"Hello, my name's David."
I didn't answer.
He opened his lunch bag. "I've got peanut butter sandwiches," he said. "What do you have?"
"Peanut butter sandwiches."
"I've got a banana, too. And some potato chips. Want some potato chips?"
I took some. He had plenty, they were crisp and salty, the sun shone right through them. They were good.
"Can I have some more?"
"All right."
I took some more. He even had jelly on his peanut butter sandwiches. It dripped out and ran over his fingers. David didn't seem to notice,
"Where do you live?" he asked.
"Virginia Road."
"I live on Pickford. We can walk home together after school. Take some more potato chips. Who's your teacher?"
"Mrs. Columbine."
"I have Mrs. Reed. I'll see you after class, we'll walk home together."
Why did he wear those knickers? What did he want? I really didn't like him. I took some more of his potato chips.
That afternoon, after school, he found me and began walking along beside me. "You never told me your name," he said.
"Henry," I answered.
As we walked along I noticed a whole gang of boys, first graders, following us. At first they were half a block behind us, then they closed the gap to several yards behind us.
"What do they want?" I asked David. He didn't answer, just kept walking.
"Hey, knicker-shitter!" one of them yelled. "Your mother make you shit in your knickers?"
"Pigeon-toe, ho-ho, pigeon-toe!"
"Cross-eye! Get ready to die!"
Then they circled us.
"Who's your friend? Does he kiss your rear end?"
One of them had David by the collar. He threw him onto a lawn. David stood up. A hoy got down behind him on his hands and knees. The other boy shoved him and David fell over backwards. Another boy rolled him over and rubbed his face in the grass. Then they stepped back. David got up again. He didn't make a sound but the tears were rolling down his face. The largest boy walked up to him. "We don't want you in our school, sissy. Get out of our school!" He punched David in the stomach. David bent over and as he did, the boy brought his knee up into David's face. David fell. He had a bloody nose.
Then the boys circled me. "Your turn now!" They kept circling and as they did I kept turning. There were always some of them behind me. Here I was loaded with shit and I had to fight. I was terrified and calm at the same time. I didn't understand their motive. They kept circling and I kept turning. It went on and on. They screamed things at me but I didn't hear what they said. Finally they backed off and went away down the street. David was waiting for me. We walked down the sidewalk toward his place on Pickford Street.
Then we were in front of his house.
"I've got to go in now. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, David."
He went in and then I heard his mother's voice. "David! Look at your knickers and shirt! They're torn and full of grass stains! You do this almost every day! Tell me, why do you do it?"
David didn't answer.
"I asked you a question! Why do you do this to your clothes?"
"I can't help it, Mom…"
"You can't help it? You stupid boy!"
I heard her heating him. David began to cry and she beat him harder. I stood on the front lawn and listened. After a while the beating stopped. I could hear David sobbing. Then he stopped.
His mother said, "Now, I want you to practice your violin lesson."
I sat down on the lawn and waited. Then I heard the violin. It was a very sad violin. I didn't like the way David played. I sat and listened for some time but the music didn't get any better. The shit had hardened inside of me. I no longer felt like shifting. The afternoon light hurt my eyes. I felt like vomiting. I got up and walked home.
7
There were continual fights. The teachers didn't seem to know anything about them. And there was always trouble when it rained. Any boy who brought an umbrella to school or wore a raincoat was singled out. Most of our parents were too poor to buy us such things. And when they did, we hid them in the bushes. Anybody seen carrying an umbrella or wearing a raincoat was considered a sissy. They were beaten after school. David's mother had him carry an umbrella whenever it was the least bit cloudy.
There were two recess periods. The first graders gathered at their own baseball diamond and the teams were chosen. David and I stood together. It was always the same. I was chosen next to last and David was chosen last, so we always played on different teams. David was worse than I was. With his crossed eyes, he couldn't even see the hall. I needed lots of practice. I had never played with the kids in the neighborhood. I didn't know how to catch a hall or how to hit one. But I wanted to, I liked it. David was afraid of the ball, I wasn't. I swung hard, I swung harder than anybody but I could never hit the ball. I always struck out. Once I fouled a hall off. That felt good. Another time I drew a walk. When I got to first, the first baseman said, "That's the only way you'll ever get here." I stood and looked at him. He was chewing gum and he had long black hairs coming out of his nostrils. His hair was thick with vaseline. He wore a perpetual sneer.
"What arc you looking at?" he asked me. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't used to conversation.
"The guys say you're crazy," he told me, "but you don't scare me. I'll be waiting for you after school some day."
I kept looking at him. He had a terrible face. Then the pitcher wound up and I broke for second. I ran like crazy and slid into second. The ball arrived late. I he tag was late.
"You're out!" screamed the boy whose turn it was to umpire. I got up, not believing it.
"I said, YOU'RE OUT!"' the umpire screamed. Then I knew that I was not accepted. David and I were not accepted. I he others wanted me "out" because I was supposed to be "out." They knew David and I were friends. It was because of David that I wasn't wanted. As I walked off the diamond I saw David playing third base in his knickers. His blue and yellow stockings had fallen down around his feet. Why had he chosen me? I was a marked man. That afternoon after school I quickly left class and walked home alone, without David. I didn't want to watch him beaten again by our classmates or by his mother. I didn't want to listen to his sad violin. But the next day at lunch time, when he sat down next to me I ate his potato chips.
My day came. I was tall and I felt very powerful at the plate. I couldn't believe that I was as bad as they wished me to be. I swung wildly but with force. I knew I was strong, and maybe like they said, "crazy." But I had this feeling inside of me that something real was there. Just hardened shit, maybe, hut that was more than they had. I was up at bat. "Hey, it's the STRIKEOUT KING! MR. WINDMILL!" The ball arrived. I swung and I felt the bat connect like I had wanted it to do for so long. The hall went up, up and HIGH, into left held, 'way OVER the left holder's head. His name was Don Brubaker and he stood and watched it fly over his head. It looked like it was never going to come down. Then Brubaker started running after the ball. He wanted to throw me out. He would never do it. The ball landed and rolled onto a diamond where some 5th graders were playing. I ran slowly to first, hit the bag, looked at the guy on first, ran slowly to second, touched it, ran to third where David stood, ignored him, tagged third and walked to home plate. Never such a day. Never such a home run by a first grader! As I stepped on home plate I heard one of the players, Irving Bone, say to the team captain, Stanley Greenberg, "Let's put him on the regular team." (The regular team played teams from other schools.)
"No," said Stanley Greenberg.