I was in the sixth grade when my parents took me and my brother to a school fair. Our school always put on impressive fairs, lots of games, dunking the teachers, and I almost always came home with a new pet fish only to have it die a few days later.
That year, they had brought in a new attraction. A gladiator jousting inflatable arena. Two people would enter and climb onto their own pedestals. Each would get a long stick and fight to knock each other off their pedestal.
I rushed to get in line. Looking around, I could see a lot of high-school students in the crowd. I felt a bit nervous thinking I would have to fight people twice my age. I was always the strongest in my class. I won every arm wrestling competition, playing mercy, or race. Sometimes, I would play with a stick in the backyard for hours, swinging the stick like a sword. But to beat a high-school student in a competition like that? It was going to be hard.
It was my turn now, I entered the baloon like arena to face the previous winner, a twelve year old freckle-faced boy. “Okay, I got this,” I thought and placed my feet shoulder width apart, ready for the go-ahead.
“Go!,” the ref shouted.
I thrust my stick forward, aiming for the boys chest. He blocked me and jammed his stick back at me. Running my stick along the side of his, I did a quick spiral and twisted the stick from his grasp and pushed him from his perch. The crowd cheered, I had won.
My next opponent was a high-school student at least twice my size. He had broad shoulders and wore a black tank top with jeans. I squared my jaw and planted my feet firmly, ready for a hard fight.
He started aggressively, and I blocked each attack with equal force to prevent falling back. I was getting the timings of his hits down. Hit hit, hit. Hit hit, hit. Hit hit, now! I moved to the side of my pedestal, dodging his next blow and impeding his balance. I swept my stick from the side to finish the job.
The next five matches went more or less the same way. Soon, there was a crowd cheering me on. It was such a rush, the adrenaline, beating kids twice my age. I felt unstoppable.
Until a five year old girl was lifted onto the stand. I played along with her, pretending like she was hitting me right in my weak spot. It was hard for her to even lift the huge stick, so I moved to the very front of my pedestal to make it easier to hit me.
Bam, “Oh no!” I yelled as I fell, “you got me!” The ref came and held her hand up in victory, and her face gleamed. This was a different kind of rush, a better one. She was so happy.
Making my way off the arena, I found Mom and my step-dad Bob waiting for me.
“You were incredible!” Bob yelled.
“There were kids in line that literally left because they didn’t want to fight you. High school kids!” Mom exclaimed.
I blushed, “I know, it was awesome!”
Driving home, I felt an absurd sense of pride, I was the strongest. I was a warrior.
The Ugly Boudoir 