Wrestling

I was small. And I suppose that deep down, I feel like I still am.

At no time in my life was it more apparent than the day I went over to "play" with the Mendes family. The Mendes' were one of the only families in my neighborhood that attended the same church as my family, which meant that my mother had a ready-made friend in Mrs. Mendes with which to drink coffee with. I mean, if she drank coffee.

When mom and Mrs. Mendes got together, it usually meant that I would read a book or watch TV in another room. On one occasion, however, Mrs. Mendes' son Adam was home. Adam was a teenager, a good three years older and approximately ten years bigger than me. He was a burly, curly-haired football player and I was content to quietly sit and read. I had neither the size nor the temperament to be a bully. Adam had both.

In hindsight, I don't really know what the moms were thinking, trying to put us together. But at their insistence, I went outside to join Adam on the trampoline.

Adam didn't want a playmate. Adam wanted an exercise in adolescent dominance. I learned this very quickly. And for the first time in my life, I felt the fear of being in real physical danger.

Adam wanted to wrestle. His wrestling involved plenty of punches, shoves and knees in the back. I remember his arms around my throat, I remember trying to get off the trampoline and getting dragged back onto it, I remember feeling the most helpless I had felt in my life thus far. My wits, words, smarts--nothing could get me out of the situation.There was nothing I could do, nothing at all.

"Shut up you wimp! Fight me! Wrestle me!"

Eventually I managed to get to the other end of the yard. I remember crouching by some small trees, crying. My arms hurt. My chest and neck hurt.

Adam crouched in front of me. "You don't tell anybody about this." I nodded. I wanted to be done.

Before long, my mom came out the sliding back door to collect me. It was time to go home.

As we drove home, it became clear to my mother that I had been upset by something. "What's wrong, honey? What happened?"

I sniffled a bit. "Nothing. I just..."

In that moment, I had the most control I had in the entire situation. I could tell the truth and...what? What would've happened? I would've made an enemy. I would've appeared even more helpless. I would've given a bully another motive.

So I lied.

"Nothing." There were no visible marks, no bruises. I had no cuts, no wounds. If I just kept my mouth shut, I could pretend that the whole event had never happened and nobody needed to know.

And nobody did know. I thought that my lie would make it okay. And for all parties involved, it did.

Except for me.

When I got home, I saw that the screen on my new watch, the watch I had received for my birthday, the watch that had 3 different kinds of alarms and a Magic 8 Ball feature, had broken.

And then I cried.