror to us the A section, a lovable, loyal class of 36, and of the eighteen boys only one was my self declared foe. Among the girls I was less accepted but two of them liked me better than the others did.

Mrs. M… was round all over; rather a giant like monster and she reminded me of the giant in beanstalk fairytale. She towered over us every day, her dark skinned face set with the concentration of choosing a juicy victim. And me with my innate gift wrote my first creative work of art(about her) that sunny morning exactly when Mrs. M… noticed my juicy self that would help her ease her life’s  frustration.

I expected her to feel proud at being remembered after her death in a work of art but she chose to view it otherwise. The rest of the class hushed like squashed chicks as she summoned me to her desk. I rose from my little desk, felt Alan look at me and mumbled “ I won’t cry” before he said “Don’t cry”. Somehow, that morning I was feeling too happy to ever predict that I would be the juicy toy of her daily game.

But, then it was destined that the day be hers and my first acquaintance with the dynamics of a bully took wings. She first pinched my upper arms and Vijay from the first row exclaimed “ouch” before I could. That little act of spontaneity from him disturbed our bully teacher and she slapped me hard. That stunned me because it was a first slap, and so it held the newness of the first and I realized what a slap felt like. It felt like something exploded inside my ears and outside of them all numb at once Since my petrified expression of wonder infuriated her she slapped again. I didn’t weep, I knew she wanted to see me cry but I knew the boys would lose their acceptance of me as their leader if I shed a tear.

So the boys watched me with awe and the girls with contempt as I refused to shed a single tear and infuriated our bully teacher. Mrs. M.. grew violent, she twisted my torso twice holding me by my unruly hair, in fact I believe she held me up an inch above the ground. Then she made a great move with which I could see the world upside down. She held me from her arm upside down and whacked, real hard whacks and I realized upside down the class still looked cozily dizzy.  Then she landed me hard on the ground and by then Mrs. M was breathless, frustration spent. So she made me stand beside her  for the next one hour and then she spoke to me, “What will you tell your parents if they ask you how your cheeks got swollen?” I waited while she formulated the answer, “ You fell while playing and hit your face, understood?” That was my first threat and even without  previous acquaintance with the concept of  a threat I sensed what that “understood” stood for. Then she noticed the boys evaluate her explanation with perplexity and so she shooed them all away to the playground. The boys walked by me, Alan looked like he was bashed up not me, Vijay smiled at me motivating me to smile at him back with my eyes. And I knew they would get the message across to people who needed to know.

So the news of the bash up reached my Home even before I did. At five, friends think of you more than they do of their safety or priorities. So, the next day my mother and the principal came to the class and Mrs. M… who saw them afar turned to stare at me. And then they met her and 'me' and my loyal friends watched with bated breath. Then suddenly Mrs.M… reached out her hand to me and said “Anusha, baby doll…come here sweet heart!” I was stunned, the principal stood puzzled, my mom bewildered as Mrs.M… hugged me close and asked, “Baby doll what happened yesterday?”

I was aware of her subtle “understood” look that was camouflaged by her alternate hugging and cooing endearing names. So I stood wondering what to say and then I realized what friends were for the boys shouted in unison, “Mam, you bashed her up…you bashed anusha”…and there were individual contributions too, “You slapped her…you hung her upside down….you pulled her by her head…” Mrs. M was at a loss and her eyes were  filled with red rage as the principal glared at her and told her to meet up after the hour.

Hardly had the principal and my mom turned the corner, when the terror giant let loose her fury on the boys and me, “ KNEEL DOWN!” her voice thundered across as we huddled and knelt together. It was a great knelt down moment that forged us some strange sense of a lifetime bond, while the horror of a singular punishment lost itself in the fraternity shared in the collective. We five year olds had won despite the knelt down, for the bully stood confounded at the exposure. I felt Alan and Vijay clasp my hands tight, as I smiled through unshed tears at comrades; and the knees really didn’t hurt.

Note: The link to my first creative work that provoked Mrs. M..http://lifelineanusha.blogspot.com/2011/03/my-first-creative-writing.html