Free The Beat of My Own Drum by Sheila E. Page A

apologize, Rebecca claimed she understood, but our friendship was never the same, and I was devastated that she never forgave me. Who could blame her? I couldn’t forgive myself, either. I was disgusted that I had chosen to lash out at her just to avoid being hit myself.
    Despite my success in fending off those particular bullies, my insecurity on the playground remained. Other kids continued to provoke and tease me. Sometimes they’d claim it was because I was too skinny or too much of a tomboy or too ethnically unidentifiable. Mostly there’d be no reason at all.
    My growing talent in sports provided me with a welcome distraction. It gave me immediate goals, positive attention, and a means of releasing the emotional tension that was rising in me like sap. I especially loved running track. Like Moms, I was good at it and relished the challenge of beating boys.
    Then, quite unexpectedly, a boy became a new distraction in my life. His name was Luis, and he was Brazilian. We were eleven years old and crazy about each other. To my surprise, I went through yet another radical personal transformation—from thinking that I never wanted to be anywhere near a boy again to wanting to be with Luis all the time.
    Our “dates” were mostly over the phone, while we both watched the same television show. Whenever Love, American Style came on, he’d call. Moms would hand me the phone and, already excited, I’d say “Hi, Luis!” Then, together, we’d watch the whole episode, giggling at the jokes, analyzing the plot, and deepening our bond. With him and yet alone: that was as close as I could allow myself to get.
    Luis was so sweet, but we were too young to have a relationship. Besides, I had developed very old-fashioned ideas about getting married and having kids. Based on Moms and Pops’s marriage, I’d formulated an idealistic model of how a relationship should go before it eventually led to a church.
    Or maybe I just wanted to be careful. I’d seen and experienced too much.
    I allowed Luis to kiss me several times, little pecks on the lips, but that was it. He was my first kiss. I liked him; he made me laugh. It was fun to have an official “boyfriend,” and while I enjoyed being near him, I had a wall up when it came to physical affection.
    I never told him about my history. I never mentioned what had happened to me.
    Poor Luis, he never even got within a mile of first base, let alone past it. Neither did my next boyfriend, Monty, who lived nearby and had the greenest eyes. He looked as if he could have been in the Jackson 5.
    Fond as I was of both boys, I wasn’t ready for anything physical. That would have felt too strange. It was too soon and I was way too young.
    Even in junior high, when it seemed everyone was doing a lot more than kissing, I was hesitant. I could be quite the flirt, but I didn’t want to get too close to anyone. I wanted to wait for the right relationship, and I told myself that I should be in love when I gave it up to the right boy.
    I didn’t plan on falling in love anytime soon.
    Instead I threw my energies into running and—increasingly—fighting for my freedom to walk the streets. I was attending so many track meets that my skin went really dark in the sun. The consequence of that was that I was then beaten up for my color.
    Sometimes the girls would get mad at me for having what they called “good hair.” Because of my mixed background, if I blow-dried my hair it went straight and not in an Afro like theirs. That alone could trigger a whole new wave of bullying and teasing.
    Often there was no reason at all. I’d get attacked out of nowhere. It was always stressful, humiliating, and scary.
    I was at the end of my rope, desperate to avoid being hurt anymore. No matter how tough I tried to be or how quick my defensive moves, I couldn’t win a fight if I was outnumbered. That was when my survival instinct kicked in. I decided to get even better at outrunning my tormenters. If I could run