A.M. Henry [Henry - This Broken Road

Ive backed myself into a pretty tight corner, but I think, somewhere in my subconscious, I did all of this on purpose. So I can do something other than wander from class to class in total silence.

Youre such a sissy! I shout with as much venom as I can muster.

In the heat of the moment, words fail me. There are so many things I want to call him, but once I open my mouth I cant think of anything.

Ryan Reagan does his best to ignore me, but hes not the type of guy who can just let insults go, especially insults that question his manhood. I had followed him out of school and waited until he officially stepped off of school property before I started in on him.

Hey, Ryan, I had called, and he stopped and turned, face blank. Youre a real piece of shit, you know that? I usually dont swear, but the jocks in this school dont understand anything unless you swear at them.

I watched the emotions play out on his facethe blank expression turned to the half-smile of the village idiot. Clearly, he didnt think I meant it, so I kept going.

Youre a coward, I spat.

The smile fell sideways off his chiseled face.

Whatd you call me? Ryan said. He tried to keep his voice even, tried to appear calm, but hostility is just part of his aura.

You heard me, I growled. A COWARD. A small crowd had gathered behind me by then. Perfect. The worst kind of coward, I continued. I mean, what kind of big brave man needs five of his huge friends to beat up one guy?

A calm confidence replaced the look on Ryans face. Now he knew what this is about.

Whatever. He turned his back on me.

That was when I screamed that he was a sissy.

Ryan throws an arrogant smile over his shoulder, displaying perfect teeth. He shrugs as though it doesnt matter, as though Derekbattered and bleeding and forced to stay in the hospital overnight and humiliated and getting fitted for dental implants to replace two of his permanent teethwas just some punk who got beat up and deserved it.

I feel white-hot anger boiling up somewhere just below my rib cage. I start walking towards Ryan.

Like you ever would have gone near him on your own, I say. Noyou needed four other football players to back you up before you even touched him. I bet you dont even have the balls to fight me without backup.

He laughs at that.

Youre gonna try and challenge me to a fight now? What are we, back in second grade?

I shrug off his laughter and try to sound nonchalant, try to pretend I dont know that half the school stands behind me, watching.

I figured youd be too scared, I say. You might lose. No; you will lose, and how would that look? Ryan Reagan, beat to a pulp by a five-foot girl because he didnt have half the football team to save his ass. My heart beats a million miles a minute and I cant believe I managed to say all that without stuttering or stumbling over my words. Pig, I add as an afterthought.

I have never hated anyone as much as I hate him right now.

He laughs again. Girl? he jeers. Youre not a girl, Angela. Youre a whore, and a junkie.

Hes annoyed now. Ill have to aim lower to really get him mad.

Junkie, maybe. But whore? I say. If I was a whore, I would have screwed you sophomore year when you were practically begging for it. But I dont screw cowards.

He lets out that macho-man guffaw again, but its lost some of its previous luster.

Come on, Ryan, I step forward. I bet you cant even land one punch. Your aims always been awful.

A few people behind me snigger and whisper and Ryans face turns red. I struggle to hold my ground. Dont start the fight; let him throw the first punch. I try to channel all the rage I feel into one giant, blood-red ball of fury.

Funny, if you think about it, I say. You and all those other guys ganging up on him, all jumping on top of him like that. Makes you wonder who the real fags are.

Something inside Ryan Reagans brain snaps. Only two or three feet remain between us at this point, and he takes a couple steps towards me, shoulders hunched forward like he means business.

Whatd you call me?

He still wont hit me. I didnt want to start the fight, but now I think, screw it. I do something I have wanted to do since second grade: I punch Ryan Reagan in the face.

Its not a very good punch; my knuckles catch his ear and his temple. He stumbles backward a step, and then he comes at me.

The blow hits me in the stomach, and I can tell by the way he tries to wrap his other arm around my back that he thinks Ill go down immediately and the fight will be over, and that pisses me off. Winded or not, Im not going down. I have a lack of height on my side and aim a fist straight up, hitting him squarely in the chin, which sends his bottom jaw crashing into the top one so hard he actually cries out. He grabs his mouth and tries to back off, but I kick him in the ankle, throwing him off balance, and he topples over.

My luck runs out then. Ryans either really pissed or he realizes that I wont go down easily. He gets up, one hand still on his mouth, and comes at me, but I stand my ground, ready to fight him.

The rest of the fight is less dramatic, and the whole thing probably lasts like ten seconds. We punch and kick and miss a lot and scuffle in a sort of frantic, disorganized schoolyard fight until I take a step in the wrong direction.

We had managed to stay on the sidewalk throughout the whole showdown, but then I take that one step and my left foot slips off the curb. It throws me off balance, I fall sideways, and all my weight lands on my left leg. My left leg, with the bad knee and the bad hip. I go down fast, because my leg twists at the wrong angle, and I roll into the street, trying not to cry out from the paina burning, screaming pain that erupts from under my left kneecap and shoots up to my hip in waves. The kind of pain where I dont know whether to cry or vomit. The fight doesnt matter anymore; I just want to curl up into a ball until the pain stops.