There are things you do as a teenager that haunt you for the rest of your life.
For me, it was a boy named Michael.
I am 50 years old now, and I have learned that time does not erase everything. Some memories only grow sharper because you finally understand what they meant.
When I was young, I thought cruelty was a game. I thought laughter made me powerful. I thought silence from adults meant permission.
Michael and I went to school together. He was quiet, thin, and awkward in the way some kids are before they grow into themselves.
He wore the same brown jacket almost every day, even when the weather turned warm. His shoes were always a little scuffed, and his backpack had a broken zipper he kept fixing with a safety pin.