9 Ed

At Boldra's Barber Shop one Saturday morning Rick suddenly tackled me, wrestled me onto my back, and pinned me. He was pissed about something. I don't know why.

"You son of a bitch!" he hissed.

He was stronger than I and he cared more. I struggled only briefly. I realized quickly that I couldn't win so I didn't really fight back. I just gave up. When I relaxed, Rick got off of me and let me up. Dennis Boldra didn't know what in the hell was going on. He looked on with a mixture of confusion, amusement, and alarm. I think Rick just needed to show me that he could whip me, and that came as no surprise to me. I think it was just ego and envy. Our daily banter was competitive and our taunts could be cruel. I'd probably made some hasty, thoughtless offhand remark that I had practiced and rehearsed in private, imagining it witty, and struck a nerve.

That was my modus operandi.

Playing basketball at Central Elementary one day when I was sixteen or so, frustrated with my own ineptitude, I slugged Willy as hard as I could in the side of the neck.

It hardly fazed him but it stopped the scrimmage.

"Jesus, Robert!" he said.

He and Lunt, Powell, and Kaat looked at me like I had lost my mind.

I felt stupid, weak, and ashamed.

"I'm sorry, Willy," I said as we walked to the car. "I don't know why I did that."

"It's okay, Robert," he smiled.

I was immensely grateful to him then for the speed and ease of his forgiveness.

I still am.

In high school several good friends of mine hinted on occasion that they wanted to beat me up. Larry Kelly often insinuated that he wanted to fight me. Duane did, too. Nothing ever came of it. Early in our junior year Tim Kaat had heard from someone that his girlfriend Sally Nowiski had been in a new relationship her freshman year at college. I'd heard the rumor, too. It was true, I guess. Kaat was jealous. He asked me if I had heard it—

If I knew.

"No," I lied. "I don't know."

"If I find out you're lying to me," Tim said, "I'll kill you."

He thought he meant it.

Later he learned that the rumor was true, Sally had dumped him, and he got over it. But Tim remembered his threat and he wanted to remind me. He sidled up to me one afternoon across the street from George Jay Drug.

"You knew, didn't you!" he declared.

It was an accusation.

I nodded.

"Yes."

"I'll bet you were scared," he smirked.

"No, I wasn't scared," I said.

Tim stared.

I was telling the truth, though I couldn't have beaten Tim in a fight. I wouldn't have fought back. But I wasn't afraid of Tim. He was a friend who had never said a negative word to me, really, he was a person I liked and trusted, and I'd done nothing wrong. Why would he punish me for his problem? It didn't make sense. That's why I wasn't scared—not because I thought I could successfully defend myself in a fight with him.

All of this remained unspoken of course.

Implicit.

"So you weren't scared," Tim stated incredulously, disgusted.

It was important to Tim at the time to be thought passionate, fearless, perhaps even dangerous, in matters of the heart. He tried to stare me down. I gazed back. We just stood and looked at one another for several silent seconds.
I think he understood.

"Okay," he said.

Smiling ironically he shook his head and feigned incomprehension at my innocence and folly. Together we walked across the street to see if anyone we might want to see was in Jay's.

At the soda fountain there was nobody to talk to but Ed.

Boys.