When I was in High School there was a kid who was different: quiet, [not.quite.right].
Every lunch.time he would walk around the oval, twirling a stick. Humming quietly to himself. Sometimes, when the air hung heavy and time was dragging, folk used to pick on him. Getting in his way, laughing, asking him about The Stick. Teasing.
He never replied. He just waited [eyes lowered] until they moved, then kept walking, twirling.
I never teased but I never said anything either. I was in a position where I could have. But I never did.
Still, I think about him. Wondering where he is and what his life looks like. I regret not being a Big Enough Person, not being courageous enough, to stop what wasn't right.
