Written by Terry Ward – She slapped me hard. Really hard. Like a cold, winter wind stings your face. But it was May at my elementary school playground, not winter. A sixth grade cookout fundraiser for our school. Many parents and children standing in line for their meal.

I was seated and about to begin eating when she slapped me as she and her girlfriend walked by. I was stunned and caught completely off  guard. She looked at her girlfriend, and they both giggled. Laughed and giggled.

“See! That’s how you slap a boy!”, she said proudly. They giggled again and ran off into the crowd.

I stood there washed in humiliation, astonishment, embarrassment, and then into rage. Incredible, silent rage. My mind tried to sort it out and explain it rationally, but my inner self was furious.

My outer, nicer self said, “She really didn’t mean it …”, and sealed those fiery feelings into some deep, inner compartment where they would be hidden for years to come. And added to other compartments already there. After all, nice boys don’t show their temper or get mad.

Not wanting to be conspicuous, I moved away from people who were eating their dinner at the long tables. When I was sure I wasn’t crying anymore, I went over to get a Coke. “Who was she?”, my outer, nicer self asked silently to whoever might be listening.

“She probably didn’t mean it …”, the outer nice voice repeated. But something deep inside was crushed and wounded. My heart had been made instantly afraid by someone that I didn’t even know.

At twelve, I became adept at sealing pain away. Pretending that I’m really OK. After all, that’s what nice boys do.

But wait. The story doesn’t end here.

Seeing a powerful opportunity, I go back in time to rescript this scene and find my true voice.

Stunned by the slap, I now stand up and say to her in a very angry voice, “What was that all about?” Then louder, “I don’t even know you.” And louder still, pointing my finger at her, not caring what others would think, “Don’t you ever do that again! Ever! Now go away. Now!”

I watched as she and her girlfriend disappeared into the crowd. I felt that I had spoken my truth with no regrets. I went back to my fish sandwich and Coke, and then went back for seconds.

Years later I realized that my life had been changed by rewriting this simple scene. What could be more powerful.

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Terry Ward lives in Asheville and has been writing poetry and prose since high school. Ideas for writing come from personal experiences and a love for the history of sailing ships. Pastimes include playing guitar, photography, and teaching sacred geometry.