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I Could’ve Helped But I Didn’t
I could’ve helped but I didn’t.
Those are the words that ring through my head whenever I think about That Day. I was in seventh grade and it was lunch time. I was alone, walking through the halls of my large school, feet shuffling to the cafeteria to find my friends. But just before I reached the cafeteria, I heard someone snicker and someone’s muffled voice getting increasingly louder.
I walked toward the source of the sound and peered behind a large vending machine, revealing two boys having an altercation. One was much larger and he stood over a frail, thin boy sneering. I could immediately tell who was the offender and what was happening suddenly clicked. Could this be..bullying? THE bullying that I only saw in movies and read about in books? I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing.
The taller, bigger boy continued to make jabs at the thin boy who was sitting down with his lunch tray in front of him. “You have no friends,” the bully laughed. “You’re a loser.” The victim glared at him and meekly told him to stop, as the bully flipped his tray over.
My eyes widened and my breath caught in my throat. The moisture in my mouth was as nonexistent as my self esteem. How was no one else seeing this?
