Richie rolled over and jumped to his feet in an instant, his fists raised, an obscene epitaph on his lips. And then he saw who had tripped him. He stopped.
"You oughtta be more careful asshole." I told him conversationally, continuing to walk by. "You can get hurt falling down around here."
I didn't look back at him, just continued to walk down the hall towards my class. Behind me the cheerleaders were still chuckling. I wasn't attacked from behind. I knew I wouldn't be. A smile was on my face as I found the right classroom and went about the task of learning to drive a car.
The next day as Mike and I entered the school there was no Richie Fairview positioned out front, nor were there any of his goon squad. It seemed they'd finally learned the lesson. So I'd succeeded in clearing out a threat to helpless freshmen and sophomores everywhere. Richie would probably fade into joking obscurity, I figured, robbed of his most potent weapon, his reputation. In a way I was somewhat disappointed. I had actually been kind of looking forward to another confrontation with the dumb slob.
Oh well, there were plenty more bullying assholes I could deal with. I was actually starting to see myself as some sort of superhero, fighting for the rights of the oppressed, battling the forces of evil, my very name revered by all. I wondered if I could force Richie to start paying back the kids he'd ripped off. I could picture it, ordering him to give a dollar a day to every kid he'd ever robbed. And if he ever gave them any shit, they could come to the GREAT BILLY for help and justice.
I was standing at my locker, Mike beside me, running these amusing thoughts through my brain when my instinct alerted me to danger. Perhaps it was my peripheral vision, catching just a glimpse of a dark figure moving towards me, maybe it was my ears, hearing the advance of a footstep, perhaps it was some sort of sixth sense, but suddenly all of the instincts I'd developed from my years on the streets told me something was coming from behind me. I reacted quickly, but not quickly enough.
I turned, raising my hands into a defensive posture just as Richie Fairview swung at me. I raised my arm to protect my head, automatically assuming that's where he would strike me. Because of that the blow that was aimed at my body struck home, hitting on my left flank and driving the wind from me. My first thought upon being struck was that it hurt, but that it wasn't that bad. I was still standing and it was time to play some catch-up.
His right hand pulled away from my body and prepared to move forward for another blow. I stepped forward and grabbed at his wrist just as he started the second swing. I caught his wrist neatly in my hands and started to pull it forward, intending to spin him around and push him against the lockers where I could batter his vulnerable back and kidney region. Maybe I could put the fucker into renal failure. But as I started the maneuver that would have put this plan into motion I looked down for an instant at his hand, the one I was holding.
The hand wasn't empty. There was a buck knife in it. The blade, which was about five inches long, was stained with blood.
The implications of this hit me immediately. I'd been stabbed in the abdomen! How bad was it?
Mike, noticing at about the same time as I did that Richie was playing for keeps, stepped behind him and threw his arm around Richie's neck, choking him, pulling him off balance. His other arm pulled at the knife hand, keeping it well away from me. The priority of the battle had just changed. The goal was no longer to beat the crap out of Richie, it was to get the knife out of his hands and end the confrontation as quickly as possible. I'd been stabbed!
I saw the best way to do it right before me. Richie, off balance and struggling against Mike had his legs spread wide in an attempt to keep his feet beneath him. I let go of the wrist, trusting Mike to keep the knife away from me and stepped forward, bringing my knee up into his crotch with all the force I could muster. I kneed him so hard that pain went shooting up my leg from my kneecap.
Richie squealed so loud that I'm surprised nearby windows didn't break. He began choking and gagging, the knife dropping forgotten from his hand, clattering on the cement floor of the hall. Mike, seeing the knife drop, kicked it clear and then let go of Richie, who dropped to the ground in a most ungraceful manner, curling immediately up into a ball. He began vomiting.
I backed up a few steps until I was against the locker. I leaned against it for support, feeling a deep, burning pain in my side now. I looked down at my left side, seeing nothing but a tear in my down jacket and a few feathers floating away on the air currents.
"Are you okay Bill?" Mike, trembling with adrenaline asked me. "Did he get you?"
"Yeah." I nodded, trying to remain calm. The halls around me were awash with excited conversation. I saw several teachers heading for us. I unzipped my coat and let it drop from my body. There was a small hole in my flannel shirt, the edges tinged with blood. I lifted the shirt revealing my bare skin.
"It don't look that bad." Mike said hopefully, examining the wound.
"Uh huh." I nodded, looking at it myself. It was about an inch in length, a slight amount of blood oozing from it, just below the bottom of my rib cage on the left side. Sure it didn't look bad from the outside; stab wounds rarely did; but what was damaged inside?
"You okay?" Mike asked me again, not liking what he was seeing in my face.
"I think I should sit down." I replied, doing so, my mind trying to recall the structures in that part of my body. The spleen was the first thing to come to mine. If my spleen had been lacerated I could bleed to death in a matter of minutes. My left kidney was also in there, depending on how deep and at what angle the knife had gone in, it could be in peril. If there had been an upward angle, could he have gotten the left lung? I had been stabbed! My mind kept yelling at me. Stabbed!
"What's going on here?" A teacher demanded after pushing his way through the crowd of kids. He took in the sight of Richie barfing and holding his damaged testes and of me sitting against the lockers with my shirt pulled up and blood oozing from a wound. He saw the knife sitting on the ground about ten feet away. Richie's friends had already made themselves scarce.
"He's been stabbed Mr. Johnson." Mike told the teacher.
"Stabbed?" Mr. Johnson said, alarmed, shocked. Remember that this was 1982, long before such things became commonplace in schools. "Are you all right young man?"
"No." I said, looking up into the teacher's face. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?"
"What are you… "
"Shut UP!" I told him. "I have been stabbed in the left upper abdominal quadrant. I need to get to a hospital immediately. Please go call for an ambulance."
"But who… "
"Never mind that shit!" I yelled forcefully. "Go call a fucking ambulance. Now!"
That got him moving. By that time more teachers had reached the scene anyway.
The ambulance showed up and I almost got the screaming horrors when I saw who the paramedic was. It was Ken Tully, who would be operations manager from the time I got hired until our small company was purchased by a national corporation four years later at which time he would get a severance package along with the rest of the old management. Ken had been the biggest prick on two legs, serving as hatchet man for the owner of the company. It had never occurred to me that he'd once been a field paramedic. I didn't think he could possibly be a good one. This was a freaking nightmare.
But much to my surprise and delight, he was competent at his job. He dressed the wound and started two large bore IVs on me on the way to the trauma center. He even had a decent bedside manner, continually telling me I'd be all right, explaining that he was just taking precautions by cutting off all of my clothes and plugging two garden hoses into my veins. If I hadn't been so scared I might have taken time to wonder what would happen to him in the future to make him such a dick.