The memory of Elizabeth is always associated with the leaky pieces of snow that rested on sewer covers and became moist and gooey as they were absorbed into the rusty grates of the manhole. Elizabeth was like that manhole and we as her male friends were like those pieces of snow. She took our solid structure and melted us down to puny weak liquid. That’s because Elizabeth was more commanding and willful and brave than me and my male friends.. Sometimes I gathered that she thought we weren't people but, like many of her dolls, only glad to take her abusive games.

So there it is then, that game of jump rope. She held that rope like a horse driver in one of those old western movies. She had that angry, nervous twitch when her hand shook the rope, making us and other boys jump up and down along with this rope like crazy fools trying to escape a whipping. Meanwhile her diamond eyes glimmered with their sharp glow, cutting into our flesh like a knife, telling us, "you miserable little colts, how dare you think that you'll escape my wrath." I had an inkling that she knows that we boys liked getting wounded by her mischievous eye. Somehow, and I don't know why, we mistook her torture for pleasure.

One day when Elizabeth got a shiny brand new bike, we all went for a ride. Well not exactly. Let me explain how it all went down. I along with some boys were running around playing tag. We were all so hyper and sweaty at that moment. She decided to make the game into her own twisted creation with rules that benefited her voracious appetites and impulses. She rode onto the scene with a green bike, her red pigtails wildly swaying in the wind. Her inflamed red eyes were revolving in their search for prey. She was like a wolf hungry for meat, the others were like scared little bunnies trying to escape her cruel clutches of death.

As I ran away from her I was entranced: I listened to the smooth whirring sound of the bike wheels as the green glimmer of the bike's body gleefully struck my eyes as if I saw the first green leaf blooming in the spring. The sight warmed up my cold sweaty hands like a crackling fire in the midst of a campsite. And then the devil tagged me. I was told to sit on her bike, hold on to her, and help her catch the rest of the boys. As I sat behind her, my hands rubbed against the fire of her pigtails, warming themselves up so intensely that they were blistering from heat and turned callous.

Over the next few days me and her rode around the neighborhood, tormenting the boys who were formerly our friends. I was the enforcer of her cruel demands. She had me jump down from the bike and give these critters who were our friends their due. The one that got beat up a lot was Lenny, the pathetic wimp who was like an end-of the-season flower: drooping, dried out from the sunlight, and ready to fall apart.

Lenny, you poor sap, how mercilessly did my fist smash into your face. Well I was somewhat merciful: I gave you more than ten seconds to get out of my sight so that I wouldn't hurt you anymore. But you stood there motionless, looking up at her royal highness strutting on the heights of her bike, hoping she'd invite you to jump on.