Beast
The past few years I've been really reflecting on the people who I may have caused insult and/or injury to. The past year especially, after leaving B, seeing as he is one of the most hurtful people I've yet to meet.
So, Beast. Not her real name, obviously, but the name that the kids gave her. Most likely started in Jr. High, but it carried on through high school. The sad thing about Beast is that she was a friend of mine at one point.
I grew up, until about 8, on a block with kids in every house. Kids that ranged in ages that meshed perfectly with my brothers and me. The group of kids we played with would spend time at the baseball field, which was at the dead end. During the summer, we would play in forts, ride bikes, play tag or stickball until the sun would set, usually well after 8 in the summer months. Beast and her brother Billy had the misfortune to have a father with a megaphone. "Debbie! Billy! Get inside" we would hear from across the field. While Debbie (Beast's real name, and the name I'll refer to her as for the rest of this story) wasn't the most popular or the most fun, her departure was a sign that the group would have to pack it in for the night, and go back to our 90 degree homes, sweating it out till morning. We hated to see her go.
At 8 years old, my parents split up. We moved from our palatial 5-bedroom house to our 2-bedroom rental a few miles away. Things changed, but that's another story all together.
I didn't see Debbie again until high school, or if I did, we had never acknowledged it. I was a dirtbag, a term used for the metalheads and punks in our school. It wasn't meant as a flame, more of a loving phrase for those of us who partied hard. The real dirtbags of our group, the criminals and vagrants earned the term "dark dweller", which meant the worst of the worst.
Debbie would walk through the Commons at school, and like clockwork, you would hear "BEEEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSTTTTTT" rolling through the cavernous room. I would laugh. Laugh! This girl, this poor girl who I would swap Barbies with not 10 years earlier, would hear these verbal assaults every single day. Debbie was overweight. She had stringy hair, wore no makeup, had acne, wore black sweatpants and dirty black tee shirts as her uniform. Very androgynous. She hung out a lot by the art wing, not because she was an artist (or maybe she was), but because there were few of the "popular" kids down there to ridicule her. Art was not cool back then.
If she wasn't there, she was on Smelly Island. How fucking wrong is that? Smelly Island! There was a platform in the Commons where the less desirables hung out, and that was its name. I was ruthless with some of these people. A total and complete cunt. I never beat them up, but I never helped when someone did. These poor kids would go home and cry and live this miserable high school existence, and I would laugh.
Now, as an adult approaching 30, my life has taken many, many turns. If Karma is a motherfucker, consider me unlubed. My marriage failed, my estranged husband, the absolute best friend to me, died while we were separated. I got involved with an abusive, sadistic, victim of a man. I have to think that because of the awful things I've done to people, Debbie being the least of it, my life needs to be a struggle.
When I see people more unfortunate than I am, my heart genuinely goes out to them. I feel the burning need to help them. And, it's not even to even out my Karma. I loathe who I was. The only people I feel hatred or rage or anger for now is those who purposely try to inflict pain on others, emotionally or physically.
Debbie. You are a beautiful person. I hope that all of that torture in school built you to be a strong woman today. I think about you, I remember running down Clipper Drive past your house, seeing your Dad with the bullhorn. Playing in the rocky field that you couldn't even drive on, the one that now is populated with Lexus SUV's on weekends, paved to perfection. Life has changed me in so many ways. If you've ever thought poorly of me, please know, I am truly sorry for hurting you.