The Marble War

Today, completely out of the blue, a memory from my childhood surfaced.

In my old neighborhood, there was a kid everyone called "Buchee." He was about three or four years older than me, so I reckon he was a young teenager when these events unfolded. Buchee lived close to my maternal grandparents, only two blocks from my house. Every time I visited them, I'd walk past his place, and we'd usually exchange hellos, maybe some light teasing – nothing ever offensive. Since I went to my grandparents' house daily after school, Buchee and I would often chat.

One evening, a group of us kids, myself included, were playing cards on the sidewalk a few doors down from my grandparents' place. These games could get pretty competitive, and the currency we used was crystal marbles. At one point, the stakes were incredibly high, and the pile of marbles in the center was considerable. Buchee was in on the game, but suddenly, he scooped up as many marbles as he could with both hands and bolted. Acts like this weren't uncommon in our games. To prevent such losses, kids would sometimes "hire" other children as security guards, paying them an agreed-upon amount of marbles per game.

After we recovered from the shock of Buchee's grab-and-run, we gave chase. But Buchee was a big guy and faster than all of us. We chased him all the way to his house, but he hid inside, leaving us powerless. We knocked on the door and complained to his parents about being robbed, but they weren't sympathetic, and we had to leave empty-handed. That day, the game's security guards didn't get paid and instead had to endure our most heated complaints about their inability to stop the "crime." In fairness, they were just as taken aback by how quickly the whole thing happened.

That evening wasn't the first time I'd been robbed, but for some reason, that time I was absolutely furious and refused to accept my fate. The very next day, on my way to my grandparents', I ran into Buchee and told him to hand over the marbles. He refused, saying he had them in his pockets and if I wanted them, I'd have to take them from him.

Rage surged through me. I stepped into Buchee's front garden, determined to get those marbles back at all costs. Buchee was stronger, though, and he beat me. I gave it everything I had, but I left defeated, sore, and still without my marbles. Yet, I wasn't discouraged. The next day, I encountered Buchee again, and the outcome was the same: a bloody battle and no marbles for me. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Anywhere I saw Buchee, I would attack him without a word. This could happen on the street, in the park, by the river, at the local grocery store—anywhere. Sometimes I'd pounce on him, land a couple of punches, and then run off. It was total war.

When I was completely confident that I could finally defeat him, I meticulously planned the final battle. For the decisive encounter, I chose a trail Buchee often took on his way home from school. The plan was simple: ambush him on the trail and make him pay.

The day of the final battle, I went straight to the trail after school and waited, hidden in the bushes. When I saw Buchee approach, I sprang out in front of him and, with my fists clenched as hard as I could, declared, "I want my marbles back!" Buchee looked at me, horrified. The look on his face didn't make me feel good, but I was determined to reclaim my property. "Return my marbles, and there will be no more trouble," I said firmly, looking him straight in the eyes. He agreed. I felt that The Code had been applied—no punches required if I felt victory had been achieved. We walked together to his house in silence.

When we arrived, he went inside while I waited outside. After a few minutes, he came out with a small sack of crystal marbles. "I don't have all the marbles you say I took. This is all I have," Buchee said. Perhaps he'd left part of his collection inside, but I felt a pang of sympathy for him and took all but five marbles, which was the minimum amount needed to play a marble card game.

After my honor was restored, I didn't hold a single bad feeling toward Buchee. The next day, on my way to my grandparents', I saw him, and we exchanged greetings, just as if nothing had ever happened. We continued to play together in many games. However, I never forgot that he had taken my marbles, but I got them back.

I don't know why this story replayed in my mind today. Maybe I've never told Christina about it, and I'll need to wait for the right opportunity to share it with her.