The moving van is still unloading boxes, wardrobes, mattresses, chairs, when I, eager to meet our new neighbors, run over to say hi. The new house next door is now home to a mom, dad, two sisters and a brother. Though they seem nice, I never really get to know them, and, in truth, I recall nothing memorable, not even their names, except for one. A first name. Barbara.
So, what makes Barbara memorable? Well, she's blond—a shoulder length pageboy. Tall. Glasses. An eighth grader. One year ahead of me. One year more developed than me. Stacked. Too stacked for eighth grade. The guys in her class notice. Oh yeah—she's shy.
I'm not attracted to Barbara's spirit—or lack of—and though I'd deny being lonely, loneliness seeks her out. Weeks pass.
We're playing catch in the street. Just she and I. Suddenly we're not alone.
Suddenly we're surrounded. Like a wagon train. Ponies—er—bikes circling round—bikers whooping it up! War cries of: Four Eyes! Big Boobs! Bigger Boobs! Biggest Boobs! Lookitfoureyes'GreatBigBoobies!
Barbara's crying. Head down. Tucking arms around chest, ducking between circling cycles. Running home. I run home, too. Barbara's pain piercing my mind.
This scene repeats.
How often?
Who knows.
One day, the bikers thunder down the street; Barbara's head lowers but before she can tuck, duck and run—my head lowers like a bull seeing red; in less than a flash, this seventh grade scardy cat—terrified of guys—whirls into a raging tornado; the sharpest horns you've ever seen blast out of that hot spot in my mind, burst through my scalp, rise above and beyond my raven hair, swirling everywhere—forgetabout Grandma's broom—I pull out the big guns, and quick as a hair pin trigger—
—BaNG!BaNG!BaNG!—there's no doubt that this swirling fury, purple people eater spits bullets not blanks. And that my friends is how the ...
AVeNGeR leaps from the tower; lands solidly on two feet in the street—BELLOWS—loud as I please, and all this goes down before Barbara's shocked eyes have time to blink; as to those stunned, sorry ass bikers ...
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