The fight, or the rumble, was to be expected. And as usual, I could be expected not to show up. Though, they did not want me there. It was evident. Rumbles were pointless, the whole concept of fighting and beating one another was utterly futile. Therefore, I did not support it. It wouldn't be until a certain event that I would protest it and speak freely of my opinion, whilst also being persecuted for my views.
"Come on, Saumensch." Helmut had said to me that evening when he knocked on my door."Let's go."
"Go where?" I asked, confused. At first, my stomach twisted, thinking he was possibly referring to the rumble. But Helmut couldn't be that dunce. He knew my opinion of fighting.
But, despite his knowledge, he bellowed, "The fight, Saukerl!". I let out a exhausted sigh and began to explain to him that I didn't support it, therefore, he would have to find someone else to accompany him. To which, he spit at my door step and cursed.
Once back inside, my mother inquired as to who was at the door.
"A friend, ma." I muttered and hopped the steps up to my room where I was assumed to spend the rest of the night. I was not one for socializing. I never had been. I lay on my bed, my gaze focused on the texture of the ceiling and my mind focused on the rumble. Greasers would be beaten down as the socs would laugh at them while they gulped back their alcohol and ganged up on them. My thoughts flooded my mind until it was an unholy hour and all the lights were out, I lay in the dark with nothing but my thoughts. Until a tapping noise came upon my window, at that point I was drifting in and out of sleep. I wasn't sure if the noise was imagined or, in fact, reality. My uncertainty would be answered when I a voiced called out in a whisper, "Open the verdammt window, you Arschloch!". I dragged myself from my bed and pushed the window up with weak arms. The street lights blinded me yet seeped in through my window and lit up my room, like a flood light.
"What? Jeez, Helmut, what time is it?" I sleepily called down to him, my eyes refusing to stay open.
"Its 1:30! Now get your arsch down here!" he scolded. I didn't see the point in arguing with Helmut. It would either end in a series of German curses and him sourly stomping away or it would end his way. Never in my own. Dressing in the customary soc style clothing that I owned, I reluctantly jumped from my opened window to the dirt ground below, the distance wasn't substantial. Still in a sleepy state, Helmut pulled me by the arm, dragging me. It had a dream like quality, being dragged to the rumble that night. I wouldn't say against my will. I very capable of resisting Helmut's urge but I think I was slightly curious that night. Curious of what a rumble consisted of. I had never been to one, I never cared for the violence, the profanity nor the factor that most of the fighters were drunk. Not that I wasn't one for the drink. I was. But I was not one to get overly drunk.
"Surprised you showed up." Bob Sheldon, the top soc, acknowledged us when we arrived. It was slightly blind sighted, Bob Sheldon had hardly ever spoken to me, let alone confirmed that I existed. And I would disappoint him. It was irrelevant that I wouldn't fight. It was an abandoned lot, the area that we awaited the greasers. The dirt ground was sparsely covered with grass. The weeds grew high that they brushed against our legs. The street lights lit up the lot, the light reflecting off the faces. It wasn't until hollering and the roaring of a car that I snapped into reality. That I realized what I was doing.
"I have to leave." I said panicked as I set in motion to leave. Helmut grabbed me by the arms and pulled me back with force.
"What do you mean you have to leave? This is the first rumble you've ever been to! You're not going anywhere, Saukerl!" he cursed at me. Now, against my will, I stood at Helmut's side, my insides twisting and turning. Staring absentmindedly at the lace of my shoe, the fight commenced. The grunting, the sound of fist meeting flesh, the kicks, the shouts, the sound of bones cracking and breaking. It filled my ears until my head snapped up. And that's when I saw him. The young greaser with the peering grey eyes, the tuff reddish hair and the way it was slicked back. He stood up tall, he was striking.
"Hello, I am the observer. I wish to meet you." is what my soul said. But my mouth did not comply. It simply hung open like a stupid fool. How could I speak to a man with such a diverse life style, outlook, appearance, heart, world as mine? Yes, we lived in the same world but on the other hand, we did not. Greasers and socs had different worlds and led different lives. And that was that.