The Rage Fest

Friends,

I have to honestly say that I'm not sure I can do this story justice on the pages of my blog.  I'm not sure my words can paint a vivid enough picture.  I think this is one of those stories where you need to see my hand gestures as I reenact the violence of the scene.  You need to hear my tone of voice as I describe my level of angst.

The other night I was telling my Mom this story while gesturing wildly during my reenacting.  And at the end of it we were laughing at the absurdity of it all.  I realized that I wasn't sure I'd shared this story with my friends.  I shot off a quick email to my DC ladies and it turns out that some of them do have a vague recollection of this occurrence.  But they wanted a refresher.  I promised to share it with them at our next monthly dinner.

However, after thinking about it, I decided that I want this story written down because despite the horror of what I'm about to share with you, I am pretty dang proud of myself.  I may be feisty and sassy, but that's usually where I draw the line.  I don't like real fights.  They make me edgy and I tend to just walk away.

But one day, in 9th grade, I didn't walk away.  No, friends, I faced the beast head-on.  And I lived to tell about it.

I don't really remember why I didn't like *Eric (obviously NOT his name!) before 9th grade.  I just remember that I didn't.  At all.  By some crazy twist of fate in my 9th grade year I ended up having 5 of the 7 classes with Eric.  I was devastated. To add insult to injury, we also lockered next to each other.  {SIGH!}

I also can't really give you a specific example of something Eric did to make me angry.  I just remember that I had come to deeply hate him.  I remember avoiding the locker when he'd be around because he'd kind of taunt me and pick at me.

One day, Eric pushed me too far.  We were both at our lockers getting out our books for science class - Mr. McClurg for you CJH alumni - and he'd been doing his taunting thing.

Now, I need you to understand that in 9th grade I think I'd finally attained my full height of 5 ft 4 in.  But my weight was significantly lower than it is now.  Like, TONS lower.  Eric was much larger than me.  In my mind's eye I remember him being one of the bigger guys in school.  I admit that may  not be the case.  But he seemed huge to me.

Anyhow, I had my science book in my hand and Eric bent down to a kind of squatting position to get something out of the bottom of his locker.  He'd said something that had me glaring at his back.  And I snapped.

I still distinctly remember lifting my science book above my head, holding it tightly in both hands, and swinging down with all my might until it connected with the back of his head.  As you can imagine, the force of that blow knocked him off balance and started him falling into his locker.  But I "helped" him along by kicking him in the - ahem - buttocks.

When Eric was fully head first into his locker - bum sticking in the air, feet still on the floor - I let go of my book with one hand, grabbed his locker door and began slamming it into his side.  Repeatedly.

As he began to scramble back out of the locker I kept slamming the door using my hand, but then I added my foot to the scuffle.  Hand on the top of the locker, foot down at the bottom of the locker.  Eventually he got out enough that my foot and hand were slamming the locker door right into the side of his head.

Repeatedly.

I was a raging lunatic.

He finally managed to get to a position where he was able to put a hand out and stop the beating.  Then he  looked me in the eye.

Friends, I saw death in that glance.

I immediately released the locker and began running as fast as my legs could carry me down the hall, hugging my science book to my chest, with my backpack slamming against my bum.

Eric roared to his feet and gave chase.  At one point I remember looking back and seeing him with his science book raised above his head, set on retribution.

This was between classes, so the hallways were full.  But students heard his raging from a ways away and parted to let us through.  However, I do have to wonder why no one tried to stop him from killing me.

Due to the speed with which we'd been flying through the hallways, we made it to science before pretty much anyone else, including the teacher.  Once in the classroom we began zig zagging around desks, playing cat and mouse.  I was the mouse.  I'd been the cat.  It was a cruel twist of fate.

I just remember him screaming at me, and his face was all red, carrying that book around like an instrument of torture.

Finally a couple guys who I was friends (ish) with came in and told Eric that you can't hit girls.  (About time, fellas!)  Eric said something about me attacking him first.  But they didn't really care.  They kept him away from me until the teacher came in and told us to take our seats.

The funny thing is that I don't remember anything after that.  Obviously the science class was of no consequence.  The only thing I remember about that class is losing my earring back one day.

I don't even remember how Eric and I went forward from that moment.  But I do know that he didn't give me guff any more.  And we kind of just avoided each other.

You know, maybe the reason I walk away from fights is because on that day, so long ago, I saw a shadow of the violent beast I could become if I let the rage free.  So, you're welcome world.  I'm really doing you a favor by keeping her sedated with chocolate.

However, don't push your luck!