No Bully Policy

Jason hated going home this way. He absolutely hated it. But his mother insisted. She told him he had to face his troubles head on. And his troubles at this time was the new kid. Jimmy McAllister.

Jason walked slowly. He knew Jimmy would pop out at him at any time. He always did. Sure enough, Jason could see Jimmy’s sneakers at the bottom of the Hendricks’ pine bush.

“So,” said Jimmy as he stepped out in front of Jason, “I heard you wanted to kick my ass. Is that true?” Jimmy was a good foot taller than Jason.

“I never said that,” said Jason as he looked at his feet.

Jimmy shoved Jason. “I heard you did.” Jimmy shoved him again. “You going to do something about it?”

Jason suddenly looked up sharply and startled Jimmy. He never did this before. “You’re not supposed to be a bully. We have rules about bullying. So stop it.”

“Rules?” laughed Jimmy, “every place has rules! But that never stopped me.”

“I’m warning you,” said Jason. His face was turning red with anger. Jimmy didn’t expect this.

Jimmy swung and hit Jason in the face. Jason’s nose started gushing blood. But he didn’t cry. He wiped his face with his sleeve and turned toward Jimmy. Jimmy kicked him in the shins. Jason did cry out this time.

Jimmy noticed children starting to encircle the two. They seemed to show up from all over, but Jimmy didn’t care. He loved an audience.

Someone grabbed Jimmy from behind. He struggled to get free, but more of them were on top of him. He was being drug back behind the pine bush. They layed him on the ground, and the crowd parted. He could see Jason walking toward him as the others held him down. And Jason was holding a large knife.

Jimmy started to scream.

…………………………………………….

There were many people at the picnic. It seemed the whole town was here. But Jason’s family had a huge yard to accommodate all of them. It used to be a farm back in great-granddaddy’s time.

The tables were filled with all sorts of food from all different families. Sometimes there would be another pot of sweat and sour meatballs, and Jason knew there might be some competition between some of the elders. Whose meatballs are best?

Jason saw a few of his friends at one of the tables. He walked over.

“Whatcha eating, Sally?” said Jason to a little girl in a pink dress.

“Chicken fingers,” Sally answered.

“Sally, you know there’s only ten of those!”

“I know; I only ate three. I saved seven for you.” She handed him the plate. Jason’s mother had carefully removed Jimmy’s fingernails.

Jason put one of the fingers into his mouth, and pulled the broiled meat off the bone. “Why do we call them chicken fingers when they should be called bully fingers?”

Sally laughed, “He looked pretty chicken to me at the end!”

Sally stood up on her seat and looked over Jason’s head.

“Jason,” said Sally, “you had better go over to the roasting pit. It looks like your dad has his eyes on the head.”

July 9, 2009