Piece written tonight, and read at Beat Night (Knife)

(There have been minor revisions, as I hadn't edited at all before performing it; I cleaned up word choice in some spots, and smoothed out some phrasing, implementing the edits I envisioned as I read it.)

Having recently been saddled with a bully I've been thinking about other experiences I've had with them, thus this piece:

Knife

I’d been a target

            From my first day in York, 1^st grade;

                        Too Friendly

                                    Too Talkative

                                                Too Curly

            Too scared to fight back;

And that was just at school.

Up the street was an older boy, with roaming hands,

secrets, and a man’s stench; perhaps he somehow marked me as prey.

I was of the scapegoat caste, most others taking out

their horrors on us (I have to think someone got something from it all).

In 8^th grade something changed, felt more urgent

                                    & I went to Star Center Flea Market

                                                & bought a boot knife

6 inches of good steel for a bad feeling,

            A remnant of a foreign Army

                        to guard me during the war of adolescence;

I pulled it twice:

            The 1^st when 2 larger

                                    but younger boys

                                                demanded my watch

                                                on a path with no one watching;

                                    They fled, and for once, I didn’t;

The 2^nd…

            It was 9^th grade. To compensate for freshman terror

                        I was loud,

                                    And obnoxious;

Never having met anyone truly dangerous

            I ignored the warnings from the 3 senior rednecks

                        That they were no one to play with

And I tried to play with them,

A kitten biting tigers’ tails;

They knew how to avoid scrutiny

            And punished

                        30 seconds at a time

                                    Every time

We passed in halls, for weeks

            even after I surrendered;

The big one was the worst, being 300lbs and stronger than me by at least 5 times;

                        The other 2 threatened; the big one did;

Optimistically I’d started the year without my knife

            Ignoring my feeling

                        but by November I’d cut pockets

                                    in jackets

                                                for concealment

                                                            & Quick draw;

One day, crossing the courtyard between German

            & study hall,

                        Grey skies turning bitter,

                                    The wind gaining an edge,

The big one came from opposite

                        Grabbed me

                                    by the back of my neck

                                                folded me in half

                                    forward

                                                & unbalanced

                        As my own weight

                                    choked me

                        on his thick arm;

Before my breathway was narrowed entirely

            I

                        Smelled

                                                Him,

His man’s stench that reminded me

                        of roaming hands

                        and secrets;

There was panic, & resignation to instinct

            & a conscious choice

                        that stopping this

                                    was worth

                                                anything that happened

& I pulled my knife;

My head jammed into his fat belly

            (his shirt was too short to cover)

Our jackets made a tent

                                    concealing my hands

                                    from all angles,

                                    including his

And in the strange serenity of animal survival

            I chose me

            Over him

            And put the tip of my knife on his bare skin, and began to push;

That second

            Teachers

                        burst through two doors

Yelling for us to stop it;

Sudden breath filled my lungs

& as I stood

            I hid my knife in its place;

The big redneck stood me up straight, and made a show of putting his arm around me;

“We’re just playin’” he said,

            and the teachers left,

                        & we went our ways.

I was exhausted

            & conflicted:

Relieved I’d not been caught with a knife

            ready to enter another

But upset that I’d not even drawn blood;

            It felt an incomplete ritual

                        that the primal magic I’d tried to work

            Would surely fail now;

The next day I was too spent to care

            when the big one approached

            our table in studyhall,

                        for once

                                    in plain view of teachers;

I may have reached for my knife

by was disarmed when he asked

“Can I sit down?”

Chris Walters

'13