04:59
Faizan
When he saw me standing in line, the senior-myself being a sophomore at the time-it wasn't about anything in particular, something about wanting to get ahead of me in the lunch line, in the cafeteria, and then he and I started fighting, he had tried to push his way in-between me and the guy ahead of me, and in the process pushing me backwards, and he pushed me backwards in a hostile way, and I dragged him out of the line like a rag doll, I had been weightlifting back then, I had muscles coming out of my ears, and fingers and toes, and nose, much less biceps, and I overturned him concluded and onto one of the tables, then leaning over him, knee on his chest, and about to hammer on his face, decided in the clap of an eye, in choking him, thus, with both hands curled around his roaster like neck, I was clogging his breathing, per near knock him out cold, lest I kill him I let up. Everybody was too stunned to pull me off him, or fearful, or perhaps it was entertaining, he was the bully sort; and he was about my weight, and my height, nearly the same built, but surly with not nearly the strength. He couldn't have gotten loose if he wanted to, I had knocked all the fight out of him, when his back hit the table-like a hammer hitting an anvil. When I let up on him, he couldn't swallow, he sounded hoarse. I hurt him bad: the show was over.
Well, I went back to the line, regained my composure, and there were plenty of kids looking at him and me, when he said, "It's not fair a sophomore should get away with this," to his friends. I made a turnabout while down near the food counter at this time, and said, "What did you say?" and I believe he replied, "I don't know, all right!" And he was all right, but with plenty of bruises I'd think, and quite rough looking, sounding like a frog with a rustic tone to his voice; by and large, he was on guard, not looking for a rematch, but perhaps wishing his friends would back him up, and they didn't.
I sat down and ate my food off my tray, with Bill, a friend from the neighborhood, and nobody came after me; I had plenty of friends from my neighborhood too, who were also tough, and my brother was a senior there, and by and by I would have gotten even, and Bill was a fighter too.
It was late, and everyone had left the cafeteria, except me, who sat at a corner table, trying to calm myself down some, an electric light overhead. I didn't care if I'd go late to class, matter of fact, I didn't care if I ever went back to class.
In those days (1963), the principals, or at least at Washington High School, in St. Paul, Minnesota, were all very strict. You may not believe this, but he wanted to punish me and not the perpetrator the one who started it all, it was my second fight, that year, and he wanted to expel me from school, with the exception of, allowing me back in a week.
My brother got word of the incident, and accompanied me to the principal's office, -which I really didn't want to do-save, he wanted to have his say-so, and as for me, I was done with the mess, and really didn't care if I ever went back to school or not; when I had confirmed with Mike what I considered, the good news, that, yes, I was going to be expelled, he got angry-not at me, but the situation, and it took a lot for him to get angry in those days, he wasn't
Well, I went back to the line, regained my composure, and there were plenty of kids looking at him and me, when he said, "It's not fair a sophomore should get away with this," to his friends. I made a turnabout while down near the food counter at this time, and said, "What did you say?" and I believe he replied, "I don't know, all right!" And he was all right, but with plenty of bruises I'd think, and quite rough looking, sounding like a frog with a rustic tone to his voice; by and large, he was on guard, not looking for a rematch, but perhaps wishing his friends would back him up, and they didn't.
I sat down and ate my food off my tray, with Bill, a friend from the neighborhood, and nobody came after me; I had plenty of friends from my neighborhood too, who were also tough, and my brother was a senior there, and by and by I would have gotten even, and Bill was a fighter too.
It was late, and everyone had left the cafeteria, except me, who sat at a corner table, trying to calm myself down some, an electric light overhead. I didn't care if I'd go late to class, matter of fact, I didn't care if I ever went back to class.
In those days (1963), the principals, or at least at Washington High School, in St. Paul, Minnesota, were all very strict. You may not believe this, but he wanted to punish me and not the perpetrator the one who started it all, it was my second fight, that year, and he wanted to expel me from school, with the exception of, allowing me back in a week.
My brother got word of the incident, and accompanied me to the principal's office, -which I really didn't want to do-save, he wanted to have his say-so, and as for me, I was done with the mess, and really didn't care if I ever went back to school or not; when I had confirmed with Mike what I considered, the good news, that, yes, I was going to be expelled, he got angry-not at me, but the situation, and it took a lot for him to get angry in those days, he wasn't
Posted in: arts
