Trent's smashed 10-speed

When I was about 10, Joshua and I were riding around on our bikes when we spied this older kid (read: bigger than us) we didn't really know all that well. We decided to call him names, and figured for some reason that he'd laugh about it with us. After a short amount of namecalling, we realized the guy wasn't who we thought he was, and he really didn't know us at all. We were in the fourth grade, and it turned out this guy was in the seventh grade in a different school. He was mad. So, we called him a few more names as we rode away as fast as we could. It was all fine and good and as soon as we got a block away, we probably forgot about the whole thing. We didn't have a good grasp of future consequences from present actions.

Later, in a backlane that formed a T junction, we were riding across the top of the T towards the junction when Trent, the kid who was much bigger than us and we had been calling names, came flying out of the lane with his 10 speed in an attempt to cut us off (ostensibly for a beating). In panic, Josh veered off left through a small parking lot and took off. In panic, I decided to plow right through Trent's bike with mine. I went straight at him, pedaling as fast as I could, and actually ran over his front tire, knocking him over with his bike and momentarily pinning him to the ground. I didn't look back and sped away as fast as I could.

I lived close by, and my Dad was puttering around out in our driveway as I sped into the backyard and put away my bike. I was homefree! Dad represented safety from the wandering barbarian, wherever he might be, so I decided to stick by him. I should have just gone inside, but I wanted to know where Trent had gone. By stroke of luck, he was walking down my street, carrying the front half of his bike in the air. His front wheel was bent like an Escher clock! He spotted me and wheeled it over to tell my Dad that I had just ruined his bike.

My blood ran cold. Surely I would not be beaten by Trent now, but when my Dad saw what I did to this kid's bike I figured I'd be toast. Normally, if I did something bad, I would be punished. Neither parent let me get away with anything. This time, face to face with my accuser, my Dad just looked at him with a wry smile and said "So?"

"I want it fixed!", demanded Trent reasonably.
"So get it fixed.", shrugged my Dad.

"Who's gonna pay for it?", again demanded Trent.
"I guess you are.", said Dad.

Trent realized he was getting nowhere, and walked away. Of course, I had no illusions that that would be the end of it. That guy chased me for the next two years. He would spring out of a back alley, be waiting behind a neighbor's garbage cans, or just see me randomly and start chasing me. He never caught me. It turns out I'm a good runner. Eventually he gave it up, but even for the next few years after that, I was pretty nervous around him. His arm muscles were bigger than my legs after he hit puberty.

In all fairness, I think Trent was probably a pretty nice guy. Maybe that's just the Stockholm Syndrome talking, but I just was pleased as punch that he wasn't punching me. Throughout all these events, I was clearly the asshole and deserved my comeuppance.

BMac

ps. I was putting in the labels for this post, but decided "kids", "asshole", and "cruising" [for a] "bruising" were not such good things to have together. It attracts the wrong crowd. Please help to suggest better labels.

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