The Scourge Of My Childhood... And Now?

Please post here (1) the scene about your dreaded moment in childhood, and (2) the scene when the 'nasty' character is now twenty years older!

It was just a minor incident. It was just the one day. One day of being called a distorted form of your name. That day you betrayed an absolute and somatic dislike of this form. That was what he took up. He took that tiny fraction of a reaction from you and turned it into the theme of the day. He distorted your name and that left you distorted. And he did it in such a way that it became a joke for others as well. For your friends even. On that distorted day. They were enjoying a weakness in you. One you displayed unwillingly. He picked it up. Just like that. He started it. And it gave him a rare standing. He must have relished the moment. First you hated it. Then you began to hate him for it. At the end you just hated him. It was only that one day. But it continued unrelentingly throughout its long course. After school, the late evening in fact, when most of the others that had arrived and departed were long gone, he still followed you on his bike. Taunting you still. Accompanied by his brother even. His younger brother picking on you! Until, full of confidence, he stopped very close. And repeated the insulting distortion of your name. One last time. Haunting you still. But he had stopped too close. That was the only time you really hit someone so hard that blood flowed. It never happened again. Not in barguments. Not at the football. Never again. You’re simply not that kind of person. And it was primary school as well. It was a distorted kind of impulse that sent a punch out in a distorted kind of movement. Now where did that come from? You know you never had it in you! That other-fist from the abysmal realms which this nominal mismatch seemingly opened up in the field around you. As sure as this was only where trouble started, it is also where your memory begins to blur. Though this much is still as clear as black ice: He had it coming. All day.
Judging from this outset, he’ll no doubt be living the very average live of a white German middle class male these days. Incidentally, this would just be minor.
He’s not a bad soul, you know! He'll only try to get along as the next person does. Everyone can only hope to make the best of the circumstances they’re presented with, no? So he’ll no doubt be working in some office exploiting some section, or other, of society or nature for some profit or prestige in a small insignificant club he shares the office with. Elbowing his way to small triumphs without ever sparing a thought for the bigger picture. Oh, it would be just like back then. Bully your colleagues for a laugh when you can – only make sure to stay on the right side of your boss and power in general.
He’ll no doubt be loved, of course. Oh absolutely: by a white German middle class female, no doubt. And why not? "Die Verbindung ist ideal!" And rightly so: in an okay marriage, possibly with children - hand on the mind-set, eh?
He’ll have blossomed … parochially. And he would not be missing a thing.
He’ll be happy!!!
Oh, he had it coming. A looong time!

I am 11. I am a nerd. I look like a boy with greasy long skater hair. I play football with the guys. In one year I’ll be off to high school, and who knows what will happen there to a gender-confused nerd with huge braces?
Then there’s Ljuba. She looks about 14 or even 15, she smokes cigarettes with her girlfriends in the bushes next to the school yard, and word has it that she’s had her period for over two years now, as well as that she’s been fingered by a 17 year old guy with a motorbike. Needless to say, I am shitscared of this woman, this creature from outer space, as remote from me as anyone could be.
Then. I am in the cinema with my mum. We meet an old friend of my mum’s, with her two daughters. The older daughter suddenly asks me if I know Ljuba. Because it has turned out the younger daughter will be going to the same high school as me, I try to impress her by saying “Yeah, Ljuba, she looks so… girly. She wears bras and everything.”
I forget about this conversations about 30 seconds later, but I am forced to remember it a couple of months later.
The schoolyard. I can’t believe my eyes. Ljuba is coming over. Then I can’t believe my ears.
“Hey, you, ugly girl!” is the opening line of her speech. “Have you been saying shit about me? You bitch! What have you been saying about me?”
I have no clue what she’s going on about, but I am dumbstruck and extremely scared of any emotional and physical damage that I know she is capable of doing to me.
“You fucking stop saying things about me, ugly face! And your mum has to shut her fucking mouth too.”
Here I manage to utter some words: “Leave my mum out of it!”
It sounds more like a desperate squeak.
“She doesn’t even know you. I have never said anything-“ then, the face, thick layers of pancake, mascara, lip gloss, the thick hair close to me.
“You fucking watch it. I’ll get you.”
She pushes me against the wall and walks away.
I cannot believe that this primary school drama, which I’ve seen so often in films, has actually seeped into my life.
I go home and tell my mother about the utterly mysterious thing that has happened to me. We sit at the kitchen table for about an hour, thinking and rethinking Ljuba’s mysterious threat, which seems to have come out of nowhere, until my mother suddenly exclaims: “Shakespeare in Love! Half a year ago! Do you remember? That girl asked you about Ljuba. She must be her friend.”
I suddenly picture the whole scenario, the older daughter of my mother’s friend, bored to death by puberty, gossiping with her evil friend Ljuba, taking things out of context, turning my little remark into a bitchy judgement on Ljuba’s being.
After this, I spend a sweaty, nervous summer trying to avoid Ljuba, terrified of what might happen to me. I have never been so scared of someone my whole life.

A small flat in the Bijlmer, the roughest area of Amsterdam. It’s 6.30 in the morning and Ljuba wakes up to the screaming of her newest baby. Since Roy has left she leaves the kids most time at her mum’s place, but this morning she has to deal with them herself. After a tumultuous and hectic morning with the moaning and whining kids -little Robert has another tooth coming through- she drops them off at the kindergarten and arrives at the modelling agency with a big take away frappuccino in her hands. She has an important meeting with some new designers, so she re-applies her make up in the big mirror in her office. Then she makes some important phone calls. Her secretary compliments her on her outfit. Damn right, she thinks, it’s an original Donnatella Versace, so it should be noticed. After a successful meeting in which she shows her cleavage as well as her insight in business, she leaves the office to pick up the kids and drops them off at her mum’s house.
She doesn’t tell her mother the real grounds for taking the evening off, she mumbles something about overwork. She drives straight from her mum’s to Marius’s place, where they have a quick shag. He wants to go out, but she is tired. He does not realise how much the kids and the job tire her. She drives home and calls her mum, begging her to keep the kids tonight. After much pleading she hangs up the phone, opens a packet of crisps and crashes on the sofa. Midway through “Sex and the City” she falls asleep.

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