After He Left

I never liked him, and I don't think he liked me. That was fine by me. I was very quiet and an easy target. He was very loud and brash, and even at my ripe age of eleven I found him extremely obnoxious. I was glad when we didn't have classes together- it meant I could get my work done without comments that turned me red in anger and embarrassment. I was often picked on by my classmates, but he made my blood boil- somehow, he always knew just what to say or do to make me angry. One time he sprayed a pungent cologne in my face, and laughed when I scowled. Every day, I wished he would go away. I hated him, and I don't think he ever liked me.

I haven't thought about him in years, and I don't think he thought of me either. Why would we when there was no reason to? We went on to go to different schools in different towns, and we never crossed paths again. With no mutual friends- not even Facebook friends- there was no reason we would ever need to remember each other, let alone keep in touch. In fact, I was happy to put him and many others in my past when I was accepted to an amazing school in a different town. I had made a new start for myself and it made no sense to dwell on the boy who picked on me when we were little. I never had to think about him, and I'm sure he never thought about me.

I saw his picture the other day, but he probably never saw mine. He grew and became a young man with hard eyes and short hair. Still, I can only picture him as a smirking boy with floppy hair. I flipped through the 'student biographies' book my class made when I was ten years old. Next to his name, he said he wanted to design exotic cars. Mine said I wanted to be a doctor. My, how things have changed. I never thought about him until his very abrupt death this year. Even though I haven't seen him in years, his passing still made me upset. Every now and again he slips into my mind, and I wonder why he left. But that doesn't matter much anymore as there is no turning back the clock, so I think about the times he picked on me because he loved the way I got mad- it was funny to see me turn red. And I finally laugh, after all these years.


  1. I am in a Graduate program and have found new bullies in the guise of Black women students who have found someone friendless enough to kick around a bit. The bullying of the next to lowest is always a threat to those of us who are the lowest. Wouldn't be great if we supported each other? But to tell the truth, I begin to perceive that we see each other as our own biggest threat. What do you think?


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