1st Place Prize Winner: 2007 Westfield State College Persona
Winter. The snow had not yet fallen on the ground. Outside the little school, the children played on the pavement. The school could not afford swing sets, tire swings, or any playground equipment. That was on the other side of town.
It had been five minutes since lunch ended and the third, fourth, and fifth graders were playing outside. Their games were clouded by overcast skies and gray weather for the past week. The sun couldn’t show its face.
Most of the girls were in a circle surrounding the jump-ropers, and the others were off pretending with small toys they kept in their bright winter coats. But Angela was doing neither of these things. Instead she was defending Jon from David and Stephen. Third graders always stuck together against fifth graders.
Most of the boys out in the schoolyard were separated into their little groups. Some with their action figures, some pretending to do wrestling moves on each other they saw on television, others were just walking and talking. Jon wasn’t doing any of this. He had to confront David and Stephen. He’d had enough.
David, Stephen, Angela, and Jon were far out in the playground. It was a very large area; half of it concrete, the other half a large field with some surrounding trees, and a baseball diamond on one side. The other side was a free field with a very large rock some kids would sit on or play on. The four children were near the rock. Any kids that were about to have a fight went to the rock.
The rock was a massive white wonder to the children in the schoolyard. Some of the kids would say it came from outer space—a huge meteor that killed a bunch of the dinosaurs. It was a mystery to them how the rock got there, but it became a place to play and feel free, near the trees that led to who knows where. Some of the children would say that there was a field with a little shack where a crazy man lived. Some fifth graders went there once.
David and Stephen had begun picking on Jon since the day Jon slipped at lunch where Tim had accidentally dropped his carton of milk, which then exploded and the lunch ladies had to clean it up. Jon slipped on the clean wet floor with all of the food on his tray and he fell straight down. He was a mess. Food was all over him. Jon couldn’t even say anything. There were no tears, but there were many laughs. David and Stephen kept on him about it. Slow at first, but then they took anything they could get to make a fool of Jon.
That was in September. It was January now, and Jon had had enough. The day before, Jon said he wanted a fight. David and Stephen laughed at him. Jon said they would fight the next day. They said to meet by the rock. And so they met.
It was looking like snow would come soon. Angela, Jon’s only friend tried telling him to not fight David and Stephen. Jon refused and told her to go away. Jon wanted it all to end.
“Hey faggot. You think you can take us?” David spoke more than Stephen did.
“I’m gonna!” Jon was nervous. His left hand was shaking. It had a slight shake all the time, but when he was under a lot of stress it would shake much more than normal.
“Jon! Don’t do it! Don’t fight them!” Angela was a character like the diplomatic ones in the cartoons on television. She’d be the one at a fight to put her arms out at length between the two sides to try and make them stop. She’d want to push them apart.
“Sh’up Angela! I hab to do this!” Jon wanted this to be his defining moment.
Stephen was laughing. “Come on, faggot.”
“Are you gonna jerk off with that hand? You got it shaking like you’re gonna.” David was referring to something he saw his dad watching on television late one night. He was creeping quietly at the top of the stairs—past his bedtime. He did not fully understand it. “If you’re not gonna do it, get Angela to do it!”
“Sh-sh’up! I’m gonna hurt you bad!” Jon was getting so nervous.
“You probably don’t even know what jerking off is, you faggot! Fag!” David laughed more with Stephen.
“Jon come here! Don’t hit them!” Angela didn’t know what else to do.
Jon still didn’t act yet. He was too nervous and his hand was shaking. He looked at it and he didn’t feel like a hero in the cartoons. The heroes never got nervous. The heroes never got shaky.
“Come on, Stephen,” David said. They walked up to Jon, and Jon put his fists up just like they do on television.
“I’m gonna hurts you! I’m gonna!” Jon swung his right fist for David with everything he had. David moved back. The punch hit Stephen right in the jaw.
“No!” Angela turned away. She couldn’t bear to look at what was happening.
David looked down at Stephen. “Stephen!” David didn’t understand yet.
Jon looked down at the boy. He wondered why there wasn’t a sound when he hit him, and why he didn’t feel like a hero. His left hand was still shaking quite visibly, and now the knuckles on his right hand hurt. He looked at them. They weren’t white with the weather. They were red as summer heat. Jon didn’t understand.
Stephen didn’t understand what had happened to him. He looked at the ground. He saw something that appeared to be some blood in the dirt. He didn’t realize it was his own, but his face hit the earth hard when he fell, smashing his nose. It bled.
He looked up at David. He had no words, but tears began to come down his cheeks. They were warm against the winter air. He couldn’t understand why he was now crying. Pain had never made him cry since he broke his arm two summers ago. He fell after climbing to the top of the old tire swing in the playground near his house.
“Stephen! Get up and help me take this faggot!” David wanted violence.
Angela did not know what to think. She looked at Jon, Stephen, and David, and she could not understand. She didn’t like violence, and she did not like blood, but she couldn’t help but look at Stephen’s bloody nose and the tears coming down his face.
“You go touch me’s anymore, I’m gonna do it you too, Dabid.” Jon was so sure. He didn’t feel good though. Nausea settling in. His right fist was throbbing with pain. The punch was so steady and sweeping, but David was too swift, and Stephen gathered the heavy hand.
Angela had no words—only short breaths.
David’s face turned pink with senseless rage. He quickly approached Jon and punched him in the jaw with all of his strength. Angela still could not speak. Stephen sat on the ground, staring into the blood stained dirt with incomprehension.
Jon’s face landed in the dirt. The nausea was worse now, but the pain in his knuckles and jaw distracted him. He stood up. He had no words.
David turned to look over Stephen, wondering what was wrong with him. Heroes didn’t get hurt, and he and Stephen were heroes.
Jon went to David and grabbed his shoulder to turn him around, and bashed his face as hard as he could, but still with his right fist. David now fell to the ground, almost on top of Stephen. Jon’s knuckles were in serious pain. The nausea made him feel slightly dizzy, but he kept his ground. He turned around to see Angela. She had run away. His focus moved to his knuckles. They felt broken. He wanted to cry, but David suddenly kicked him in the back to the ground.
“Fuck you, Jon! Fuck you!” David’s incontinence led him to say things he did not quite understand. He kicked Jon over and over.
“Fuckin’ faggot! Stupid retard!” Stephen’s bloodied face and mouth spoke things he would one day regret when he understood. He was kicking Jon too.
Jon only felt the pain all over his body where David and Stephen were kicking him. David kicking at his back, Stephen at his front. Jon’s nausea caused him to vomit. David and Stephen both stopped.
Jon rolled over away from where he vomited, toward the rock. He looked up at the sky, coughing, breathing. Thoughts washed over him, and he wondered where Angela had gone. He was alone now, bleeding.
David looked at Stephen, and Stephen at David. Stephen was unsure of what to do. David knew what to do. He always knew what to do. He looked down at Jon. His mind was made up. He took his leg and gave the swiftest, strongest kick he could to Jon’s already bleeding head.
For Jon, it was over.
Angela and the special education teacher Mrs. Brimley came running outside. They ran as quickly as they could over to the rock where David and Stephen stood over their accomplishment, and Jon who lay bloody on the ground.
“David! Stephen! What have you done?” Mrs. Brimley hadn’t even been able to put on her winter coat. She shivered from fear and the cold winter air.
David and Stephen had no words, but they now grew cold and fearful as Jon’s body did not move.
Angela looked at Jon’s eyes, which were still staring into the clouds wet with tears and a quiet mysterious pride. She could not comprehend the day.
Mrs. Brimley looked at David and Stephen, who were still silent, and she too had no words. She knelt to Jon and felt for his pulse. She couldn’t help but notice Jon’s destroyed body, and she couldn’t understand it. The boy was gone.
A wind blew strongly across the playground, and there was not a stir from anyone, as all the children had by now circled around the incident. Whispers grew softly. It began to snow.
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