FIGHTING
   When I went back to St. Charles the year after the summer in Tijuana, I was real different. I started fighting all the time. At recess, instead of going to the little kids' playground right behind the new classrooms, I would go to the big field between the school and the convent where the Sister's lived. That's where the big kids played, in the field. The boys would play baseball and football or marbles sometimes, and mostly the girls would hang around the edges of the field laughing and giggling about the boys. The big girls were really pretty silly sometimes. But anyhow, I would go to the field and start a fight with one of the boys. I never fought with the girls; they didn't know how to fight.

    What I would do was pick out who I wanted to fight with that day. A lot of times I would pick Billy, the kid who broke his leg way back in first grade. Then I'd start running real hard at whoever I'd picked, with my head down low, and I'd try to hit him in the belly like a charging bull. At first I knocked down a lot of boys that way. They'd land on their butt, their breath all gone. And when they did get their breath back, they'd come roaring up at me and the fight would start. Later, after the boys got use to me charging that way, it was hard to surprise them and I didn't knock too many down then. But still my running at them like a raging bull would be enough to start the fight.

    Then everybody would gather around us while we fought, mostly cheering for the boy 'cause they knew I was the one who always started it. We'd fight in the dust, arms swinging wildly at each other, thrashing around madly until one of the Sister's would come running to stop the fight.

    Then we'd both get dragged off to Sister Mary Matthew's office 'cause she was the principal. At first she'd get real mad at the boy and punish him somehow, like making him stay in his classroom during lunch for a week or something like that. But after a while she kinda figured out, I guess, that I was the one starting the fights. So then usually she'd check over the boy to make sure I hadn't hurt him any and send him back out to the field. I'd be the one then that would have to spend a week in my classroom during lunch and not get to go out to play. But that was okay. I kind of liked it being by myself in the quiet, dim classroom. And I knew when my punishment was over I'd just go right back out to the field and fight again.

    Sister Mary Matthews asked me a lot of times how come I fought so much. But I didn't know how to tell her. It was just something inside that hurt real bad and the only thing I could ever figure out to do to make the hurting stop was make it hurt even more on the outside. So I'd fight. And I always fought boys bigger then me 'cause that way I was for sure gonna get hurt some. So then, for a while, the hurting on the outside would be more then the hurting on the inside and I'd be kinda peaceful feeling for a while. But I didn't know how to tell Sister that. So I'd just say 'cause I liked to and that would make her a little mad but she never punished me really bad like she did some of the bigger kids. She'd just kinda sigh real deep and send me off to my classroom where I'd be by myself and could just sit and feel peaceful inside for a little while.

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