THE FIGHT ON A HUNDRED AND NINETEENTH STREET HILL
No one remembered who threw the first punch, but we all remembered the fight.
It had snowed furiously the night before and today the hill at 119th Street was hot for runners. As soon as I got home from school, I changed into my snow suit, put on my black buckled boots; the kind that had to be loosened now and again to let out the snow that found its way inside; a cap tied under my chin that I constantly pushed back from my eyes, a scarf that dangled in front and mittens that found it hard to stay on. I quickly dressed, grabbed my Canadian Flyer and headed for the hill to play until darkness set in.
My brother and sister were already there as well as the Thomas brothers, the Wilsons and the Wheelers. The hill was alive with excitable children making their way to the top dragging their sleds behind. One Hundred and Nineteenth Street was one of the last hills in the city to be sanded and plowed and virtually stayed free of traffic. We thought this hill was ours alone, and typical of 11 and 12 years old, would not think of sharing it with anyone.
This day the O’Connors decided to show up. They were two brothers who lived a few blocks away and they were older and bigger than the rest of us. They decided that our hill would be good for their sliding area and began to pick fights with some of the smaller kids. They crashed their sleds into others as we all raced to the bottom of the hill. This was not going to do. We were not going to fear every time we came here for the rest of the winter and I couldn't see loosing this hill to their bullying ways, so I made a stand. The other kids looked up to me because I was the oldest and I knew they were waiting for me to make my move. Besides, I could fight just as well as any boy even if he was bigger than I, and they were, but not by much.
I walked up to them and told them we didn't want them around and if they stayed, there would be trouble. The older one and I tested each other in a shoving match. I took off my scarf and handed it to my friend Sandy, thinking 'my mother is going to kill me if I ruin my scarf.' The other kids circled around and began to encourage me to "let him have it." Before I had time to think about it, I threw myself at him knocking him off balance and into a mound of snow. We wrestled back and forth in frozen space, each digging in with our feet attempting to get the advantaged position that would do some damage to the other. The cheering from my friends fostered my actions and just when I believed I was winning, he surprised me with a fistful of snow, mercilessly grinding it into my face. Icy slivers of snow pinpricked my checks and my air supply was being cut off as I struggled to break free. My eyes were stinging, my hair was matted with snow and I began to crunch little granules of dirt left behind by the snow that melted in my mouth. He had me pinned down with his body, flattened like a squashed bug. I felt a jolt of panic seize my senses as I looked into the faces of my friends. I bet I really looked like a hero to them now.
My mittens were no longer on my hands and my fingers fast growing numb. The snow in my hair began making its way down the back of my neck and despite the sweat I felt from an adrenaline rush, a chill convulsed my body. "Cry uncle!" he taunted. "Cry uncle!"
I felt so defeated I wanted to cry. I wanted to go home and sit by the heat of the radiator until I could feel my tows again. I really wanted to be any place but here. Then I noticed the crowd had hushed their encouraging cheers.
It happened in the instant of a breath. As he reached over to pick up another handful of snow, his weight shifted and I came up with a size seven black boot with sliver buckles and all the strength I could muster, kicked him a good one right in his midsection, sending him tumbling on his side grabbing his stomach. I scrambled on top of him and began pummeling his pink freckled cheeks with my fists. I must have looked like a crazed person with fists and hair flying all over the place.
The world righted itself to the sounds of my friends cheering and once again I was in command. I stood and the boy got up and signaled his brother to leave. As they pulled their sleds towards the direction of Fifth Avenue, I frantically dug through the snow looking for my mittens, thinking, 'my mother's going to kill me if I don't find my mittens.'
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