As your token work from home hermit friend, I spend a lot of time on ye olde interwebs. Basically, unless I am sleeping or doing something that requires water, I’m online at least five days a week. Like you, I sometimes need a break. Unlike you, I don’t have a water cooler to gather around with my co-workers. So, I browse the Internet. I think “surf” is the hip term, but as I may have mentioned, I’m old-fashioned. Every so often, someone from my past comes to mind and I wonder whatever happened to that person. So, I Google stalk him or her. Most of the time, I can’t find anything on the person because of a common name like Smith or Sullivan. Sometimes, I hit GOLD, though, like I did with my former bully, Z.W. If her initials are Z.W. you can probably imagine her name. I won’t share her name with you, but I will share the letter I would like to send her.
You probably don’t remember me. I was that short, chubby, white girl that you used torment at McNichol in the mid 80’s. Well I’m still a short, chubby, white girl, but you don’t torment me anymore.
Remember the day that I hit you? I’ve never been so angry in my life. Well, maybe I have been angrier since then. You were sitting behind me in pre-algebra. Remember, we had that teacher who probably kept Bourbon in her desk? She was one of those mean, raspy-voiced drunks, and she had that pube-like hair – just frazzled. Between her scary “teaching” style and your constant criticism, and the fact that it was MATH class, I was in tears nearly every day.
I remember that one day you were poking me in the back because of course you just had to sit right behind me. I had enough, and I grabbed my yellow Jordache purse and I swung it around and hit you right in the head. You’re so lucky we didn’t carry big smart phones around back then. You looked so shocked. I was shocked too. You said something about kicking my ass, or whatever, but you never did. You just threatened me a lot, as usual, but then you sort of left me alone. I don’t regret hitting you.
Not only were you mean, but you had everything I wanted. You had Gucci and Louis Vuitton purses. You had Beverly Hills Polo Club outfits — everything I wanted. I could never understand how someone who was as rich as you appeared to be went to McNichol – a ghetto school. For some reason, you came to mind recently, so I Googled you and I figured it out.
I found an article about your stepdad being arrested as one of the biggest heroin dealers in South Florida. The article talked about how you lived in a huge house on three lots, but located in the hood. There was even a quote from you yelling about how they didn’t know what kind of man he was. It all made sense then. I lost all anger towards you and totally understood. You had a heckuva life. You may have had all those things but you had a lot of drama at home; I’m certain of it. If we had ever actually talked in school, we probably would have been friends.
Through the magic of Google, I see that you’re now a midwife and an all-around very spiritual person. You are also an artist. I have to say Z, I never would have pictured you becoming the person you are today. I’m happy for you. You seem peaceful–so far away from that mean girl I knew. Good for you, Z.
That little, fat white girl