April 14, 2010
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they came, they jumped, they left.
My knee looks like it swallowed an egg. Not exactly what I planned on doing for the evening. I am glad it looks impressive. I would have been disappointed with a wimpy wound.
They came, they jumped, they left.
Thinking back on it now, I would have stood back after yelling “Lauren, call the police!” and I would have yelled out the boys’ names one by one, yelling how I would be giving a police report. Maybe.
But I didn’t. The moment it was over, I felt stupid. I was reduced to tears and I went to the office to be alone. I didn’t want to see anyone.
Today was multiplication games for tutorial. About half way through I noticed that some bigger kids had arrived, and tension was growing. I ended tutorial early. Bummer. I went out and started talking to some of the kids—I knew most of them. They came up and “hey mz.Rachel” to me. I turned around and they had a kid on the table, hitting him over and over.
I yelled for Lauren to call the police and yelled for them to stop. Please. Hitting and hitting—three or four on one—I didn’t know who, but it was someone. It was one of my kids.
I am not sorry I got in it. Not sorry at all. I would rather be hurt than have stood by and done nothing while one of my kids was getting jumped. Was getting hurt. Right there in front of me.
I would have done the same thing for the guys who jumped him, if it would have been them. I pulled and yanked people off, but all I could see was bodies moving and fists connecting. I was pushed away, hard, and my knee hit the floor. The fight was almost on top of me, but they moved away.
By the time I stood up, they were gone. Someone asked if I was alright. Someone mumbled how I always got in the way. I told everyone to leave if they wanted to fight, but not here. Lauren hadn’t reached the police yet.
The boy who had gotten jumped shrugged it off. Went outside and played some basketball. I have no idea how he wasn’t limping. His face was bruised up, but…considering.
I swung on the swings with the little girls. Only the regular kids remained—we wouldn’t have any more trouble. I was still shaking. Any time kids asked how I was, my anger came out in tears. I could only identify one of the attackers, but I knew plenty of the group that came up to “see the fight.” Hello, Mz.Rachel indeed. Inside the center, with all the little kids around. Why?
Seeing them come down on him, over and over…the violence, the faces…the faces of the other kids around…the look as punches landed…I shudder. So ugly, so…wrong. Emotions whipped into a tornado that takes on a life of its own. The cold touch of that evil feeling remains with me still.
I sat down on the bleachers next to the guy who got jumped. He had four freeze popcicles in a brown bag held up to his head, I had a similar bag for my knee. These are our ice packs at the center. I ask him what that was about. He shrugs and doesn’t say much.
“Evil prospers when good men do nothing.” The line from the Hitler documentary ran through my head. Not that I wanted any of the other kids to jump in and get hurt trying to pull kids off, but…I felt so alone. The male staff at the center had been outside, and came in as soon as they could, but by then it was over.
They came, they jumped, they left.
