1968. I went to Sarasota Junior High School, which was basically The Lord of the Flies with lockers. I'm a scrawny, brainy, nerdy, big-mouth, 7th-grade weirdo. Walking down the halls. Look over at the bike rack. A beefy 8th-grader is fucking with my bike, trying to kick the lock off.
I'm pissed. So pissed, I forget the other his size and weight advantage. Just blindly run up to him.
"Hey! Stop trying to steal my bike!"
Gut punch. Then he slaps me down to the ground, and sticks his foot on my face. Pins me. Says calmly ...
"I wasn't trying to steal your bike."
"I saw you!"
I writhe, but I can't get up.
"No, you didn't. You're lying."
He pushed his foot harder. Tennis shoe. Dirty. Stinks.
"Stop lying."
"You were ..."
"Admit you're lying."
"No! You! I saw ..."
He ground his fucking dirty foot in my face.
"I'm ..."
"Tell the truth."
"Stop!"
He pressed down. Dirt, stink, weight.
"Say, 'I'm a liar. I'm a shitty little liar.'"
"No."
Harder. About to snap my jaw.
"Say, 'I'm a liar. I'm a shitty little liar.'"
"I'm a liar. I'm a shitty little liar."
He smiled and let me go.
That's what fascism means to me.
