Humble Pie

 

I knew I was gonna die…and I was 13 years old.

 

I had turned 13 over the weekend and I was an official teenager now.

There were lots of perks to turning 13 in my extended crazy family.

1)      I would get to sit at the big table during holidays

2)      My one titty hair had popped out over night from my left nipple

3)      Both testicles finally dropped into place.

4)      I woke up with a “stiffie” and it wouldn’t go away

5)      My muscles felt bigger

6)      My chest stuck out more

7)      I didn’t have to sit on anyone’s lap to drive to the store for their beer anymore

8)      I would get to hear my parents tell my siblings “Because he’s 13, that’s why!”….That was the sweetest thing by far…

I was almost a man grown now.

My birthday was during the first week of school starting again and I would show up as a 13 year old that was going to the 9^th grade.

You couldn’t tell me A DAMN THANG!

 

 Just feel my muscle…see?

I’d finally arrived…

You know what the truly best thing was?

I would get to sit at the back of the school bus with the bullies, the smokers and the girls that were just starting out with make-up and Cyndi Lauper hair-dos.

Rumor had it that Darlene and Marlene Wilkerson would let you touch their boobs for a dollar each boob.

I had birthday money now….$10.

I was gonna get to grab me some boobies!

But LO…! How the mighty are humbled in their quests!

Mrs. Durham, the bus driver, who had been driving our bus since I was in the first grade told me happy birthday as I climbed up the steps into the bus.

It was surreal. I was a different man now.

Mrs. Bobbie (her name) smiled and asked me if I wanted to sit up front and run the door opener for her. 

This in itself was a distinguished duty.

I would get to open the doors to let the kids in or out at each stop.

 I had done it many times.

But now I looked at her like the menial public flunkie that she was.

“I’m going to the back” I said with much gravity as I pushed my “stiffie” back into place.

She understood…but still smiled at me.

She knew that this was a rite of passage. “Okay” she said, “Don’t be smoking back there” she gave me a wink.

“Hmmph” I thought with disdain. I don’t smoke cigarettes. Just yesterday my Uncle Chris had let me smoke my first pot out behind the barn.

I was a man. I was above cigarettes. I was a pot-head now too.

I turned down the aisle and looked toward the back of the bus. It seemed to be moving away from me.

I saw that the Wilkerson twins were on opposite sides of the aisle…and they were wearing halter tops!

I pushed my hand into my pocket, moved my stiffer “stiffie” to one side and clasped my $10 bill in my fist.

“Pay dirt” I thought.

I saw Marty O’Hearn sitting in the very back seat. He was waving at me to come back to his seat. Marty was 13 too, but he had turned 13 right after school ended. He was a smoker AND a pot head.

I wasn’t carrying any books so my hands were free.

I stood a little taller as I started to walk down the aisle, putting a hand on corresponding seat backs as I moved toward the back of the bus. (You know how you do on a bus)

I looked down at all the smaller, younger kids as I passed over them. They stared up at me in loving admiration and awe as I passed the 13 zone.

I stopped.

Sherry Parrots 8 year old little sister Beth was standing in the aisle, blocking my greatness…my ascent into glory.

She had a hand on the backs of opposite seats and was swinging like a pendulum between them. She wasn’t even looking at the aisle. She was watching her feet swing.

I said with dignity “Move Beth” and she swung her feet up and kicked me in my balls.  

Only men can understand this pain.

 It’s raw….a spirit world pain.

Her feet connected with both testicles. They exploded into a myriad of pain fireworks and considered the priesthood.

As her feet continued up in their arc of neuter-dom, her shoes broke my “stiffie” into four separate pieces, broke my zipper and un-hooked my belt.

Loose change flew out of my pockets!

I spewed puke over everyone in a ten seat radius!

In that split second of remaining clear vision I saw the Wilkerson sisters wide open eyes, their boobs straining against their halter tops. I saw Marty grab his own crotch in a protective gesture.

Men do that you know, when we see another guy get kicked in the hoo ha’s…we can’t help it. It’s a reflex….you know..? In case there’s loose nut shrapnel flying around.

As I crashed down into a crumpled fetal position on the aisle between the seats, I could see Beth’s feet still swinging above my head.

I was coughing and gagging, clutching at my now empty crotch.

I think I saw my balls fly out when I had puked and guessed they were now probably stuck in Darlene’s or Marlene’s Cyndi Lauper hair-dos

No one was screaming. No one was crying.

I just lay there on that floor, a humbled, whimpering young man…nutless.

Sherry Parrot snatched her soon to be dead younger sister back by the hair and shoved her into a seat. Then she slapped the piss out of her and scolded her by saying “You don’t kick boy’s there!”

“He was in my way!” the little nut stomper screamed back. Sherry smacked her soon to be dead ass little sister again.

I made a promise in my mind…a blood vendetta…By the power of the Force…As soon as I found my balls, grew another “stiffie”, and got out of the intensive care unit…she was a dead man…or girl…whatever.

I’d kick her in her balls…see how she likes that shit!

That’s for damn sure!

Sherry knelt down over me. “Are you okay?” she asked kindly…concern in her beautiful eyes.

All I could do was hold up my hand as if to be helped to my knees, because there’s no way I could stand just now.

As I reached for her, the $10 bill fell from my quivering fingers and dropped onto the aisle.

It slowly unraveled from a small wadded knot into an opening rose of cash.

Sherry stared at the money.

 As I reached to retrieve it, she picked it up.

She looked up toward the front of the bus, then side to side.

She moved closer and leaned over me.

She slowly pulled up her shirt.

Business is Business I guessed.

Best birthday ever!

 

Epilogue: My balls you might ask…? Oh, they came back on their own a couple of days later.

 Drunk and ill used.

But now I know where they are at least…

In a mason jar on my ex-wife’s mantle piece above the fireplace.