Revisionist History

     The incident from last week (when I lost my religion) reminded me of an essay I wrote in Costa Rica at the Writer's Retreat of San Buenas.  I know you've been made privy to all my musings and ponderings from that time, but this particular essay I hadn't yet shared as I wondered whether it was relevant.  I think it is.
     "I had relatively few bullies in my formative years, mostly The Dad.  There was one guy, however, in high school with whom I only had one interaction but it reverberated for most of my senior year.  I won't tell you his name, but will simply call him Football Player.  Football Player was much like The Dad; red-haired, almost my height and thickly built with muscle under a layer of fat.  He and I didn't move in the same social circles but were both in Nola Faye Boyd's Honors English class, although it was the only advanced class I remember us sharing. 
     The one incident happened the day we watched the film 'Romeo and Juliet'; the 1960s version.  After the brief nude scene (a very quick shot of Juliet's buttock), our class fairly buzzed due to this anomaly in a town akin to those in 1950s television shows.  I can't remember if his or my reaction to this scene started something or whether it was irrelevant, but toward the end of the class Football Player decided to engage with me. 
     Although I was an honor student and toed the line most every day, I liked to sit on the back row of class, just like a Baptist does in church.  Football Player sat across the aisle on my left.  Apropos of nothing he called me 'faggot' under his breath.  I chose to ignore the word, although it sliced through my chest like a rapier.  I consider this to be one of the most violent words; it's purpose always to wound.  Not getting his intended reaction, he said, again, more loudly, "Faggot!" 
     I half-heartedly told him to shut up as I was embarrassed and honestly not equipped for an altercation.  He just sat and glared at me.  Once class was over, he didn't seem to want to let it drop.  He said, "Faggot!" again as we stood to leave.  My best friend Paige, who sat in front of me, said to me, 'Ignore him", and to Football Player, she said, "Shut up!"
    As we left the aisles near the teacher's desk he walked over to me and backed me into the corner, poking me in the chest and said, "Say something, faggot!"
     I said, "Leave me alone!"
     One of my more unfortunate traits used to be when I got truly angry, I started to cry.  When Football Player jabbed me in the chest again, I was crying and not knowing what to do and without any fighting skills, I decided to remove the unpleasant situation from my immediate vicinity.  I yelled, and pushed him as hard as I could across the room into a row of desks by the classroom door.  He sat up, dazed and as surprised as I was.  I continued to cry.  Mrs. Boyd stood in the doorway in stunned silence. 
     Football Player stood on wobbly legs with the help of his girlfriend and limped from the room, looking at me in confusion.  My friends surrounded me and told me, when I was angry at myself for crying, "It's ok to cry."  Mrs. Boyd asked me how I was and I apologized for what happened and left the room.
    As the reality of what happened slowly sunk in, I walked somewhat proudly into the hallway.  I still couldn't believe what had happened.  As it does in most small schools, word traveled quickly and I heard the report of our 'fight'. 
     "Football Player made Dusty cry in Mrs. Boyd's class."  "Football Player made you cry?  Damn."
     When I protested that I had won the fight, the repeated response was, "You cried.  How can you say you won if you cried?"
     I guess sometimes losers get to re-write history if they are assumed to be winners.