{the.wednesday.whistle}

it was a sweltering summer afternoon on the Terrace and the ocean breezes of the morning had wilted. the humid, high 80 degree temperatures had won the battle this time and my best friend forever and i were drooping into a puddle on the swing set in her overgrown back yard. our only reprieve was a promised run through the sprinkler later that afternoon. we had brokered this deal with all the 7 year old solemness we could muster, and vowed that we would stay out of the house, the kitchen, and most of all, the refrigerator for at least an hour and half… a tough pledge  indeed considering the stash of Popsicles sitting inside the freezer.

we were limply swinging, when through the back field we saw a fright so terrifying the drip of sweat running down my face dried mid-cheek. we both stood at up simultaneously, not sure whether to run inside and risk loosing our one chance of sprinkler soaked fun, or to stand ground in our matching pink jelly shoes. the neighborhood bully, a terrifyingly tall boy with far reaching arms and large hands seemingly created for the sheer purpose of pulling my pigtails, was approaching at breakneck speed in his behemoth, black Air Jordans. demise was imminent and we stood in silence while awaiting our total annihilation (annihilation or a sore, burning scalp…same thing).

before we could say Sally Sells Shells by the Seashore, his shadow enveloped both of our bodies and he was looking down at us….deciding who to make weep first. a dirty expletive rolled out of his mouth with ease, and we gasped at not only the word itself, but his proper usage. i prayed under my breath that our utter stillness would prevent trauma….the only thing moving were my eye balls as he drop kicked every single item out of the sandbox and then moved on to deflate the Pogo Ball by jumping violently up and down on it with his mammoth, 12 year old body.  in his final act of adolescent fury, he gave a quick tug to my braid and walked on valiantly….off to terrorize the girls on the upper part of the subdivision no doubt.

after he faded from sight we plopped down onto the swings with a sigh of overwhelming relief. his reign as the neighborhood bully had shrouded our beloved summer months, and we had spent precious sun soaked, nail biting hours playing outside worrying if he was going to come clopping down the road with his untied, overpriced sneakers and ruin a perfectly good day. our swinging matched our frustration. our talk cultivated an evil plot of epic proportion….mud pies. oh yes…you heard that correctly. putting our afternoon of saturated sprinkler satisfaction on hold, we created the most magnificently messy mud pies that two seven year olds could contrive. by night fall, we had used practically all of the sand in the sand box, and the dirt filled masterpieces lined the back of the half acre….sure to lure any repugnant beast or teenage antagonizer for miles around. we each went to our separate houses with a sense of triumphant supremacy against all those who committed vicious acts of overall meanness.

at almost 30 years old, i still worry about him. that bully with ripped flannel shirts and scar under his left eye. what was his hurt? what was his pain that made him so mean? i survived my teen years because of loving, patient parents and persistently laced and amazing friendships. what did he have to survive? (other than our mud pies…which, for the record were impressive, but obviously went uneaten by monsters…teenage or otherwise) i wish i had asked him…i wish i had dared to.

Girls….i understand the hurt that is caused by the meanness of others. there is no excuse for it…it is painful and can even be life altering if you allow it to be. malicious teasing is so degrading. but, when someone is mean….there is something behind it…a quiet, festering ache in their heart and in their mind. they have been damaged somehow by someone or something or some situation in their lives that simply cannot be fixed with a band-aid and a trip to the ice cream shop. ask why….in a peaceful moment on the play ground, or in class, or ask a teacher to ask or mommy. ask why they are hurting….and then give them a hug. because they need one.

we all do sometimes.

all my love darlings,

p.s. daily mantra: “in each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. we’re each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. we’ve got to forgive ourselves that. i must remember to forgive myself. because there is a lot of grey to work with. no one can live in the light all the time….libba.bray

p.p.s: apparently…my mud pie skills still rock.