Pukey Limbs

I was waiting for the train when the Bicyclist (who was riding his bike on the platform) rode past me a little too close.

Then after I got on the train the Bicyclist sat 2 seats away and proceed to stare intently at me during the trip. I refused to make eye contact, hoping I was being paranoid and he wasn't really that fascinated.

When I got off the train and out of the station, and started walking to my destination, the Bicyclist followed. I began to feel genuinely creeped out because despite the fact that I was on foot and he had a presumably more efficient mode of transportation we appeared to be averaging the same speed.

Sometimes he rode a little ahead or a little behind, but never very far away. He also seemed to have trouble maintaining a parallel distance from me because he occasionally veered uncomfortably close, and once closely enough to force me off the path.

He was rather buff, and had a close-shaven haircut. I was starting to imagine scenarios where I could swing my bookbag and knock him off the bike when Big Bald Bicycle Boy spoke up:

"Hey, did you go to ____ Middle School?"

I paused and made eye contact because indeed, I did.

He said, "Uh, you don't remember me do you?"

It was my turn to stare intently. Suddenly it came to me. Sure, he had shaved his head and put on 30 pounds of muscle, but I knew that goofy grin.

I smiled. "Did you puke on your arm in the 6th grade?"

He looked down in shame. "Yeah."

I squealed in triumph. "Edward!"*

I don't remember that much else about him, but I do recall with vivid clarity he tossed his cookies onto his left arm while sitting at his desk in our history classroom. I sat across from him (but with a big empty space in between) so I had a good view without being splashed. The janitor had to come sprinkle green stuff on the upchuck, which made it 100 times less appetizing, and then sweep it up. It was rather educational because up until then I assumed one mopped up peristaltic byproducts.

You may think you've grown up and escaped grade school, but people will remember you for the strangest reasons years from now. If your nickname was "Diaper Rash" someone will remind you at your 20 year reunion. It's hopeless. Bicyclist Boy will always be "That kid who threw up on his arm in the sixth grade."


* Name changed to protect the barf-prone.