Adolescence

Part One (Rebecca Wiener)

Part Two (John Gruen)

Part Three (Tess Lynch)

Part Four (Jessica Grose)

Part Five (Molly Young)

Part Six (Lucas Stangl)

Part Seven (Andrew Zornoza)

Part Eight (Rachel B. Glaser)

Part Nine (Andrew Lasken)

Part Ten

Boxer's Fracture

by Kevin Porter

When I completed sixth grade, my family and I moved. It was only to the far reaches of the county, but at the age before one can drive, it seemed like a different state entirely. Changing schools meant changing friends, and fitting in meant everything. Though I don’t recall many details, there is one moment from gym class that has come to define for me those formidable years.

One of my best friends, while dressed in tight, gray sweatpants, popped a boner during a game of kickball. The story goes that a girl he liked a lot had gotten a good look at his pubescent tumescence and, overnight, he became the object of intense ridicule. As word spread like wildfire, a nickname was born: Boner.

For the record: I never saw it. It didn’t matter, though. Perhaps in an effort to fit in or to feel better about my own inadequacies, I joined in the name-calling. I don’t recall how many weeks he put up with our shit, but he did, and at some point we became enemies. Eventually he struck back.

"Didn't I Blow Your Mind" -- The Delfonics (mp3)

"You Shook Me All Night Long" -- Leslie King (mp3)

One afternoon, while we changed for gym, my now-enemy threw his gym bag at my head. I took his offering as a shot fired across the bow. All the guys in the locker room quickly crowded around us, expecting a fight. With that, it was on. Though I never felt his punches, nor had any scrapes or bruises to show for them, I believe that he got a few in. I, on the other hand, managed one powerful blow, busting his nose with a hard right.

The fight couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes. When it was over, he was slumped on the floor against the lockers, dazed. No one ran for the teacher, and no one ever told on us, despite there being many witnesses to the altercation. Gym class proceeded without incident.

I soon realized that something was very wrong with my right hand. It swelled throughout class and ached the whole way home on the bus. My father took me to the Emergency Room and then to one of several Indian orthopedic doctors in Asheboro. After I confessed how I obtained my injury, Dr. Singh examined my x-rays and diagnosed a fracture of the 3rd and 4th metacarpals, commonly referred to as a “boxer’s fracture.” I was no boxer by any stretch, but I proudly identified myself as a member of that demographic when people asked how I broke my hand.

The good doctor prescribed four weeks in a cast. By the 1st of December, I had healed completely. The relationship, however, had not. Our mutual dislike—I wouldn’t go so far as to call it hatred—lasted through the eleventh grade. We eventually put it all behind us and have since rekindled a friendship that has lasted into adulthood. He’s the proud father of two boys that he and his wife are raising in my old hometown. To this day, we’ve never talked about the fight. It’s almost as if it never happened.

Kevin Porter writes and lives in North Carolina. He threw his last punch at someone back in 10th grade. Fortunately there were no broken bones that time. You can read more by visiting his blog: tongue-tied lightning.

Sound check:

"You Shook Me All Night Long" -- Vitamin String Quartet (mp3)

"Welcome to the Jungle" -- Vitamin String Quartet (mp3)

"Pour Some Sugar on Me" -- Cornbread Red (mp3)

PREVIOUSLY ON THIS RECORDING

We defended Don Imus. It will be the last time we will be doing that.

William Logan bashed Adrienne Rich.

Molly explored TV as only she can do.