Rub some dirt in it.

When I was a kid, about 9 or 10 to the best of my memory, I was at my grandparent’s house riding my bike. 

My dad’s mother was notorious for locking us grandkids outside all day. We’d wake up in the morning to a hearty, delicious breakfast, eat it, then know we had an entire day of play outside.

My grandparents lived in the country. The house sat just back from an old two-lane country road atop a ravine where you could see for miles from the kitchen window. In the distance, cows could be seen grazing the field and some dense forest, but not much else. There were other houses around but none close enough to really consider them neighbors.

My grandparent’s house was much different from the neighborhood where I lived. 

I lived in the suburbs. Neighborhoods carefully developed. All the neighbors knew each other. People walking their dogs up and down the street. Lawn sprinklers set to timers. And the occasional white picket fence. 

Suffice it to say, my grandparent’s way of living was, in many ways, different than mine.

When my grandma sent us out the house after breakfast, we’d pout for a few minutes because we would’ve much rather spent it inside playing Nintendo 64 or watching Nickelodeon. Somehow, though, as much as it felt like a punishment, we knew her intentions were good. We didn’t feel any less loved because she prohibited us from staying inside. I guess we just realized and accepted that she came from a time and place we weren’t used to. She came from a time and place where young kids, especially boys, don’t get to stay inside.

She knew we would get into fights and get into trouble whether we were in the house or out, so I guess she figured the less she knew about it, the better. She also knew we’d eventually be better for it.

After breakfast, we’d sit in the summer heat and devise different games to play. Even though we were good at entertaining each other, there were also many moments of lull.

But on this particular day, we’d learned a new kid moved into the nearest house down the street. This was the first time we’d ever learned about another kid around our age within walking distance. 

He was older than me by 3 or 4 years. Apparently, my older cousin knew of him from school.

Eventually, one of us went across the street and asked if he was allowed to come over and hang out. 

At first, we all had fun. He got along with my brother, my cousins, and I. I think we played ‘it-tag’ for a while then switched to ‘hide and seek’. 

As we played, I immediately noticed how much better he was at all the games than I was. 

The physical differences between a 10 year old and a 13 year old are pronounced.

So I got a good idea. I decided to even the playing field by riding my bike while everyone else was on foot.

I got on my cousin’s bike and began to participate that way. 

I was the only one who had a bike and it made me feel invincible.

I flew past everyone but especially the neighbor kid who I’d learned didn’t even know how to ride a bike.

I’d ride to the top of the hill making fun of his inability to ride a bike then speed past him as he tried to catch me on foot. 

“Haha! Bet you wish you knew how to ride a bike, don’t you?” I probably shouted.

This continued for a while as I teased him. The more frustrated he got, the more relentlessly I teased him.

On my bike, I was safe. I rode without care. I rode and I laughed and I joked and I pedaled until it finally hit me. I couldn’t ride forever. And when it came time to get off my bike, I’d have to come to terms with one pissed off 13 year old country boy. 

Eventually, the game got boring and everyone relaxed at the top of the hill.

Me, my brother, and my cousins were in a bunch talking when karma came knocking. And when I say knocking, I mean with both fists.

By the time I realized he was going to beat my ass, he already had his giant forearm wrapped around my neck. I squirmed my chubby little body as he yanked me from behind and ripped me to the ground. 

With all his weight, he rubbed my face in the hard, dry dirt so hard I thought I’d be without a face when I stood up.

Even though I’d acknowledged his physical superiority earlier, I was still amazed at his strength. 

I was helpless. 

I screamed, shouted, and cried. 

Surely, I thought, my older cousin or my grandma would come outside and put an end to such a slaughterous affair. 

He sat on top of me and choked me and tortured me for what seemed like 5 straight minutes. 5 minutes is a long time when there’s no indication anyone is coming to help you.

When he finally let me go, I cursed him, then my older cousin for being shitty and not helping me. I got on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could to the woods where I knew no one could see me cry and lick my wounds. 

Everyone went inside and that was the last time I ever saw him.

Every so often, I’d ask my cousin about him. He’d tell me he still saw him in school but he didn’t talk to him. 

“Well, if you ever do talk to him, tell him I still think he’s a loser because he can’t ride a bike,” I said. 

“Sure thing, Mack. I’ll get right on that.”

In fact, I thought, if I ever do get to see him again, I’ll just tell him myself. But only if there’s a getaway bike nearby.