Once, In eighth grade,
We had an assignment to write
About ourselves.
It was easy enough,
Until I got to the question,
“When was a time you wished
That you had more guts?”
Now, my brain instantly flashed
To one memory in particular,
And no matter how hard I tried,
I couldn’t think of anything else.
In that moment, I would have given
Anything to not have thought about:
How loud he was yelling at her,
Frightening me as I sat helpless
In the passenger seat of her truck.
In that eighth grade language arts classroom,
I was being tormented of scenes of:
Him trying to reach into her truck,
Reaching to take the keys,
Her yelling at and hitting him,
And me, crying and begging them to stop.
I was so distracted by these memories,
That the bell rang,
And I never got past that question.
The question haunted me,
Followed me around all day.
And, with it, came the flood of:
Her, trying to use me
To guilt him into stopping;
It didn’t work.
Unfortunately, this soon lead to
A flurry,
A tornado,
A blizzard,
A hurricane
Of sounds filled my head:
Yelling
Screaming
Crying
Tires burning rubber on pavement
Breaking glass
The next day, I once again faced the question,
“When was a time you wished
That you had more guts?”
I simply put, “In the classroom.”