When bullies grow up
A quick aside: Thank you to my Secret Santa(s) for the gorgeous travel/overnight bag. I’ve made use of it three times so far. It’s perfect for a change of clothes and a handful of toiletries. Since I can’t send a thank-you note because none of y’all would admit to who you are, this is my thanks. *hugs*
I saw someone today I hated a million years ago. Some prick named Jerry (oh how I want to write the full name) with whom I attended middle/high school.
I had occasion to be near my old elementary school today, and fuckhead’s family lived by it. He was just such a mean little shit to me. Teased me mercilessly. I remember I had patented the blank, quizzical stare whenever he saw fit to direct remarks to me — drove him nuts. He wasn’t very smart and never cute in the least way, so he typically made an ass of himself because I refused to give him a reaction.
In any event, I remember that his father had died when we were leaving middle school. I remembered thinking how sad it was that he’d never have someone to learn from and look up to, to help him change his evil ways.
It’s been 20 years, but all the bile I’d choked back so many times came to my throat again. I drove past his house, on the way somewhere else, and saw it was in dire need of some TLC and a cable-show makeover team. And I saw his dumb ass on the porch.
He saw my plate first — I do admit, I like sporting D.C. tags in the ol’ hometown, as it is my quiet statement that I got out and am making a brand-new life for myself.
Then he saw me.
I doubt he knew who I was. That’s the thing with bullies — they go on with their miserable little lives and never look back. You see people going on talk shows — the bullied remember every hurtful action and the bullies look back at them incredulously, like, “Do I know you?”
I don’t remember the exact things he did to attempt to aggravate, infuriate or even intimidate me. I just knew I hated riding the schoolbus because I’d have to sacrifice my reading time to tune out his dumb shit. I knew he wanted so badly to hurt me and I remembered knowing that I was going to make it someday and his ass would be a sorry, fucked-up excuse of a failure.
I think I might have been right.
He apparently lives in his parents’ house, as he was standing on the porch, reading the mail. He looked right at me, as I was staring at him, trying to figure out if it was a taller version of that little asshole I remembered so well. And it was.
He’s even more homely than I remembered. And he looked dumber, too, if that were possible. I’m not necessarily one to judge, but in a word, he was “unremarkable.”
He might have been flattered that a lovely girl in a pretty sports car from out-of-town was looking at him. But I assure you, if there was any hint of a smile on my face, it was because he’s living a small life befitting of his small little mind.
If he had two brain cells to rub together, I wonder if he thinks his life sucks and whether he thinks back on what he could POSSIBLY have done to generate crappy karma. I wonder if I would ever come to mind.
Hell, I wonder if my own successes might be sweeter thanks to the likes of him and other rat bastards out there who thought (or still think) they were so much better than me.
Actually, I learned long ago that bullies are nothing — they are nobodies who come from nothing and who have nothing going for them. They define success by pulling others down to their level instead of elevating themselves.
My family used to tell me that non-special people like to cast stones at the budding stars because it might make them special instead. And as my family noted, “Don’t let those fools win.”
In any event, a part of me wanted to throw the car in park, run up the steps and punch him with all my might. But the part of me that did it in my mind was fulfilled enough. Because the other part of me with the “big job” in the “big city” with the “big life” in progress would never, ever allow myself to slither down to his level.
Besides, just knowing that there really is balance in the universe is good enough for me.