The floor has been polished to an incredible sheen by a dedicated civil servant. The lockers lining the halls seem to stretch on to infinity. The chaos of Robert Frost Middle School swirls around me as I make my way from one flavor of drudgery to the next.

Down the hall comes David, the resident goof ball, the kid forever “different”. Yes, different enough to require quotes. He’s pudgy. His glasses are thick. He’s in some special ed classes. His social skills are worse than mine, which is saying a lot. He has an odd habit of writing in the air with his finger while he walks along talking to himself. An odd kid, a harmless character.

Someone trips David sending the uncoordinated youth sprawling and his armful of random papers fluttering to resting places up and down the hall. There is much laughter.

I didn’t trip him. I didn’t laugh. I didn’t do anything.

That inaction has haunted me and shamed me ever since. I hate my younger self for it. I goad my present self to not repeat it.