The heavily tattoed lesbian discussed in the previous entry brought back chilling memories of a girl from grade school (circa 1958). I’ll never forget her. She may have been the meanest and most angry person I ever knew, and the scariest. We were in fourth or fifth grade. She dressed like a boy, as bad-ass a boy as she could. Black leather, belted biker’s jacket (Wild Ones) with blue jeans rolled up into cuffs and black leather bombers. She was maybe a year older than me.
We played ball on the adjacent lot after school. One day a crowd gathered when we heard her taunting a boy. She bullied often and this boy proved to be utterly defenseless. She easily knocked him to the ground and punished him the more that he cried for mercy. He was crying out loud, not speaking any words. We were all cringing in stunned silence. I assume everyone else was feeling what I was. It was like being startled by the sudden attack of an animal taking down the young of another species as a regular meal. It was not anything that I yet understood as human. None of us reacted.
She was causing her hapless victim pain and humiliation, but she wasn’t doing any real physical damage. That wasn’t necessary. She was demonstrating something that she wanted all of us to know about her. Be afraid; there is something very wrong with me and I won’t hesitate to show it to you.
It worked. I would never come within shouting distance of her. If she is still alive, I’m certain that she is covered in ink.