Everyone remembers their childhood bullies. No matter who they were: the victims of the bullies' heartless attacks, the bullies themselves, or the blessed few that somehow remained untouched by the bullies' grasping claws of death, everyone remembers those awful tormentors. Of all the bullies I have known so far, there is one that stands out above all of the rest. I was five years old at the time, a shy and quiet little kid who didn't say too much, and he was a big and scary third grader who just wouldn't leave me alone on the bus. I will never forget that sudden spark of brilliance I had when I outsmarted the boy, and thus vanquished my one true bus-ride enemy.I can't quite remember exactly how or when the taunting started. The only thing I do know for sure is that every day, the minute I got on the bus, I knew that that big red-haired, freckle-faced third-grader would start his evil work. His constant teasing was never really that harmful (or intelligent, for that matter), and the physical abuse never extended further than the occasional poking, pinching, or hair pulling. But trust me, it was annoying! There I was, sitting quietly in my seat, looking out of the window, minding my own business, and that darn third-grader would start pulling my hair or throwing papers at me, depending on where he sat that day. He was never sitting very far.
Finally, one day, everything changed. It was to be one of the most important days of my life.
After school had ended, I got on the bus as usual, and sat in the first empty seat I came across. Minutes after the bus started moving, who should pop his head over the back of the seat in front of me but the bane of my bus-ride. "Hello," he said, flipping open a book about snakes, turning to a particularly disgusting and colorful photograph of a snake devouring a small frog, and then holding the page inches from my face. "Isn't that disgusting?"
I nodded and turned my head, grimacing.
"Yeah, well, wanna see something even more disgusting?"
I shook my head.
"Well look at this."
I glanced over at the new page he'd flipped to. It was a picture of an eagle tearing apart a snake. I squeezed my eyes tightly together.
He laughed. "Yeah, isn't it cool?" He then reached over, attempting to pull my hair. I quickly took out my cherry-flavored chapstick and swiped it over his hand. "Eeeewwww! What the heck is that? Eww! It's lipstick, isn't it?" My chapstick happened to have a slight ruddy tinge to it.
I nodded, suddenly inspired. "Yeah, and I'll put some more on you if you come near me! I'll put it on your mouth, too!"
You'd think, wouldn't you, that this third-grader, who was in all probability a good three years older than me, with that added three years of wisdom, would know the difference between chapstick and lipstick. But strangely (and fortunately for me), he didn't. So from that moment on, this third-grader whom I feared and loathed for months (which seemed like centuries to a five-year-old) left me alone, turning to some other poor five-year-old who did not have the good fortune to own cherry-flavored chapstick for his ill-gotten fun. My bus rides were a lot happier after that.
The simple cleverness I had demonstrated against my enemy back then is something I will forever remember with a smile. The use of tinted, cherry-flavored chapstick as a weapon proved to be a truly ingenious idea, and I believe it will remain one of the most resourceful moments of my life. In a sense, it was kind of a David-and-Goliath sort of story, with similar morals. And to all bullies out there in the world, I say this much: do not underestimate your victim. The little people will defeat you in the end.
