Meathead

Paul suggested that we…fight for her honor, but we weren’t sure what honor was exactly…

April 1963

Paul and I liked the same girl, a lovely girl with long golden hair and green eyes, whose speech was garbled but soft and whispery. Both of us liking Barbara wasn’t a problem because we had the same goal: getting her attention and letting her know that we liked her. Of course we had seen mushy movies on TV; we knew that there was only one boyfriend to each girlfriend. At least that’s how we understood it to be in the third grade. So we hatched a plan by which Barbara would get the message and choose one of us. We thought this was entirely fair and logical. Paul suggested that we stage a fight for her honor, but we weren’t sure what honor was exactly, so we put it more plainly: we would fight because we had just discovered that I liked Paul’s girl and vice-versa. We would fight to a draw and Barbara—somehow or other—would be there and then she would pick one of us. So we picked a day and put the word out. Jack and Paul were going to fight one day soon after school on the grassy area where everyone waited in the morning for school to start.
Only Paul and I and our respective best friends knew that Paul and I rehearsed for a three days during recess. He would get me in a headlock, then I’d escape and get him in headlock. He would throw me on the ground and pin me and then I’d return the favor. Then one of us was to say, “You know what? This is a draw,” at which point Barbara who would surely be terribly impressed by then, who take one of us by the arm and would be that guy’s girlfriend, they would walk to Bradley’s Hardware store a block away and the guy would buy her a soda out of the soda machine. She would then be even more impressed, having spent a dime on her.
The day came—it was Friday, I believe—and our self-promotion was quite a success; quite a crowd gathered; even some fifth and sixth graders got curious and came to see what it was all about. Paul was an ill-tempered boy whose face would turn crimson at the slightest and silliest provocation, and the angrier he was the deeper the hue. It had happened so often that Lenny, my best friend and corner man for the fight, called him Meathead, for both the color and the dumbness of his behavior. But all week Paul was very calm, friendly even. I was sure that Lenny would have to give him a new, nice name or at least stop referring to him as Meathead.
The crowd formed a circle and we went over the usual rules: no belts; no hitting below the waist; no kicking in the nuts; and no hitting after the other guy says “I give.” We backed away and went to our corner guys. Lenny didn’t say anything since it was all staged. We faced each other and got ready to fight. I had forgotten to look but just before we got in a clinch, I saw Barbara out of the corner of my eye. The plan was working perfectly. Paul was the first to put a headlock on his opponent and he did it just as we planned, but from there, Paul went berserk. He clamped down hard with his headlock and with his free hand he began punching me in the face. The older kids started cheering wildly and I doubt anyone heard me say to Paul between punches, “What—are—you-- doing?” I thought maybe he suddenly got mad about something, but when I looked up at his face there was no red in it, just a very wicked grin.
Lenny was furious and started shouting out ways to get out it, “Stomp on his foot! Slug him in the stomach!” But I took the fastest path to stopping the proceedings. “I give, I give,” I said loud enough for all to hear. The older kids were booing my performance, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t believe Paul had so thoroughly conned me. He would surely have Barbara for a girlfriend now. He was beaming.
“Way to go, Meathead,” Lenny said sarcastically, then he turned to me, “Can’t win ‘em all. Come on let’s go.” I turned to leave when Barbara spoke for the first time.
“Are you all right?’
“Uh, yeah.” I was looking at the grass.
“That’s good. Fighting is so stupid.”
I looked at Meathead; his face was a fine mixture of confusion, anger and defeat.
“So Barbara, which is better, Tootsie Rolls or Tootsie Pops?”
“I like Tootsie Pops, the orange ones.”
“Me, too.” We headed north toward Verdugo. I never felt better.