Cruelties Given: Matthew Blackman

Behind Pennington Elementary sat six little trailer-like classrooms called "portables," though I don't think they ever went anywhere. In one of them we had PE in the winters, which mainly entailed stretching and forced square-dancing. In remember one day sitting in a row indian-style, our backs against the wall. Most of us had our sweatshirts or sweaters on, and then the coaches kept the portable so hot. Our parents had lovingly layered us, we who shuffled from the heat of the main building through the cold to the steam of the portables. Everyone so afraid of the cold. We were in a row, faces forward likely receiving instructions for the next activity. No, now I remember, and this makes more sense (or because it makes more sense, I'm remembering it). Mrs. Gleaves had stepped out of the room for a moment and we had been positioned where we were and warned with the great ontological imperative: "Be good." We sat in silence, sure that the moment we did anything besides being good she would walk back in. We sat in silence and for reasons I can't now remember I got up and walked seven paces to the right in front of Matthew Blackman. I leaned down in front of him and punched him hard in the stomach. He slumped forward, crying, forehead on the floor as I walked back to my spot and sat in silence as before. Had I been waiting for such an opportunity? What had he done to deserve the blow? I don't remember. "Be good." Could be more constructively phrased. "Do good," maybe. "Continue to do what you're doing." Mrs. Gleaves walked back in with the cold behind her, and seeing Matthew doubled over said sternly "What happened?!?!" I don't remember if I confessed, or if the other kids outted me. Or if Matthew and everyone else were afraid to speak, and we all just silently commenced with the square-dancing, no one wanting to dance with the kid who punches people cold.