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Local Hero
FFM # 3

We all like to think we have a hero in us, that when the time calls we’ll step up and take the baton; I’d always wanted to believe I was just that sort and wouldn’t hesitate to answer – and it was exactly that thinking that pushed me, when I saw three teenage boys picking on a terrified looking girl, to dart in. I heard them and their barely mature voices before I saw them – earlier in the afternoon I’d decided to cut through the park on my way home, it was a cool and green afternoon and with the time to spare, I thought it might help bring me back to a state of calm after an aggravating morning.

The path I followed wasn’t particularly secluded, but it couldn’t be seen from the main body of the park due to some tall bushes and just before I rounded the corner, I caught the pointed, two-weeks-broken male voices,

“C’mon, you must have some tits by now!” One whined,

“What are them lumps under your shirt?” I could see them by now, a good couple of meters ahead and the middle, lanky boy pointed to the short girl’s chest, his extended finger almost brushing her crossed arms as she desperately tried to hide herself. The boy who’s spoken first stepped forwards, reaching his hand out to try and pull her wrist away from her body,

“Don’t you like it?” He sneered, as she tried to twist away from him, “Girls are supposed to enjoy boys hittin’ on them!” Just as I strode forward to intercept, I noticed a young man opposite, who had apparently just stepped onto the path and noticed the situation just as I had, we sheared an awkward glance, telling me he wasn’t certain what to do; I didn’t wait for him though as I quickly raised my voice to shout at them, almost surprising myself with the volume of my anger,

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” All four of them jumped nervously, the girl squeaking slightly apparently assuming any and all intervention would only end worse for her; the boys stepped backwards, by the looks on their faces were trying to gauge the situation. I didn’t give them a chance to dismiss me,

“You three, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” I stepped right up to them and the first boy – the shortest, though heaviest set twisted his mouth to a smug smile, apparently thinking any woman – irrespective of her age or authority wasn’t worth listening to,

“What’s it to you, love?” Brat. The two other boys circled around me as the lanky one looked me up and down,

“She’s not bad, nice arse,” I did my best to keep my temper but I was rapidly running out of control and as the boy to my left reached out as if to touch me, my hand shot to his and I wrenched his wrist back on itself, just shy of snapping it. He squealed in pain and crouched down, trying to relieve the pain, my other hand gripped the smug one by his collar and jerked him forward roughly,

“Explain yourself,” I snarled, my anger abating ever so slightly and his expression turned to one of anxiety,

“I…um…we….”

“You’re bullies, worthless bullies picking on that young girl for your own amusement,” I threw the boy backwards and he fell flat on his ass after stumbling a few steps, doing the same for the boy I still held by the wrist, “You will never pick on anyone else again, understand?” they held still for a moment, before nodding shakily, “If I ever catch you behaving like this again, you’ll have me to answer to and I won’t be as lenient then,” They scrambled quickly to their feet and ran away, I felt a twisted sense of satisfaction that I’d put the fear of god into some horrible young boys a lesson and by proxy, saving the girly from a nasty encounter. I heard a sob and turned my attention to her, momentarily having forgotten about the other man and the victim.

He looked sympathetic and he held out a clean tissue from the small pack he’d had in his pocket, before shooting me a quick glance,

“It’s alright, they’re gone now and I won’t hurt you,” His voice was gentle and his posture nonthreatening, “We’re they your friends?”

“Uh…huh,” She affirmed in between dragged in breaths of air, he gently guided her to a nearby bench and sat them both down,

“I’m sorry, but anybody who mistreats you so badly isn’t your friend, no matter what they try to tell you. You don’t have to put up with that kind of behaviour – if anyone tries to make you feel uncomfortable, touches you or says things you don’t like you can walk away at any time.” She looked uncertainly towards him then me, before dabbing the tissue under her eyes again,

“Its…really hard, they’re scary,”

“I know,” He consoled gently, “They might seem like they’re in control, but you’re the only one who can decide how you feel and what you want – no one else should tell you those things. You can always walk away, but keep your phone on you and well charged, if you feel unsafe at any time be prepared to make a quick call and tell them where you are,”

I thought I’d done the right thing, but I’d only made it worse, I’d been stood dumbfounded listening to the stranger’s words, I’d leapt into the situation and let my anger get the better of me whilst he’d thought about it.

Where I’d chosen to fight the symptoms, this man had tackled one of the sources: he’d done his best to give power to the victim, rather than take it away from the offenders.

Some hero I was.