Don’t you ever make
my cousin cry again!
Sixth grade I think. It was noon hour and we were on the hill behind the school, in the elementary field. Maybe we had been playing football or soccer. Maybe it was just one of those crazy chasing games. But it was me and Stacy and all the boys. The other girls would’ve been down in the playground or on the pavement playing skip or yogi (is that what that elastic jumping game was called?) It was always me and Stacy and all the boys.
Anyway, I’m not real sure how it happened or even which boys were there, but somehow Stacy ended up tackled and on the ground in tears. I’m thinking Junior, Troy and Larry were there, but they had been held back and were older than us, and a little scary. Billy and Cam would’ve been there. Maybe Perry and Michael and Gregory. An odd mix of Blackville boys with Renousers sounds appropriate.
At any rate when Stacy got hurt I blew some sort of gasket. Before I knew what had happened I marched across that field and grabbed Tommy by the throat pulling him toward me (and maybe even a little off the ground) And hissing through clenched teeth I gave him my most menacing icy glare and said, “Don’t you ever make my cousin cry again!”
Of course I endured a lot of teasing about this incident throughout high school, but that day I learned a valuable lesson I never forgot — people fear uncharacteristic violence — so when the quiet girl goes postal people generally get out of the way.
I found some photographs and things in my old room the last time I was in Miramichi and brought them home with me. One of them is our motto that Stacy printed for me way back when. Think I’ll buy a new frame and hang it.
Mood: oh so sleepy
Drinking: coffee, the canadian blend NOT the good stuff, with cream
Listening To: John Mayer, Your Body is a Wonderland
Hair: severely mussed