This might be a little gruesome. Read at your own risk.
I grew up in a tough neighborhood. I was a bookish, bespectacled kid in a school full of jocks. Walking home without torment from bullies was rare. And gym class was like an hour-long hazing ritual for a club that I'd never be admitted to.
There was one bully in particular who did more than just call me a "four-eyed goon" like so many other kids. This guy actually targeted me for being nearsighted. He got so much delight in walking right up to me at the cafeteria, in hallways, out on the sports field and around our neighborhood, and then he'd shout in my face, "MORGAN! CAN YOU SEE ME?!?" There was usually some spittle involved.
This persisted past grade school and well into high school. And then the really gruesome thing that I warned you about happened. You can stop reading now, if you want to.
He had a job working in this yuppie market in our hometown. At the end of the day, they'd transport prepared foods to a basement fridge from the main floor via a dumbwaiter. One day this kid who'd bullied me for years was high at work (on marijuana, in case you're curious) and he'd called for the dumbwaiter.
Maybe it seemed to be taking a long time to arrive, maybe he was just goofing with his friends, and for kicks he stuck his head into the dumbwaiter shaft and looked up to see what was holding it up.
That's when the dumbwaiter came down and crushed his head.
I never wished this to happen to anyone who has ever bullied me before of since. Yet I felt guilty, as if I had wished it and then it actually happened. Fact is, I never really thought about this particular kid until he was up in my face, yelling at me to ridicule my nearsightedness, and now I felt guilty for not thinking about him. And then he was gone. And then I did think about him. I can still hear his loud voice, smell his adolescent breath, and feel his saliva spattering against my face.
And yes, I could see him.
I grew up in a tough neighborhood. I was a bookish, bespectacled kid in a school full of jocks. Walking home without torment from bullies was rare. And gym class was like an hour-long hazing ritual for a club that I'd never be admitted to.
There was one bully in particular who did more than just call me a "four-eyed goon" like so many other kids. This guy actually targeted me for being nearsighted. He got so much delight in walking right up to me at the cafeteria, in hallways, out on the sports field and around our neighborhood, and then he'd shout in my face, "MORGAN! CAN YOU SEE ME?!?" There was usually some spittle involved.
This persisted past grade school and well into high school. And then the really gruesome thing that I warned you about happened. You can stop reading now, if you want to.
He had a job working in this yuppie market in our hometown. At the end of the day, they'd transport prepared foods to a basement fridge from the main floor via a dumbwaiter. One day this kid who'd bullied me for years was high at work (on marijuana, in case you're curious) and he'd called for the dumbwaiter.
Maybe it seemed to be taking a long time to arrive, maybe he was just goofing with his friends, and for kicks he stuck his head into the dumbwaiter shaft and looked up to see what was holding it up.
That's when the dumbwaiter came down and crushed his head.
I never wished this to happen to anyone who has ever bullied me before of since. Yet I felt guilty, as if I had wished it and then it actually happened. Fact is, I never really thought about this particular kid until he was up in my face, yelling at me to ridicule my nearsightedness, and now I felt guilty for not thinking about him. And then he was gone. And then I did think about him. I can still hear his loud voice, smell his adolescent breath, and feel his saliva spattering against my face.
And yes, I could see him.
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