On a recent post on the blog Treasure Chest of Memories, we are encouraged to write about the bullies of our lives. These could be schoolyard bullies, workplace bullies, or anywhere in between bullies. Laura offers suggestions for ways to write about these hard moments in our lives. The following bully letter is my attempt to do just that. There are so many more that I could write and may do so at random times on this blog.
To the Bullies of Starr:
You don't know the bullet that you dodged that day. Literally. The bus let us off beside Bob's house. Before that, you had been tormenting us on the bus after tormenting my brothers all day at school. You never could get enough of causing us pain. What was done to you to make you so mean to them? What did they ever do to you? I understand you being mean to me. I was defending my brothers. I just wanted you to back off and leave them alone. Do you have any idea what any of us had to endure at home? School should have been our solace. You made it our hell.
You said you were going to kick our tails (you used a worse word). We got off of the bus and high-tailed it down to our yard, running the whole 500 yards down our driveway, up the steps and in through the door, which we promptly locked. You didn't know that our daddy had an arsenal in there and that he'd shown us how to use each one of them. My brothers, your favorite to torment and beat upon, had the rifles. Our little sister had the .22, a little bitty gun. I had the three-fifty-seven magnum, a powerful, huge thing for a little me to be holding.
You came to the door, you and your little cohorts in crime, banging on it, demanding to be let in. Did you really think that we'd be so stupid to let you and your cronies into our home? I rolled open the window just a little bit to see exactly where you were and I pointed daddy's huge gun at you. You didn't see me, but I could see the propane tank less than ten feet behind you all. My brothers and little sister were watching through the windows and waiting for my word. We had every intention of blowing your heads off that day, ending our constant barrage of pain at school. If we shot you, the others would be afraid of us and leave us alone, too.
I saw the propane tank. I saw the door. I saw you. I knew the power of the piece in my hand. I knew that it would hurt you and if I aimed it just right, you'd never hurt us or anyone else again. I knew that bullets sometimes ricochet and was afraid that it would hit the door and bounce back and get me. But, the thing that stopped me from pulling that trigger was that propane tank. Maybe if my bullet missed you and hit that tank, we'd all be blown to kingdom come, including me and my brothers and sister.
My fear of blowing up saved your life. If I had known then what I know now, that a little trailer door wasn't going to stop that bullet or even make it hesitate, and that propane tank wouldn't have exploded, you wouldn't be here still tormenting the people around you. You would be thirty-five years underground, pushing up daisies if anyone thought you were worth enough to even lay the cheapest of flowers on your grave.
But you are still here and so are my memories of what I wish I had done, but am glad that I didn't do.
Your victim no more
Image source: http://www.clker.com/clipart-no-bullying-zone.html