Don’t drink the juice
As I was ushered through the front door of a house I’d never been in before, I felt hands cover my eyes and arms grab mine. I was shoved, forcefully, but gently, through rooms and down a flight of wooden stairs. The air smelled like lunch. Grilled cheese, I thought, and something sweet. Maybe cookies. But not homemade. The store-bought kind that I didn’t like.
At the bottom of the stairs, the strangers hands dropped and I blinked my eyes open. We were in an unfinished basement with a bare bulb hanging from the boards in the ceiling. There were rows of folding chairs set up, facing forward, and in a few of the chairs were other kids. They looked nervous, scared. I was nervous, too, but I was also excited.
As was my habit, I sat near the front. I couldn’t hear very well and I could see even worse, so I liked to be close up, so I didn’t miss anything important. I never knew anyone, wherever I went, and I didn’t like making new friends, so there was never any point in sitting anywhere else but up front.
I turned around to see if I recognized any of the other kids. Not really, but the girl sitting right behind me looked harmless enough.
“Why are we here?” I whispered.
She shrugged without looking up from her hands.
“I dunno. ‘Cause they told us to.”
She pointed straight ahead to two older boys. They were at least two years older than me and anyone else in the room. In fact, of all the kids in the basement, none of us, besides these boys, was older than 5 or 6. These boys were at least 7 or 8. Those two years were like a decade when you’re small and alone. The taller one was blond and considerably meaner looking than the short, brown haired boy. I definitely didn’t know the mean looking one, but I might have seen the brown haired boy around somewhere. He could have been an older brother of a girl I played with sometimes. But I couldn’t be sure. I was too nervous to concentrate.
The blond boy yelled “HEY. Listen.” We listened. “We’re going to start a club and we’re your leaders. You have to do what we say because we’re your bosses now.”
“You’re going to drink this.” The brown haired boy held up a tray. On the tray was enough cups for all of us, and in the cups was a foggy, watery-looking liquid. “It’s laundry detergent. Everyone who drinks it gets to be in the club. If you don’t drink it, you’re not in the club.”
None of us said a word. We looked around with our eyes wide to see if anyone was going to do it. No one moved.
The blond boy looked at me first because I was in the front row.
“You’re going to drink this, kid.”
I shook my head, ever so slightly.
“Yeah, you are. Or else we’re going to hang you from the ceiling by your thumbs.”
Any fear I had left my tiny body. This was ridiculous. Even at 5, I knew this was bullshit. I shook my head again, this time with more force. I had cousins bigger than these two and this wasn’t the first time I’d been idly threatened with a hanging.
“No. You’re not.”
I stood up and pushed that boy right in the chest away from me and turned to the girl who was sitting behind me.
“You don’t have to drink that.”
And I left. Walked up the stairs on my own, through the kitchen that smelled like cheese and sugar and out the front door.
Stupid boys. They can’t tell ME what to do.
***
I am participating in the Indie Ink Writing Challenge. Each week I’ll be tackling a challenge issued by another writer participating in the exercise. This week, Lazidaisical gave me this:
Write about some sort of secret society or underground club.
The weirder the better.
Now, I hope you stuck with it until the end so that I can tell you that this is a true story that happened to me. I remember it as vividly as though it happened yesterday.
That was great. So vivid – I felt like I was there. And it was a true story!
Thanks so much!
Ah…memories of childhood. Well done.
Thank you!
I love that it was a true story, and it’s so ironic that you posted it today. I’ve been having conversations all morning about a group of bullies at a local school. You did exactly what I think the kids should do. Stand up, tell them they are not in control of you, and walk out. BRAVO for what you did that day!!
It’s SO important to stand up to bullies. Then they’re not bullies, they’re just bossy idiots.
Nice – I like that it’s a true story. No thumb-hangin’ for Jen O! Stoopid boys…
No one’s hanging ME by my thumbs.
Excellent job. I wanted to punch him, but shoving is good too. You made me want more.
I remember being much shorter than him, so a shove was as good as I could muster.
true story! sheesh. i guess you can’t make that shit up, as they say. although i do have the feeling you could. glad you accessed this memory for a good story, but hope it wasn’t too yucky to dredge up.
It was a little weird to think about in such detail, but it’s one of those memories that you know is a good story to tell, so it was worth it.
I LOVE what you did with this! The narrator starts of so (seemingly) vulnerable and ends up a total power house. This was great and hooray to you for standing up to the stupid boys.
Well, boys ARE stupid.
I felt like I was right beside the charcaters the entire time.
Great story telling.
I signed up for Indie Ink.
Good! Yay! You’ll love it, I’m sure.
I can be in a club where bigger kids boss me around? And there are no discernible benefits? And all I have to do is drink laundry detergent? Woohoo! Sign me up!
I don’t know why more people didn’t drink the detergent.
Bad. Ass.
I hope I would’ve done the same thing. Although I’m pretty sure I would’ve pissed my pants first. Big kids are scary.
I may have omitted any pants pissing. If I puked on his shoes first, it still counts as badass, right?
i fucking hated those things… which is probably why i quit the sorority i was supposed to join… and then never attended the “officer’s wives club” meetings i was supposed to attend after paul and i got married… and then proceeded to give everyone the middle finger.
great work!
Clubs are pretty stupid sometimes. I mean, a book club or something is pretty harmless, but sometimes they’re about nothing but exclusivity.
yeah, the only time i’ve had to drink something for a book club, it had nothing to do with getting in to the book club and i brought my own wine.
Did the other kids leave? Did they drink the detergent? So weird… and how did you get invited into the secret society to begin with?
I think the others left after me. And I really don’t think it was ACTUALLY detergent. I think they were just trying to scare us. It was probably juice he had his mom make for the “party” they were having downstairs, or whatever he told his parents was going on.
And, I don’t remember how I got invited. I was probably just playing outside and one of them asked if I wanted to join a club or something. I was pretty dumb sometimes.
I love that you knew, even as a child, that you didn’t have to do that. I probably would have drank it, but I was kind of a dumb kid.
It’s hard to believe you were a little stumped on this one when you have such a great true story to use! Great story telling!
Wow, I love this story.
Love it. Not sure whether I am the only one: I started reading this story and I was gripped by terror, worried, sick to my stomach that something bad was going to happen to this little girl. Something worse than drinking that juice. (Watching too many Law & Order SVU probably…) I was so relieved when the little girl stood up for herself. Hooray! So happy.