A/N: I might have exhausted all platforms to talk about this, but it's important for me to continue to raise awareness on bullying. There has been countless stories and losses because of unreported cases when you can easily counter it with information and an introduction of a more accepting and less violent culture. Here's another chapter dedicated to that cause.
If you've ever been bullied, in any way, shape or form, know that you're not alone, and you're strong enough to get through this.
On a happier note (pun intended), I recently uploaded a playlist for Someday on 8tracks. These are songs that remind me of Wilby and their story. I'll link it below.
http://8tracks.com/byunanoymous/s-o-m-e-d-a-y-part-one
How about you? What is your Wilby song?
***
221.
That's the exact number of days since I last talked to him.
221 days.
And, it wasn't for the lack of trying
I stood outside his house every morning before we took the bus to school, stalled beside his locker before homeroom, waved him over to our table at lunch and stood by our fence most afternoons.
221 miserable days.
And, he didn't seem to mind at all.
No, not really.
Not even now, when he stood right in front of me on the line to buy lunch.
"Bobby," I called him.
Silence.
That seemed to be the only language he knew around me.
I was getting used to it.
"Bobby," I tried again; this time, I punched him lightly. He winced.
"Sorry, I didn't-" he cut me off and walked away without his lunch. I let him go. If he was trying this hard to avoid me, he must really want to.
Man, that stung.
"Answer me, you little wimp!" Is that Damian? He's at it again? He was just beating Matt up third period. He needs a hobby or-
Is that...
I'm not sure what happened next, but the other kids said I grabbed Damian by the collar - which I can't imagine because he was a defensive tackle in the football team - pinned him down and started punching. It wasn't the mature thing to do, and I'm sure I'm gonna be grounded all summer, but hell, if you saw what he did to Bobby, a part of me still thought he deserved it.
"You know he'll still beat the crap out of me, right?"
Bobby?
I shot up from where I was slumped, waiting for Dad to finish talking to the principal, and looked at the direction where the voice was coming from. He was leaning on the door to the infirmary - bandaged, but it was obvious he was badly bruised. I stared at his busted lip, black eye and swollen cheek. I wanted to ask if he was okay, but he won't even look at me so I held the stream of lecture that I knew was about to flow.
"Say it, Will. You were never good at keeping anything in."
"Not like you," I blurted out.
What was wrong with me?
Why did I say that?
He's just started talking to you, Will. Get your act together.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, he laughed. He really laughed; it was different though. It was sarcastic and cold. I didn't like this laugh.
"Thanks, as if you need to keep saying that."
For the second time today, he walked away, and I let him.