BULLIES JUST THINK THEY RULE (a short essay)

One day, when I was about ten, I faced the fact that I was a yellow-bellied, liver-spotted, choked-up chicken-girl who would sell out anyone or anything to avoid being hit by a bully. I could have lived with this fact about myself quite comfortably, if fate and my father hadn't conspired against me. The bully was Kathy Quinlan, a girl two years younger than I who lived down the street.

I hadn't done anything to her at all. Okay, well, yeah. I had sort of called her a bitch, but she deserved it. She saw me showing my friend, Sarah, the dollar I just got from my Grandma in the mail. She wanted to see it. She tried to grab it out of my hand. I ran but she caught me and ripped it right out of my hand and wouldn't give it back. Clearly she was a little bitch. How could someone take the dollar somebody got from their Grandma?

But now I was willing to say goodbye to that dollar, if only she'd leave me alone and not hurt me. She had already thrown me to the ground once when she took the dollar. My new jeans were dirty now and my knee hurt. I wasn't built for rolling around in the dirt with some mean girl. At this rate I was going to break a fingernail not to mention mess up my neat ponytail.

She was coming after me again now with fire in her eyes. "You think you're so hot because you're older than me. But I'm bigger and stronger, tougher and I can beat you up," she yelled at me from across the alley.

Personally I had no doubt that she could beat me up. I was a pussy. I didn't know how to fight, and I didn't care to learn that day or any day in the future. I wanted to be home reading Nancy Drew and decided to run that way.

Despite my asthma and flat feet, I surprised myself with how fast I ran. But she was so close, I could feel her breeze behind me. Then she was pulling my ponytail. Tears came to my eyes and I screamed, but I kept running. Home was in sight now. My Dad's car was out front, and I prayed he was home. Maybe he would control this wild beast of a girl.

I got to my front porch with her still holding on to my ponytail. I didn't even care about my hair anymore I just wanted to be safe in my house. She was screaming that she was going to punch me in the nose. I grabbed my ponytail by the roots and yanked it for all I was worth. She had been holding on so tight she actually lost her balance as she was forced to let it go. It gave me about three seconds to get the front door open and get in. As I locked the door she was yelling, "You've got to come out sometime, and I'll get you when you do."

My Dad was sitting in his chair reading the paper and I ran to his side, words exploding out of my mouth about what had just happened. He put the paper down. He asked a couple of questions. He wanted to know if she still had my dollar. He wanted to know what I was doing when she took it. "Isn't the Quinlan girl a couple of years younger than you?" he asked with a look on his face like our septic tank had overflowed again.

I waited for his comfort and advice. He stood up and looked stern. I felt scared without knowing why. Then he did the strangest thing, and something I'll remember all my life. He half-walked me, half-dragged me to the front door, opened it and prepared to throw me out. But first he said, "I'm not going to have a sissy for a daughter. You have got to learn to stand up for yourself. You can't be running home and hiding every time a bully comes after you. Now I want you to go out there and get your money back from Kathy Quinlan and don't come home until you do."

I started crying. A lot. I was begging him not to make me go out there. I told him I just couldn't do it--that I didn't know how to fight. He just stood there and pushed me toward the open door. "Get out and don't come back until you get your money back or punch Kathy Quinlan in the nose."

And then the door was locked behind me. I looked for a place to hide. Maybe the garage wasn't locked. I'd wait it out years if I had to, but I wasn't getting in Kathy Quinlan's face.

But it was too late. She saw me from down the block. I heard her yelling my name and then running towards me. I looked at my house one last time. My Dad was standing in the picture window staring at me. Then he made fists and pretended he was boxing. Me, boxing, that was funny. The roughest thing I had ever done was pull my sister's hair.

She was almost on top of me now and I was still standing there. I think part of me really thought that my Dad wouldn't really just stand there and watch me get pulverized. Then I thought of his World War II picture album with the prisoners of war in it, and how he had sounded when he called me a sissy.

Suddenly, I decided to use brains over brawn. After all, I was in the accelerated class of my grade and she was in the remedial class of her's, so I should at least be smarter than she. It was worth a shot. I would try to out-clever her.

"Kathy Quinlan, " I began. "What time does your mother get home from work? I am going to tell her you took my dollar. I know she'll make you give it back."

"That's what you think," she replied brazenly, but the look on her face let me know I had her attention now.

"Unless, of course, we could work out a deal now," I said, nudging a rock with the toe of my shoe.

"What kind of deal? I've got your buck. What are you talking about, you big jerk?"

She was still carrying on but winding down.

"If you split the dollar with me I won't tell your mother and we can just go on and pretend none of this ever happened. "I don't know. Why should I take fifty cents when I can have the whole dollar?"

"No, Kathy Quinlan, it's more like howcome you're lucky enough to get fifty cents for nothing when soon you won't have anything?"

"Do you even have fifty cents?" she asked without looking at me.

"I'll get it from my Dad. Do you have my dollar?"

"Yeah. Here. Take your old dollar. But I still say I could beat you up any day."

"Yeah. I know you could. So what? I could beat you at chess."

So I saved my nose from getting punched, lost only fifty cents, and got my Dad to let me in the house without quite telling him the whole story.