PUNCH ME: PART TWO

PART ONE |  PART THREE

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I walked around the playground and then went inside, where the nerdier kids were playing videos, looking at their phones or playing board games across the rickety tables spread across the now-scratched gym floor.

Laying on the ratty sofa, reading some big thick paperback with a spaceship on the cover, was a mousy-looking boy who seemed to be completely buried in his own world. He wore dirty jeans and a faded t-shirt with some cartoon character I didn’t recognize.

I strolled over to the sofa and stood there until he saw I wanted to sit down. Still reading his book, he swung his feet back to the floor to make room for me.

I sat down next to him. He continued to ignore me. Usually, kids like this who didn’t like other kids stayed away from the rec center. It was clear that he kept to himself. I guessed his mom forced him to come.

“You want to make five dollars?” I asked him.

He kept reading his book. He probably thought I was talking to someone else.

“Hey,” I said, nudging him with my elbow, “you want to make five dollars easy?”

He looked at me with disdain, “Perv.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

He put down his book.

“What do you want?”

I could tell he was annoyed. That wasn’t a bad thing if I could get him to take the deal.

“I’ll pay you five dollars to punch me in the face.”

He shook his head, “Get away from me.” He resumed reading.

“I’m serious,” I told him, “You can hit as hard as you want.”

He looked at me again. I could tell he was curious. He already didn't like me, which probably made the offer that much more attractive.

“Why?”

“Does it matter? Five dollars.”

“As hard as I want?”

I nodded, “As hard as you want.”

He studied my face.

“Pay me first.”

I pulled out five dollars and handed it to him.

He looked at it, a little surprised, I think, and tucked it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” I told him.

He jumped up, carrying his book and following me outside. We circled around the back, where there were no adults to interfere. Fifty feet away, on the other side of the fence, semi-trucks were parked in a long line.

I stood with my back against the wall. He was a little shorter than me, but not too short. I was thirteen. He might be eleven, but he was almost as tall as I was.

“As hard as I want?”

I nodded, “Hard as possible.”

He placed his book carefully on the ground and started pacing back and forth in front of me. He was getting excited, which was good.

“As hard as I want?” he asked again.

“Do it,” I told him, "Do it as hard as you want."

He looked around to make sure no one was watching and then hit me in the left eye as hard as he could.

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