In elementary school I was a fairly popular kid. Popular enough to know most everyone in class. I had friends from the neighborhood there, like Oliver, Chris and Jeff. And I had a best friend too – Tim. He was the first kid in the neighborhood I’d met. Out of all the kids I knew Tim and I hungout the most. Our mutual interest in Star Wars was bond. We collected the action figures and ships, and played everything Star Wars as much as possible through grade school. Things changed for us though when we got into junior high. Being a top dog in 6th grade at Green Gables Elementary was a completely different life experience than being a 7th grade scrub at Carmody Junior High. 

Scrubs were what the 8th graders called 7th graders. And Tim and I were definitely scrubs. I was a goofy walking stick, and Tim was short. Together we stood out as scrubbable I’m sure. We’d heard the rumors about getting scrubbed- Swirlies in the toilet, underwear wedgies, or just getting shouldered as you walked down the hall. A scrubbing’s only limit was the imagination of the 8th grader up to the task. 

“Hey! Scrubs! Hold up!”
It was Tony Sanfalippo. He had a little buddy with him too.
“You two been scrubbed yet?”
Pushed and teased occasionally, but not actually scrubbed.
“No.”
“No, I don’t think so.”

For the life of me I can’t remember his little friend at all. My memory’s replaced him with that kid from A Christmas Story that hung around Farkus. But Tony, I remember. He was a beefed up metalhead with long hair. His bangs covered his eyes, and he was the only kid I’d ever seen who walked around with his shirt off at recess.

So he told us to lay down on the ground, and Tony came over and took my legs and folded me in half, my knees on either side of my head. And he held me down in this position with an arm.
“Now yer gonna count from 100 backwards and I’ll let you go.”

I swear, before this I’d never seen the guy. He wasn’t in a class, or in the halls, or anywhere. But kids knew who he was. I wasn’t crying. I was just doing the best I could counting down trying not to panic so I wouldn’t burst out crying.
“88, 87, 86, 85…”

And Tim had the same thing going on over there. I couldn’t see them. All I saw from between my knees was Tony’s lower face, hair where eyes should be.
“55, 54, 53, 52…”

Counting backwards from 100 takes a while. It’s enough time to think about things. To think about life, and at times even see it through someone else’s eyes. To reflect. And while I was reflecting on my situation, it seemed as if Tony was behaving less like a guy who was enjoying the torturing, and more like a guy tired of his job. He seemed bored. His friend was laughing and relishing every second. Tony looked like he wished he’d chosen a smaller number, like three.

When I finally reached zero he pushed me down into the ground a little more, then he let me up, and we waited there while they finished. 

“Ok, you guys have been scrubbed. If anyone else bothers you, just let us know. We’ll protect you.”
And they walked away. 

That was it. We’d been scrubbed and we never spoke of it. I don’t even remember seeing Tony or his buddy ever again. Not at school or the playground around the neighborhood. Although I’m sure if I even got a glimpse I would have turned and gone the other direction. He’s in the yearbooks. High school too. Tim and I outgrew our friendship partway through high school. We said hey to each other in the halls, but that was it. And I don’t have any memory of seeing Tony again until six years and a day later when I got my graduation photos developed.

That’s Tony right behind me.