Jacob and the Brute...Round 1

#Bullying No matter how hard I try, even as an eight-year old, I can never seem to hold it until I get home from school. And of course, there would be an apple-juice box in my lunch sack today...jeez! That stuff seems to run right through me, its worse than OJ. Thanks for the packing job mom!

Why do I say things like that? It’s not her fault that her son is a “Nancy” (that’s what my dad calls my older brothers when they can't handle a little “rough and tumble” around the wood shed on the farm). I bet they would be tough enough to brave the bathroom at school. Heck, even Mom could handle the “Brute”, if she were here that is.

Mom, what do I do? I have gotta go bad, but I was already warned at recess that the beatdown was coming today! Besides, I already know what dad would say. “Boy...you better hit him first and right between the eyes and bust em' good, ya hear!” No doubt old Oliver Rane would just stomp right onto those tiles in that old smelly restroom and pop the Brute really good. I wish I was more like him, like my my brothers, like any one but me. Why is that Billy the Brute chose me, why is that my head has to be plunged into that smelly pee in the toilet? Lucky me!

Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five...ahh forget it! I'm tired of counting the locker doors as I slowly step to my death, feeling like that fella in the movie my dad watches all the time... Dead Man Walking. I would rather go home with hair smelling like urine than walk by Jennifer and Brianna to the bus after I have wet pants. A kid my age is guaranteed a beating for sure if that happens, I'll take the toilet and a skinned backside for twenty Alex! Thank you!

So, there above me is the dreaded sign C-Hall Boys Rest Room

I might as well enter the lavatory of death...ooh...I can smell my future SIGNATURE scent...D-Day “toilet”...it is a horrible stench. With God’s Grace, I can reach the first urinal, do my business and flee, maybe I can sneak to the right and hang the corner.

Ahh...! Hey!! It’s almost as if a dark, cold, grim reaper is near, like a presence behind me, hopefully it is just this drafty old school building and my paranoia. While it is great to be rid of this immense pressure bottled up from 6am this morning, I’ve gotta get moving. Man! What’s that smell? It wreaks of Slim-Jims and stale peanut butter!

“Jacob Rane...It's time to pay up buttercup!”

_Oh no...it's the Brute!

(to be continued...)