I remember the kid
who sat behind me in class,
calling me names,
kicking me in the lower back,
spitting spitwads into my hair,
sweeping my carefully arranged
books and supplies off my desk
when he passed me,
a gleeful sneer on his face.

I remember the kids
who laughed at all the bully did–
who laughed at me–
who did not care, perhaps
because they were not 
the target.

I remember the teacher,
who saw it all,
and did nothing.
Not just one day,
but every day.

I remember my family and friends,
who offered plenty of advice to and criticism of me,
but none offered to stand by my side.

I remember them all,
and I remember the day I decided
what to do with a bully.