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I never saw it coming. My words were cut off in my throat. Tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn’t get any breath. Any wind I
had Harley knocked out of me when he sprung.
The funny thing was I didn’t really think about any of that or even about what to do. Instead, I started thinking about the chokehold
itself. Pictures flashed across my mind, from movies and TV mostly, and from wrestling matches and even music videos too.
What I was thinking was, wow! If I were going to choke someone I’d have just lunged for their throat, grabbed it, and squeezed
with both hands.
But not Harley. He had me up against the lockers, all his weight, and I do mean all of it, pressed hard, leaning into me. His right
forearm was locked up under my chin, the pressure on my throat firm and steady. His left arm held my right at the wrist, slammed
up and away from my body, so I had nothing to fight with, except for a flailing left arm that I uselessly flapped around like I was
trying to shoo away a fly instead of fight for my life.
It occurred to me that Harley didn’t just see this on TV, like me. He had lived it. He had seen it, learned it, first hand. He’d been
on the receiving end. I thought about those burns on his back and the black eye and bruises from that mystery fight with a kid
nobody saw over a bike that didn’t exist. And I thought about his mom, Nadia, wet tears, hair in her face, bent over the cutlery
and broken glass that was scattered across her kitchen floor.
Harley wasn’t just giving beatings. He was getting them. And I was willing to bet he was getting just as much, if not more, than
he ever gave. All that tough guy shit was just a front. But what a time for the light bulb to go on. Just before the lights went out.
All of these thoughts, the scenes from the silver screen, they danced around in my head. I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe. I
could hear all right though. From somewhere, the ocean came roaring up, out of one of the classrooms I supposed, and it
barreled down the hallway full speed. It was dark, so I knew the water was upon us, taking us down into its depths, even though I
didn’t feel the least bit wet.
The water kept rushing around me, my ears were ringing with the sound, and I kept coughing and coughing. I heard Kenny’s
voice over the roar. I hoped he’d brought a life preserver or something. We were drowning, Harley and me. Drowning, dizzy,
spinning around in a whirlpool of water. Kenny was yelling at Harley. “Go on, get out of here!”
Yes, I thought. Get out of here, Harley. Save yourself. Don’t let him touch you. Don’t let the Pizza-Face hurt you no more.
Then the ringing stopped and I was dry.
Kenny was kneeling on the floor, looking down at me. “You okay?”
