Carrillo 1

Madison Carrillo

Ms. Cunningham

English Lit, P.5

29, August 2018

When Two Wrongs Make A Right

There a few times throughout a person's life, when they come to the realization that

certain lessons, or rules, they've been taught may not be as sensible as once perceived. At the age

of eight, this sudden understanding dawned on me while at lunch recess. I was in the third grade,

unequipped, but not unfamiliar with the plight I was about to be faced with. But, before I begin

spewing the absurd, and frankly comical details of said plight, I should take you back to where

this deeply rooted issue first began; on the kindergarten playground with a girl, who for the sake

of privacy, I’ll call Grace.

As most young children at the age of six, I was effortlessly able to make friends with

almost anyone I met, apart from the boys - having firmly believed at the time, that they all had

cooties. However, there was one girl on the small populated playground that had made a terrible

first impression; thereby, solidifying her to be my mortal enemy until the fateful event at that

third grade recess. The antagonistic girl, and had a real talent for pissing people off. From bossy

commentary, and relentless snitching, she’d limited herself to few friends. At the time, I couldn’t

comprehend what exactly it was that made Grace despise me so much, but in retrospect it’s

pretty clear that girl was stricken with jealousy over my “popularity”.

The conception that first impressions matter, is one I’ve learned to be true, primarily

because Grace’s genuinely spoke to her character, who she was, and continued to be throughout
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elementary school. The first time the two of us met, was at morning recess, sometime during the

duration of the first week. My best friend, the first friend I recall making in kindergarten,

Raylene, had coined the idea to climb up the play structure so that we could pretend we were

pirates. Awaiting us at the top of the ladder, was Grace, knelt over so that I came face-to-face

with her when reaching the second floor. She had a smug smirk on her face, when she said

something along the lines of, “you can’t play up here.”

The specifics of are our conversation are vague, but I’m sure I gave some snarky remark

that was met with a slap across my face. Having only ever been slapped like that by my siblings,

it’s easy to imagine the utter shock I was overcome with at the audacity of a stranger to hit me

with such vigor. Red-faced and furious, I ran to a supervisor to report the incident. Much to my

dismay, Grace got off with nothing more than half-heart chastisement. No red card, no call

home, no detention. Nothing. It was then, that I too learned that not all teachers truly care about

disciplining a difficult child; rather, opting for the path of least resistance.

Flashforward to the third grade, at another fateful recess encounter with Grace, and I was

a changed young woman. Never forgetting the sting of her palm against my cheek, and the

blatantly fake tears she had spilled to the teacher - I was nothing, if not an avid grudge holder.

We had found ourselves in the crosshair of a disagreement between mutual friends, the

point mute when neither of us were willing to meet on common ground. Choice words were

shared, petty comments and empty threats amongst them, but the grave mistake she had made

was when she denied that I could ever hit her as hard as she had hit me three years ago.

“I’ll bet your slap doesn’t even hurt,” she scoffed, pushing the rim of her maroon glasses

back up the bridge of her nose.

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Blood boiling, I offered her a deceitful smile, before challenging the confidence in

statement, “why don’t we see? Let me smack you.”

Of course, she refused initially, not entirely comfortable with idea of placing her hands

behind her back and willing being smacked by the girl she hated. However, her misplaced

arrogance got the better of her, and she agreed - not wanting to embarrass herself in front of our

group of friends. With her wrists crossed behind her, chin forward, and that signature smug

smirk across her face; she promoted me to follow through with my assertion.

Restraining nothing, not even the cheshire cat-like grin spreading across my lips, I rubbed

my palms together before pulling my hand back and swinging it across her face. There was a

series of gasps and “oh’s” that left the group surrounding us, as my hand made contact with the

awaiting skin of her cheek. Her maroon glasses flew from her face, landing somewhere on the

ground next to her, while her head turned with the force of my hit.

What actually took about three seconds, seemed to last an eternity for me - savoring

every millisecond of it. My hand burned with self-righteousness satisfaction, similar to that of

God’s after his wrath has been unleashed, while surely her cheek ached with humiliation and

regret - like that of the sinner who has been met with their fate. It was revenge in its purest form,

and I’d never felt anything so empowering before.

Although, I do believe that no one should solve their problems with violence, Grace made

the rare exception. She proved that not only can revenge be the best medicine, our relationship

being the least hostile it ever had following this, but also that there are times when two wrongs

can make a right.