All throughout elementary school, I was in looooove with one of my friends. Doodled his name in my binder and everything. He was funny, and cute, and smart, and for some reason he liked spending time with me. He would hang in the woods behind my house, and was always excited to run into me there, in the treehouse my oldest brother helped me rebuild twice. I could always count on him for an adventure, and we had plenty of them for the first couple years we knew each other. His name was David.
We got a little older, and he got a little more popular. He made other friends, who didn't think I was as cool (or maybe I didn't think I was as cool), and instead of being sweet to me, he started picking on me. He didn't have much fodder at first, but eventually he found a way to hit me where it hurt. In fifth grade, I had to switch from the gifted program back to regular classes because of a B I received. Social Studies, I believe. I've always been horrible at geography somehow. No clue how; it's not like continents will move enough in my lifetime to prevent me from memorizing the globe, but I digress. When my class realized the switch had been made, they were ruthless. David led the verbal assaults, snickering about how the Target Program must have finally caught on that I was dumb. When the rest of the kids in the program got up to go to the other classroom, I now had to stay behind. It was insult to injury.
"HEY! LEA'S NOT GOING TO TARGET! HEY! LEA! WHY AREN'T YOU GOING?!"
"I'm not going anymore."
"Yeah, I know! Because they found out you were TOO STUPID!"
"I'm not stupid."
"Yeah, okay. You only think that because you're too stupid to think anything else."
Sure, his joke writing needed some work, but it was enough to make me miserable. Week after week, I was left behind in my regular class. Week after week, I was laughed at. Week after week, I began to believe what they said. My grades plummeted. I remember wishing I wore glasses or braces, so they could make fun of something I could change. Unfortunately, me being a "slow" kid caught on.
By the end of the year, I came to forget what it was like being his friend. I could only assume he hated me, and my heart was broken for the very first time. I began to dread running into him. I hardly went into the woods all summer, but my heart broke further when I discovered one random Wednesday, that someone had set fire to the treehouse. My brother had already left for the Marines, so I deemed the whole mess unsalvageable, and never touched it again. To say I was devastated would be quite an understatement. That was also the summer I lost one of my first friends to a freak accident. Needless to say, I learned a lot about loss between elementary and middle school. Probably much more than my family felt comfortable acknowledging. Looking back, it was one of the more important years I've had, in terms of life lessons. I took comfort in the idea of a new start in a new school, and maybe making new friends, but on the first day of sixth grade, in my first day of science class, within the first few seconds of arrival, I noticed him. My old friend, my huge crush, too cool for me now. I saw him and didn't say hello. After a few minutes, he yelled across the room to me.
"Hey, Lea! You see the treehouse? You like what we did to the place?"
It felt as if I had been knocked flat on my back. All air left me, all color drained. I started to feel hot, and the room began spinning. I asked to go to the bathroom. With shaking legs, I made my way out of the room and down the hallway. There, in a stall, I cried for half of the class. I cried so hard I made myself ill. In between heaves and sobs, and the occasional vomiting, I struggled to make any sense of my feelings. I had never been so upset, and I had never felt so betrayed. Every breath I managed to take would echo against the cold walls of a colorless middle school bathroom, and my own heartbeat sounded like someone banging pots next to my ears. It went on that way for so long. This is a memory that stuck with me for years, and it sticks with me now. How could he do this? How could anyone do this?
We got a little older, and he got a little more popular. He made other friends, who didn't think I was as cool (or maybe I didn't think I was as cool), and instead of being sweet to me, he started picking on me. He didn't have much fodder at first, but eventually he found a way to hit me where it hurt. In fifth grade, I had to switch from the gifted program back to regular classes because of a B I received. Social Studies, I believe. I've always been horrible at geography somehow. No clue how; it's not like continents will move enough in my lifetime to prevent me from memorizing the globe, but I digress. When my class realized the switch had been made, they were ruthless. David led the verbal assaults, snickering about how the Target Program must have finally caught on that I was dumb. When the rest of the kids in the program got up to go to the other classroom, I now had to stay behind. It was insult to injury.
"HEY! LEA'S NOT GOING TO TARGET! HEY! LEA! WHY AREN'T YOU GOING?!"
"I'm not going anymore."
"Yeah, I know! Because they found out you were TOO STUPID!"
"I'm not stupid."
"Yeah, okay. You only think that because you're too stupid to think anything else."
Sure, his joke writing needed some work, but it was enough to make me miserable. Week after week, I was left behind in my regular class. Week after week, I was laughed at. Week after week, I began to believe what they said. My grades plummeted. I remember wishing I wore glasses or braces, so they could make fun of something I could change. Unfortunately, me being a "slow" kid caught on.
By the end of the year, I came to forget what it was like being his friend. I could only assume he hated me, and my heart was broken for the very first time. I began to dread running into him. I hardly went into the woods all summer, but my heart broke further when I discovered one random Wednesday, that someone had set fire to the treehouse. My brother had already left for the Marines, so I deemed the whole mess unsalvageable, and never touched it again. To say I was devastated would be quite an understatement. That was also the summer I lost one of my first friends to a freak accident. Needless to say, I learned a lot about loss between elementary and middle school. Probably much more than my family felt comfortable acknowledging. Looking back, it was one of the more important years I've had, in terms of life lessons. I took comfort in the idea of a new start in a new school, and maybe making new friends, but on the first day of sixth grade, in my first day of science class, within the first few seconds of arrival, I noticed him. My old friend, my huge crush, too cool for me now. I saw him and didn't say hello. After a few minutes, he yelled across the room to me.
"Hey, Lea! You see the treehouse? You like what we did to the place?"
It felt as if I had been knocked flat on my back. All air left me, all color drained. I started to feel hot, and the room began spinning. I asked to go to the bathroom. With shaking legs, I made my way out of the room and down the hallway. There, in a stall, I cried for half of the class. I cried so hard I made myself ill. In between heaves and sobs, and the occasional vomiting, I struggled to make any sense of my feelings. I had never been so upset, and I had never felt so betrayed. Every breath I managed to take would echo against the cold walls of a colorless middle school bathroom, and my own heartbeat sounded like someone banging pots next to my ears. It went on that way for so long. This is a memory that stuck with me for years, and it sticks with me now. How could he do this? How could anyone do this?
High school came, and David became more involved with sports, more involved with his friends. We had gone a few years with zero interaction, but he suddenly started being nice to me. He would try to talk to me in the mornings in the cafeteria, and I would only cautiously respond. If he complimented my hair, I never wore it that way again. One morning, he told me I looked beautiful. I sneaked out and went home to change my clothes. I was convinced that everything he said had some double meaning, and his football friends were mean enough to me. I wasn't willing to be the butt of any more of his jokes. I eventually left that school to attend an alternate one, though not because of David. Not seeing him again was just a bonus.
I carried legitimate anger around for this kid until a just a couple years ago. It was a Friday night, and I was alone in my apartment. For whatever reason, I found myself very, VERY drunk, and very, VERY upset about my brother's passing. I thought of the treehouse. I thought of David. Fueled by bourbon and the ghosts of both my innocence and my dignity, I found him on Facebook. I wanted to send him a message, and finally had the nerve to ask him the questions I never thought I'd have the courage to ask. So I did. Why would he have ever done such a thing? Why had he hated me so much? What had I ever done but be his friend? Why any of it? His response blew me away. He started off by telling me how great it was to hear from me. He then said he wasn't actually the one who burned the tree down. He had no clue who it was. He said he didn't even remember telling me that he did, but he assumed it had to have been to get a rise out of me. And he was sorry. He had no idea how I felt about his actions back then, hardly remembered picking on me at all. He hoped I was doing well. He said we should catch up sometime. We never have. The end, basically.
I carried legitimate anger around for this kid until a just a couple years ago. It was a Friday night, and I was alone in my apartment. For whatever reason, I found myself very, VERY drunk, and very, VERY upset about my brother's passing. I thought of the treehouse. I thought of David. Fueled by bourbon and the ghosts of both my innocence and my dignity, I found him on Facebook. I wanted to send him a message, and finally had the nerve to ask him the questions I never thought I'd have the courage to ask. So I did. Why would he have ever done such a thing? Why had he hated me so much? What had I ever done but be his friend? Why any of it? His response blew me away. He started off by telling me how great it was to hear from me. He then said he wasn't actually the one who burned the tree down. He had no clue who it was. He said he didn't even remember telling me that he did, but he assumed it had to have been to get a rise out of me. And he was sorry. He had no idea how I felt about his actions back then, hardly remembered picking on me at all. He hoped I was doing well. He said we should catch up sometime. We never have. The end, basically.
And if you think this story fizzled and had nothing left at the end, you would be correct. That's how it felt as it happened. All said and done, I felt ridiculous. It has no real moral, other than to remind myself to have the courage to speak up when I need to speak up, and let go of things that need letting go. It would have saved me years of hurt. I don't know where that man is now, but I'm sure he's doing fine, and not at all concerned about the broken heart of a little girl from nearly twenty years ago. I'm sure we still have common friends, and I wish him nothing but health and happiness.
Anyway, you never can know the impact you have on others, and I can really only hope that nobody has a similar tale involving me. If anyone does, well..man, am I sorry.
xoxo
Anyway, you never can know the impact you have on others, and I can really only hope that nobody has a similar tale involving me. If anyone does, well..man, am I sorry.
xoxo
