ANTOINETTE ABBAMONTE

There were three boys.
One on each arm.
They pulled my arms back and it hurt.
I couldn’t get loose.
I couldn’t kick them.
They weren’t very strong
but they were determined.

 

The third boy was in front of me
trying to dodge my kicks,
looking for an opening,
trying to get a good solid punch in
and I kept fighting
and a couple of other boys
were starting to gather
and laugh
and nobody went to get a teacher
or a parent

and when the boy in front of me
finally saw his opening
he punched me right in the chest
and I felt my head exploding
as if all the blood from his punch
was rushing right up into my face.

 

I could feel my mouth opening
and saliva coming out of it
and the laughter was even stronger
after that
and I looked up at the school
and I could see a couple of girls
looking down at me
from the second floor window
and they weren’t moving or anything,
I think one of them was shaking her head no,
but no one was rushing down
to save me
and that’s when I understood
the depth of the conspiracy against me,
and I started to laugh,
and the next time I looked up
at the second floor of the school,

I could see myself
looking down at myself,
not moving,
like I was another co-conspirator,
maybe even the worst one,
maybe the leader,
looking down at myself,
passive,
holding hands with the cold girls at my side,
just slowly, slowly shaking my head no.