Lumberjack

She would sit on her bus seat, pushed way over near the window, arms wrapped tightly around an army green bag.  She wore ripped jeans and flannel every day I can remember.  Her beautiful blue eyes staring out at the passing countryside, dirty blonde hair tied back in a low, loose pony tail that hung all the way down her back.  She was older than me by a year or two and she never swore, she barely spoke and she greeted everyone with a kind smile.  Even those who didn't deserve it.  And back then, most of us didn't. 

 I never spoke a word to her, but I was thankful it was her nonetheless. 

He was scary mean.  Big, tall, red-headed and ugly.  He was ugly from the inside out.  But he was talented with a guitar and in 1987, that's really all it took to be a cool kid.  I never saw him do anything other than scream, yell and bully everyone who dared look in his direction.  He was viscious.  When I see him, all I can see is that red hair and that mouth, that gaping hole taking up his whole face. Chicklet teeth.  He was skinny and he was super tall and he was ugly.  Ugly from the inside out.

She was his target.  They were neighbors, lived right across the street from each other in fact.  He called her "lumberjack."  In his big, booming, loud-mouthed way he would scream it as loud as he could:

LUUUMMMMMMBERJACK!

It was his battle cry and it scared anyone smaller than him, which was really all of us.  It scared us to our core.  We would watch her calmly grab her bag, sling it over a shoulder and make her way down the aisle.  He would be coming up from the back, taking his time while she silently exited her prison.  We were all glad it was her and not us.  We were thankful that she carried his hate for us, whether she wanted to or not.

Never, not once did the driver or another kid stand up to him.  He would get off at the same stop, but slowly.  Letting her go first but mostly so he could take his time and gather his things while the bus stayed there, stopped, waiting for him.  An internal countdown until we were free of him, we would wait and watch and avoid eye contact.  We felt small and insignificant as he stalked down the aisle, screaming at her, "LUMMMMMBERJACK!  GO CHOP THAT LUMMMMMBER!"   

He thought it was the funniest thing in the world and he laughed and laughed at his own joke.  A few kids would join in on the chorus, cementing their place with him; they were cool too.  They were on HIS side, not her's.  They were scared, just like we were.  In our silence though, we said the same thing.  We may as well have stood up and cheered him on, such is the volume of silence.

As soon as he would hop off the last step, there was a collective exhalation of relief.  Another day done, another bus ride successfully avoiding his wrath.  I hated him more than I have ever hated another human being in my entire life.  He scared me to no end and being as small as I was, as powerless as I felt, his kind was like a walking, real-life nightmare.

 Him with his fire engine curls, like worms on his head.  Curled up and ready to spring.  He was ugly.  He was an ugly kid, inside out.  The big bull, the big ugly boy with the curly red hair.  If he weren't so big and so bad he would have been the one to be picked on.  Definitely.  It would have been him.  And maybe he knew it and that's why he did what he did. 

To the girl with the army green bag, the flannel shirts and kind smile.... I wish I was bigger.  I wish I was better.  I wish I would have at least smiled back.  I see you now, you're a grown woman.  You still smile that smile and you still have the prettiest blue eyes.  You grow flowers and they are lovely.

I was bigger.  Inside out bigger.