Ka pow......that was a short fight

I don't believe in fighting...but I did, once


    And she was pretty tough.
    Her name was Josephine.  It was sixth, maybe seventh grade.  I don't remember them in the same class as me, but then again, it was a long time ago.  We lived about two blocks from each other, but we really were not friends.  We didn't hang around together, or anything.  She had a twin brother, Robert.  He was short, stocky, strong and a fighter.  We didn't hang around either.
     She started it.
     She had some perfume, and sprayed me, then ran away.  I continued being a boy, despite the smell.
     Josephine was very pretty.  Short dark brown hair.  Deep brown eyes that were huge.  She had a complexion that reminded me of a very light caramel, as if she worked in the sun constantly.  OK, maybe I liked her.  A little.
     After she sprayed me and ran away, I got distracted and she snuck up behind me and sprayed me again.  I turned to face her and told her to knock it off....right to her face I said it.  She sprayed me.
     I lunged and she took off.
     She was pretty fast, for a short girl.
     I was pretty slow, but eventually I caught her, grabbed her arm, took the perfume and swung her around, like we were doing some crazy dance.
    She landed in a puddle and started crying.
    I was sent to the principal's office.  He didn't really know what to do with me because I was a good kid and never got in trouble.  He decided to have me apologize to her.
     And so I did.
     She said the words I dreaded:  "Wait 'till my brother gets you."
     The rest of the afternoon was spent in a haze.  I knew Robert was a tough kid.  I was no match for him.  He was stronger, quicker, and he got in an occasional fight.  I was weak, slow, and by then had already developed the philosophy that violence doesn't solve anything.
     I left school and went home the same way I always did.
     I turned on to Greenview and there he was.  Waiting.
     "You had a fight with a girl?  My sister?" he accused me correctly.
      "Yes," I gulped.
     "You grabbed her arm and threw her into a puddle and she got all dirty?" he asked, with what I thought were mental visions of drop kicking me to the lake.
      "Yes.  I apologized,"  I gulped again.
      "Next time, hit her hard.  My parents won't let me hit her.  She gets away with murder.  Thanks for tossing her in the puddle."  And he walked away.
    And despite the fact we all went to school the same direction, I never really talked much with either of them again.