Through no fault of her own, Leta's 15-year-old daughter Vivian found herself physically trapped between the inappropriate advances of
two rough boys in the neighborhood. She and her12-year-old brother Dale were
walking home after a summer afternoon at the library. It had been particularly
hot and humid for several days, and everyone was feeling the strain. They
always passed the large Victorian boarding house, where a handful of men and
teenaged boys passed their time in trite conversation and imbibing in illegal
alcohol. Vivian always followed her mother’s instructions completely when
passing by: She picked up her pace, she looked straight ahead, she drew herself
large like a bear and mostly held her breath. Having nothing more productive to
do, one or two of the men or boys noticed—they noticed everything—and made
inappropriate comments and invitations to amuse themselves at her—or anyone
other passer-by’s—expense. As she was most frequently seen with a handful of
books, they referred to Vivian as “teacher,” drawing great pleasure by mocking
her.
Mostly, things never went farther than a few catcalls, which
she could easily ignore. Once or twice during the summer months, one of the
boys would disengage himself from the collective and run to the edge of the
yard. When this occurred, Vivian would walk even faster, and like well-trained
dogs, none would follow her beyond the property line, out of the protection of
the “band of ruffians,” as her mother Leta referred to the collection of males.
This afternoon, however, two of the boys became brazen, and
between them, they had trapped Vivian, holding her arms to prevent her flight
and after several inappropriate lecherous comments and sneers, were about to
force their chapped and peeling lips to hers.
Vivian winced in terror, closed her eyes and started to shake
her head. Actually, she was shaking her entire body in order to free herself
from the iron grip of the boys.
“Don’t struggle, teacher,” one of the boys cackled. “I
guarantees you’ll like it.”
Vivian could not recall if she heard the voice before or after
the loud thwacking sound, but she did feel a physical jolt, and the boy with
the python-like grip suddenly released her and started howling.
“I don’t think so,” a firm female voice declared.
“Mother?” Vivian gasped.
As she opened her eyes, she saw her mother strike the second
boy with a broom. Leta held the bristle end and with great precision and
strength struck the boy across the side of his face.
He immediately pulled away from her to protect himself, and
that was her mother’s intent. Certainly, Leta would have liked to hurt the
crude and vicious boys, but she would settle for freeing her daughter and
leaving them with the understanding that assaulting either of her children or
herself would be avenged with forceful bodily harm.
The boys were still reeling from the initial blows and
slightly off-balance, when one after the other, she poked them in the stomach
with the broom handle.
“Now, get out of here,” Leta ordered firmly.
One of the boys appeared to test her orders and she quickly
jabbed the broom handle in his direction, forcing him to jump back.
“Yeah, sure, lady,” he said. “Whatevah ya want.”
Leta was arching her frame and glaring at Vivian’s
antagonists. Brandishing the broom fiercely, she drove the two boys back to
their own yard. They stepped backwards at first, but then turned and moved more
quickly.
Without a word, Vivian picked up her books. As she and her
mother started walking the rest of the way home, she could see Dale two houses
down, watching. He had obviously taken advantage of the boys’ disinterest in
him and run home.
“Everything all right?” he asked as they approached. He was
bouncing from one foot to the other.
“Everything is fine, darling,” Leta said. She was still tense,
but relaxing.
“Mother, I—“ Vivian started.
“—No need to explain,” Leta said.
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