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October 2, 2005

Volume 7. Issue 2

I just got a flurry of class reunion emails, which if they had been paper would have burned from the lasers shooting out of my eyes.

What would you say to the person or persons you most despised in high school?

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Comments

Hands sweating as he thought of what he would say and how to say it. Decisions. Decisions. Would he say it from a distance, cold impersonal uncaring?

Or up close, to feel the hot breath of fear as Buddy realized that payback was a bitch and his judgement was nigh.

After 20 years waiting it was too difficult to decide. No crack of a rifle, or slice of a knife was likely to happen.

He'd slink into the party, not meeting anyone's eyes, Buddy would say "hey fatso", and he'd receive a glare of hate, but no bullet or knife.

Posted by: joe at October 2, 2005 9:32 AM · Permalink

Even after all these years, he could remember the taunting he had received all the way through school. From elementary school through graduation from high school, he was Billy's favorite target. He remembered the occasional shoving matches on the playground, and later the occasional fights. He remembered the day Billy and his friends ganged up on him behind the gym and almost beat him to death.

He remembered crawling underneath Billy's car during the basketball game, cutting the brake lines, and challenging him to a drag race after the game.

He remembered all that, as he pissed on Billy's grave.

Posted by: hnumpah at October 2, 2005 10:14 AM · Permalink

Nostalgia is a thing of the past. This is a basic tenet of my life.

Like old skin, the tribulations of high school were quickly sloughed off and forgotten. That is, until the reunion invitation arrived twenty-five years later on a warm April afternoon.

It might be interesting to compare my life to others who had nursed from the same scholastic teat.

I only recognized one person there: the bully Alex. Bald and paunchy in his ill-fitting sports coat, the youthful embodiment of terror and loathing had become pitiable.

“Hi, Alex,” I smiled and shook his hand. “My name’s Jim…”

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at October 2, 2005 1:27 PM · Permalink

"You were such a loser! Why couldn't you just get your head out of your butt for a little while and look around you. There was so much that you could have taken advantage of. We were all so young and had so much life. You wasted it. You had no bills or major responsibilities, yet you walked around looking like you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. There were some really cute girls that had a crush on you but you were so into yourself you couldn't see it. I'd give anything to be you again."

Posted by: Eric at October 2, 2005 2:19 PM · Permalink

Waxing nostalgic is a thing of the past.
I have found NO reason to dwell upon it.
I've had experience w/ a BULLY.
Dessert is served!
COLDER!

Posted by: Chris at October 2, 2005 8:37 PM · Permalink

High school reunion. Sounds like a great time. Really.

I don't want a reunion. I want a union of certain people's skulls with a baseball bat. Then we can have a reunion immediately if it's called for.

I don't need to say anything else to them. "The Slugger" does all my talking. Too bad it's probably too late to take them out before they bred. By now, if they haven't spawned, they probably won't.

Let's face it. They were people of limited imagination and limited abilities. They're probably selling insurance or used cars. Their sad little lives are punishment enough.

Posted by: cranky-d at October 3, 2005 12:58 AM · Permalink

I don't recall the cold sweat that would come over me everytime he'd walk by me in the hall.

I relive it.

In the ten years that have passed since I graduated from high school, he's never been far from my mind. He's there when I doubt myself, reminding myself what a loser I really am. He's there when I try to find some strength, letting me know that I topple easily.

Mow, he's there for real. I panic for a moment, trying to think of something to say. I end up saying all that needs to be said:

"Plastic."

Posted by: Adam at October 3, 2005 3:59 PM · Permalink