I remember it vividly: September 15, 2013. Fortuitous enough, I had a free period all to myself during the last class of that day. As I meandered through the bustling halls on the way to my locker to collect some unfinished homework, the vexatious school bell sent a ringing through my eardrums. Immediately, the barbarous animals of high school began to bolt towards their current classes, gone in a flash. The halls, usually still and muted after the bell, had a newly born disruption with the sudden hollering of teenage boys. The bellows took me by surprise, but of course I thought nothing of it and continued to trek on to reach my destination. However, on my way, a group of boys had laid in my path, adorned with backwards hats and battered sports jerseys all gathered in a tight-knit circle.
Taken aback, I could not help but pause and observe such an unusual sight. The boys, pointing and laughing, jeered at the core of their ring of jocks. Curiosity rushed through my veins and overcame my body, forcing me to stay put in my place and continue to watch them, determined to know what they spit insults at, laughed at, abusively mocked. It did not me long to discover that the heart of their arena of spitefulness possessed the identity of a boy. Shocked by this malevolent, bullying occurrence that I had only witnessed in movies, I stood there. My feet frozen to the ground, my mind rushing, struggling to figure out what or if to do or say anything. But soon enough, the oppressing boys had soon dispersed with only the reminisce of the victim left behind. The boy whom I recognized from Spanish class hugged his knees and sat in complete silence, his cloud of vulnerability had such a great thickness I could have ran my hand through it. The boy's wide eyes found mine as I hid in the corner of the hallway, paralyzed.
To this day I still cannot the shake the memory of his defenseless, helpless eyes locking with mine.
