Punch Gut Lunch
This is the first writing assignment for the writing course I'm taking. The assignment was to write about an event from my life in 500 words or less from a single point of view. Here's mine.
Lunch time was one of the few times of the day where I actually interacted with people. I didn't have many friends outside of school, so the few girls that wanted me to sit with them at lunch was the closest I got to friendship and social interaction of peers. The cafeteria had those long white tables that folded in half when not used. Five girls, including me, took up the far end of one table, next to us sat a group of boys, and the rest of the table was taken up by various other groups. It was a dog eat dog world where anything goes to get a seat and the loners eat by themselves in the bathroom.
The girls were already seated, so were the boys. I went to my usual spot and found I had nowhere to sit. My usual spot was rudely occupied.
I glowered, "That's my seat." I stood over him. I felt like everyone was staring at me.
"No it's not. I'm sitting here." He barely acknowledged me.
"Go sit somewhere else," I said.
"No. You go sit somewhere else."
The girls jumped to my defense and the boys jumped to his. They argued, passionately on either side. I continued to feel conspicuous and stupid. I only occasionally interjected half hearted pleas on my own behalf. I was ignored.
I saw his hand move under the table half a second before I felt the knot in my stomach. I lost my breath, I gasped and choked. My stomach turned in knots.
"So this is what it feels like to get punched," I thought.
I clutched my stomach and tried to breathe through it, regain my breath. I felt the tears well up and spill over. I wiped them away, hoping no one noticed.
Everyone was still arguing. No one had seen him punch me.
Marc looked up at me. "Are you crying?" he asked.
"No." I lied.
Everyone stared at me. I felt my face heat up. I wanted to crawl away and hide.
"She's crying because she can't sit here. Because he took her seat."
The girls stared. The boys laughed. I walked away.
Not one to shirk my duties as a good student and teacher's pet I walked up to one of my
favorite teachers who was on lunch duty.
"Brian punched me in the stomach," I said.
He looked at me, "What happened?"
"He took my seat. We were trying to get him to move and he just punched me. I was just standing there."
"Where are you sitting? Show me."
We walked back over to the table. I felt smug in my success at getting him in trouble.
Everyone stared. I think they wondered why I would tattle just because I couldn't sit at the table.
The teacher leaned forward, "I suggest you find somewhere else to sit." Then he walked away.
I stared after him, incredulous. That was it? No detention? No office visit?
Arguments broke out again.
Lunch time was one of the few times of the day where I actually interacted with people. I didn't have many friends outside of school, so the few girls that wanted me to sit with them at lunch was the closest I got to friendship and social interaction of peers. The cafeteria had those long white tables that folded in half when not used. Five girls, including me, took up the far end of one table, next to us sat a group of boys, and the rest of the table was taken up by various other groups. It was a dog eat dog world where anything goes to get a seat and the loners eat by themselves in the bathroom.
The girls were already seated, so were the boys. I went to my usual spot and found I had nowhere to sit. My usual spot was rudely occupied.
I glowered, "That's my seat." I stood over him. I felt like everyone was staring at me.
"No it's not. I'm sitting here." He barely acknowledged me.
"Go sit somewhere else," I said.
"No. You go sit somewhere else."
The girls jumped to my defense and the boys jumped to his. They argued, passionately on either side. I continued to feel conspicuous and stupid. I only occasionally interjected half hearted pleas on my own behalf. I was ignored.
I saw his hand move under the table half a second before I felt the knot in my stomach. I lost my breath, I gasped and choked. My stomach turned in knots.
"So this is what it feels like to get punched," I thought.
I clutched my stomach and tried to breathe through it, regain my breath. I felt the tears well up and spill over. I wiped them away, hoping no one noticed.
Everyone was still arguing. No one had seen him punch me.
Marc looked up at me. "Are you crying?" he asked.
"No." I lied.
Everyone stared at me. I felt my face heat up. I wanted to crawl away and hide.
"She's crying because she can't sit here. Because he took her seat."
The girls stared. The boys laughed. I walked away.
Not one to shirk my duties as a good student and teacher's pet I walked up to one of my
favorite teachers who was on lunch duty.
"Brian punched me in the stomach," I said.
He looked at me, "What happened?"
"He took my seat. We were trying to get him to move and he just punched me. I was just standing there."
"Where are you sitting? Show me."
We walked back over to the table. I felt smug in my success at getting him in trouble.
Everyone stared. I think they wondered why I would tattle just because I couldn't sit at the table.
The teacher leaned forward, "I suggest you find somewhere else to sit." Then he walked away.
I stared after him, incredulous. That was it? No detention? No office visit?
Arguments broke out again.