Here's the worst thing I ever did.
Or at least the bad thing I've done that's stuck with me the longest. Like, I've broken a lot of laws and done very dumb things, but this...
This is the thing that haunts me. That still rattles around in my skull.
And it's been on my mind a lot recently because I had to tell the story to @summeranne and more recently @theferocity for this work thing.
But this is it.
When I was in middle school I was a whole mess of emotions (as we all were) & shit wasn't going to rad at home but that's neither nor there.
I hung out with a lot of older kids (our regional middle school was combined with the regional high school because it was rural-as-fuck).
I had a job at a small package store that I'd steal packs of cigarettes from and then would sell loosies out of my locker.
I got along with folks. I wasn't popular, but I wasn't unpopular and the older kids I'd do drugs with watched out for me.
Sorta treated me like a mascot.
By 8th grade I'd figured a few things out. I was 13 & knew playing a sport was a good way to stay out of trouble while getting into trouble.
So I ran track and sold my cigarettes and tried to stay out of my house and liked having a good time.
One day, I was at my locker. The bell rang but I was usually late to class so I didn't pay it any mind.
The halls were mostly already empty as teachers began to close the doors to their classrooms.
As I turned from my locker I saw this one kid, Jean-Paul, come tearing down the hallway. Books clasped tight to his chest, his legs pumping.
And that's how Jean-Paul always was. He was always running to class or wherever he needed to be. Shirt buttoned up to the top button.
Khakis. Like he was dressed for church.
Jean-Paul wasn't a popular kid, but I didn't dislike him. We'd probably exchanged hellos a few times. I had no malice towards him.
But I was having a shit day. I don't remember what had happened. Probably something loud and painful at home. Something worth forgetting.
So as he ran by, his books clutched to his chest, the hallway empty as doors closed, I stuck out my foot.
My ankle connected with his and he crashed down into the floor, his chin striking the green tiles as his books and papers flew everywhere.
I looked up and made eye contact with my Science teacher, whose hand was on the doorknob to the door for his classroom.
He had grey hair in a sharp crewcut. I don't remember his name but I remember his eyes. Blue like the ocean looks in places where it's warm.
He was my coach on the track and field team. He was a teacher. I was ready for him to start yelling. To send me to the principal's office.
Instead, a smirk crept across his face as he broke eye contact with me and looked down at Jean-Paul, and then brought his eyes back to mine.
His smirk became a full-blown smile as he nodded at me and then closed the door to his classroom, turning to teach his students.
The hallway was empty, save me, still at my locker, and Jean-Paul, who was looking at the closed door where the teacher had just been.
Tears started to well up in his eyes as he began to crawl around on his hands and knees, gathering up his papers. He didn't once look at me.
I couldn't believe the teacher hadn't done anything. I was immediately ashamed. Devastated. I noticed Jean-Paul's chin was bleeding.
I bent over and began to help pick up his books and papers.
"NO!"
Jean-Paul's voice echoed through the empty hallway, bouncing off the shit-brown lockers and the shit-green tiles.
"NO! You don't get to help me."
He left a few papers on the ground as he stood up, using only his knees, his books once again clutched to his chest.
He took off running down the hall. He didn't once look at me.
And that's the worst thing I ever did.