The Eyeball Sucking Debate

Last night it was my turn to read at my writing group and my bit about sucking out an eyeball generated a debate. Some loved it. Some hated it. My critique partners (who are not members of my writing group) also didn’t like it. So, I’m throwing it out here and asking—is it too harsh? Does it pull you out of the story? Does it seem unbelievable? Because it really truly did happen to a neighbor kid—he had a black eye for weeks. And in California the middle school PE classes have about 90 kids in them. It’s sort of a joke. (My apologies to the good physical education teachers—I know you’re trying to do your best in a beleaguered educational system.)

Believe me, I realize that I don’t deserve to have my questions answered. Because I read my stats page, I know that there are a lot of people who daily visit my blog and I really don’t deserve any of you. So, don’t answer if you don’t have an opinion. You don’t even have to read the excerpt. (But, I’d really like it if you would. And if you have an opinion, I’d love to hear it.)

By the way, this is a flash back.

FROM A GHOST OF A SECOND CHANCE
She’d seen Ian weeks before she’d meet him. Tall, lanky, dark hair, fair skin and blue eyes. He wore narrow cut jeans, a button down shirt and a pullover sweater and he’d looked out of place in a school of lumberjack wannabes in plaid shirts, steel toe boots and massive belt buckles. The only class they shared was PE. He spent fourth period running while Mr. Teller, track coach, cheered him on. Since Laine spent fourth period avoiding Mr. Teller, hanging out on whatever opposite side of the field Mr. Teller happened to be on, pretending to exercise, it seemed unlikely that they’d ever meet, especially since there were ninety people in the class.

And they didn’t meet, then.

But sometime in between the jumping jacks and free choice, Clyde Perkins, Kyle Evans, and Jess Leonard met up with Myles Ackerman. They pinned him beneath the bleachers and tried to suck out his eyeball. Pinning him probably wasn’t too hard. Clyde and friends played football and were used to tackling much bigger players than scrawny chess captain Myles, but sucking out an eyeball proved impossible. People talked about it for almost as long as the hickey around Myles’ eye lasted.
Ian hadn’t interfered with the eye sucking. Like Laine, he probably didn’t even know about it until after the black eye had appeared. Unlike Laine, he’d probably been running around the track oblivious to the kicking, screaming and sucking beneath the bleachers.

What caught Laine’s attention happened later the next day when Myles sat alone, a bruised and lonely outcast in the school auditorium, target of jokes and spit wads, and Ian, the new guy with his Boston accent and his Irish flash, the star of every Thurston Middle School girl’s fantasy, sat down on the chair beside Myles, talked to him, and casually draped his arm across the back of Myles’ chair.

Laine knew right then and there that Ian was not only kind, but incredibly brave.

And maybe not that smart.