A Game ofJenga

Psychological effects of bullying on a young elementary school student and how he decides to deal with his bully.

The pig I was called. I don’t know why. I didn’t like it. All throughout grade school it was like my pet name. It was only her who called me it though, therefore by all logic, I hated her. Pushing me around; I was less than her, she knew it, I knew it. Everyone saw it. Bystanders were of no help when all they did was stand by. Help was asked several times, but never once was it offered to me or given to me when it was clearly evident that I needed it. She was a cruel and unnaturally bitchy person. How glad was I that I only had to take this abuse during school. Home was safe! Home was my haven. Of course that was till I found out where she lived. Hey neighbour.
It never got physical, I’m sure she didn’t want to get caught. But it stayed emotional. I probably would have preferred physical; would have hurt less. “Hello pig, how are you? Does the piggy want his food? Awe look at the piggy! Guys look at him, he wants my sandwich!” she would say constantly. It’s not much you would say. Hell if I heard it, I would say the same thing. It’s not that bad. There are worse cases out there. People are harassed so much worse than this. But it was daily and constant, and it never stopped… never.
Was I afraid? Why didn’t I tell people? I did. While it was happening. No one helped. They’re one of us who didn’t think that this was bad enough for support. But it felt bad, it felt like I needed support, I needed a crutch. I had nothing to lean on when I was broken down. People would come to push over the cripple, it was a fun game. They all cheered and laughed, and sang merry songs about how ‘he would never get out of his wheelchair.’ Except there was no cripple, only me. No fun, no games; just the endless torment of the girl next door. No cheering and laughing, just public executions and crying, and the only songs you could hear were about ‘Piggy and his sandwich.’
I had friends, I wasn’t a “loser,” but that’s not how attacks work. Attacks work when you’re alone, when your defenses are down when you’re at your weakest. Like walking home, or walking to your clique of friends, or, just minding your own business, thinking about how really great your day was. I had no help, my guard was down, my soul was exposed, and she punched it, and kicked it, and bit it with her teeth, and there was literally nothing I could do to stop it!
The worst part? She didn’t even know me; didn’t bother to try. Funny thing, all I did was ask when lunch was. Who knew that was enough to send a child from hunger to unhappy? In case you’re wondering, lunch wasn’t for another 20 minutes! Not like she told me that. Lucky me for being able to read a clock. Yes, that does mean this entire ordeal could have been avoided had I not used my voice.
I felt like Jenga. You know that game you played as a kid. I would have stable support in the morning. By the time recess came pieces of my soul had been removed and I had more and more stress being built up on top of me. It was a lot to deal with. Then by the end of the day all my pieces were ready to crash down to the ground, they were all ready to shatter onto the floor and hopefully get picked up by the next players. My game of life that I played daily.
I grew up with this, kind of. It was enough to make me think I wasn’t good enough for anything. Enough to make me believe most people in this world were out to get me. I hid at home most of my time, being with family, caring for my little brother. I would do anything for him. I stopped eating much, started losing a bunch of weight. I had to look thin and presentable. It would stop the torment. It would stop the punishment of life from this horrid human being. “New diet?” people I knew would ask. I would nod, or look pleased with myself that it was getting noticed. That I “the pig” was getting thin.
That didn’t stop the torment. Not really. My emotions were still played with. I was still a loser. I was still… “The pig.” No matter how much weight I lost, no matter how much weight she gained… I was the pig, not her. Why not her? Because she was now big and scary, and I was now scrawny and weak. I was now available for other people to just walk in and start their terms of harassment.
In my game of Jenga, pieces were now missing altogether. My structure was constantly unstable. No one I cared about could see through my social mask of happiness. I can look happy. I can act enough to show people I wasn’t hurting, or being slowly killed on the inside by a girl who seemed to enjoy herself, solely by bullying me, the now weak and innocent. Now I think I’m liable to become a little scared for myself.
Time away from school was a god send. I loved it, though, me being me, I didn’t get it often because I wasn’t one to just completely take any reason to skip a day. But when I did, I loved it more than anything. I was safe those days, for the full day. I didn’t have to worry about being exposed around every corner. I was free in my own house.
The day my little brother started at my school was great. I visited him often, in his little kindergarten area. The only thing was I hope she didn’t take the wrong piece out of my tower of Jenga and have me crash down in front of my brother. He could have ruined everything. Exposed me of being weak; I didn’t want to seem like the little helpless kid I really was.
I seemed less of a person than what I was anyway. Always seeing the little kindergartners; instead of my friends. But that’s okay, I was safe there. She never came around there. I don’t know if it was because she knew the risk of exposing me there, or if because she didn’t think I was so small that I had to hide with the little kids.
Walking home I was scared still, she lived just as far as I did, walked to just about the same place as I did too. So depending on how fast we walked we could be alone for a couple streets. And the opportunity for her to just abuse me in front of my family might be too great for her to pass up. It made me nervous for a while. I never looked forward to leaving my house, would I ever look forward to it again? Is there a time when I again will feel safe outside?
She ignored me. She speeds up and walks right by. I was amazed. It was over, I was free. But why? What did I do? I didn’t change much. I won. My game of Jenga has shown me a successful victory. I won, I can smile. I can finally feel safe again. I had the ultimate victory. I have won the chance to live my life. I watched her walk away, and thought of all the times she bothered me, and I looked down at my brother. I didn’t smile but I really wanted too.
I looked at myself when I got home. Then I thought who really won? I was now weak and brittle. Could I hold my own weight much longer? I wasn’t able to answer the important questions I desperately required answers too. I couldn’t support myself much longer the way I was living. I needed to get better. The one thing that made my life a living hell was gone. I could start again. Find my Jenga pieces and put them back from where they fell. Rebuilding my structure, making it safe for… safe for… safe for people to walk on again?
Regardless of who was out to help me and who was out to get me, I needed to get better for me. I looked at myself and I knew I wasn’t well. That the war with this tyrant was still going on and that it wouldn’t stop till it was too late. But I can’t just say “I’m going to eat.” go to the fridge grab a stick of butter and eat it all. It was more than that. I had problems with my head now, and I needed those demons out, but I can’t tell anyone. What’s left of my pride was left on the line. I needed to go hunting for my Jenga pieces all on my own. Where do I start? Where do I look for them?
My first piece was found a week later at school. I stepped away from the kindergarten area; back into the old schedule with friends. It felt great being normal again. I couldn’t run as much as I used to. Tag was a chore, but I played till it hurt. Even began complaining about the fake injuries people get when “it” is behind them. By the end of the recess everything was hurting. But I was smiling, that’s something I never once thought would happen again. That made everything a lot better.
She saw me. But she just continued on her way. Didn’t bother me, nor torment me, nor call me by the darling pet name I’ve grown to hate and fear. That’s when I definitely decided I was winning this game. My head housed a giant Jenga game. Black with a spotlight over the play area. The people playing. Her and I. I envisioned her getting bored of the game, and maybe wanted to end it. And maybe I was doing better at the game. I had a chance, she was showing signs of being weak, signs of failure loomed in the presence of me, all high and mighty.
The walk home was just as pleasant as it had been the week and days before. No one bothered me while I accompanied my brother home. He loved that we could talk and play some simple “eye spy” games on our walks home. I would even make us a snack when we got in. Which hasn’t happened in a long time. I’ve been too afraid to gain weight to eat. But not anymore, not since my game of Jenga was at a standstill. No one made a move for weeks. But I kept finding pieces to stabilize the structure.
The next piece was found when I had the courage to check my weight again. I had gained 10lbs. I was getting more and more proud of myself. The pride was coming back. I was glowing like a pregnant lady at 6 weeks. Except I’m neither a lady nor a seahorse, so I can’t be pregnant. I was getting my weight back. It showed. Did people ask if I stopped my diet? Did I care?
Pieces just seemed to be easier to find, and each time I would find one, I knew I was closer at winning this game. Jenga turned out to be my game after all. She thought she could beat me, hide the pieces of my tower in different places. But I have proven to her, proven to myself that these pieces can be found, that I am able to find these pieces and put them where they needed to be. To support my Jenga tower. To support my life. I was doing this alone I was winning this game. No one would have guessed it was the weak kid to triumph over evil. That never happens.
To stop my life from sounding too much like a cliché, eventually the pieces became harder to find. But in reality, I don’t mind sounding like a cliché it’s my life. It’s going to sound however I want it to sound. I only had one piece left. My structure was almost complete. I had friends, family, health. I didn’t actually know what I was missing. Redemption? Retribution? I haven’t a clue, all I know was that I was still missing a piece. That one wooden piece to make my structure whole again. That one small piece to help me win the game and win the big prize of my life.
Maybe she saw that I was happier? Who knows? But she started again. “Hey look guys. The pig is back. We haven’t spoken in a while pig!” But my structure was too complete for her to ruin this. I didn’t let this bother me. I don’t know what happened. I shrugged it off. I felt great! I felt on top of the world. A million dollars may or may not have made me happier, but you will never know. She didn’t stop. Followed me a bit, but I paid no mind. She followed me till I reached my friends, where the world’s coolest thing happened. They told her off. There was my final piece. The piece I had been looking for this entire time. Help. I smiled, didn’t join in, but I loved it. They helped, why I never got help before I’ll never know. It was worth it.
She left. Backed off of me. My Jenga tower, full of pieces, it looked like the game hadn’t even begun yet. It looked as I felt. Complete, whole, stable, a design that would never just fall unless provoked enough times. But now I was to win this game. My turn, I thought. I wonder if she played Jenga in her head too. Does that make me sound weird? That’s okay. I knew what it meant. It meant I had something to look forward to. I had something to live for. I had to win the game.
She kept at it. Trying to break me down. Trying to make me show signs of weakness. Good luck. She had no idea how hard that was going to be. I was solid. I was a rock. My wooden Jenga pieces being replaced by stone pieces. Making my structure seem much more solid. I took a piece near the middle. I could see it bothering her when I never reacted to her abuse. The added pressure I gave placing that piece on the top of the stack showed on her face. Just that one smooth stone piece. It felt great knowing I, the weak little insignificant kid was able to get to her.
People wanted to be my friend. I showed more confidence. More of myself was being put into my appearance. It was very uplifting to know I was desired for anything, even if it was just to talk to. I wasn’t popular, but that wasn’t a problem. Who wants to be popular anyway? Why gain the satisfaction of being one of the popular kids if you can’t like yourself, or just be you, or just like to do normal kid things, like hangout and eat that gross junk food that I hear is so unhealthy. But I had people wanting to be my friend. I had an audience for my Jenga game. People who would support me. People to catch my tower before it fell over. I knew I would never be alone again. Who’s awesome? I am.
I didn’t have time for many things, I was too divided in school and friends that I didn’t have much time for myself. That was okay, who likes being alone with those horrible thoughts, those grotesque memories. Not normal people. Then again I never was one to be named “normal.” I didn’t like normal. I don’t like normal. Normal is boring, who wants to fit in the norm, who wants to prove to everybody that you’re just like them? Not I good sir or madam. I like being myself. That has never happened before, but it proved that it didn’t matter; I was winning Jenga, which is a bigger accomplishment than anyone can say they’ve done.
She kept up trying to bother me. Why, I’ll never know. She could see it didn’t bother me, and everyone could see that it did bother her. She was a loser. Not I. I realize this now. She felt good by making me feel bad. I felt good by showing her that she couldn’t bother me anymore. And she didn’t I barely noticed her. She was but a blur in my vision that would just fade in and out in the days. She was like a censor bar that would allow you to hear constant bickering about weight, and how ugly you are, and some stuff about “blah blah blah.” You could laugh at how silly she began to look. I was about to win Jenga. I was closer than I thought too.
She tried it. I couldn’t believe. I just told him to play along. She tried to get at me in front of my little brother. It didn’t work. I told him to laugh at her. He did. He proved his worth. She felt embarrassed. If only people were around on this walk home to see how silly she looked getting told off by a kindergartner. Oh how I wanted to bask in that moment. Oh how the feeling was both great and overpowering. I’m allowed to let it get to me sometimes aren’t I? I’m allowed to get this, she tortured me for years. This was my comeback. Everyone gets one. This was mine. This was allowed. There’s a rule somewhere about this, I’ve read it once. She walked away. Her turn.
The next day at school she tried everything to get to me again. “Hey pig! You’re so fat, and ugly, and I hate you! And you have no friends! You’re stupid! You’re hated!”
I kept walking. Was I really supposed to let that bother me? I mean, she got her proverbial a*s handed to her by a five year old. Then something strange happened. She just stopped. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t follow me around the yard. I felt neither scared nor did I worry for anything. I thought maybe that was her last piece. Did her Jenga tower just collapse? Had I just won? I could have burst into dance in the middle of the yard. But that would have opened up doors for more people to get to me.
Walking home that day just out front of the school, she was behind my brother and I. Talking with her friends about things that didn’t matter. I was talking to my brother about his day, it was pretty interesting. Apparently they played a giant game of snakes and ladders in the gym, and then they did arts and crafts. He was just about to tell me what he made during arts and crafts when she spoke up from behind. “Hey, wide load you need a sticker. You can move faster fat a*s. Way to block the entire sidewalk.” Again I shrugged it off. She really didn’t bother me. If she needed to do this to look so high and mighty in front of her friends, just so she can have some. Go for it. Then… “And your brother. You know you’re not allowed to take zoo animals home. Pigs like him deserved to be locked in a cage.”
There it was. My tower fell. Its support is down. It fell… right onto her lap. “You b***h!” I yelled as I turned. “You can’t say that to him he’s a kid. You know why you have anyone who would possibly call you a friend? Because you’re scary. They don’t care about you, they never did. They’re afraid that if you aren’t their friends you will just hurt them too! You’re alone. You’ve always been. I mean look at you. Someone as wholeheartedly ugly as you can’t have anybody to really call a friend can you? You wear so much make-up just to hide the ugly. You look like a complete w***e! Why, I must say that’s a lovely f*****g shade of b***h you’re wearing!”
She stood there stunned. I was shocked as well. My brother stood behind me, though. I think he was scared. It was for him though. I couldn’t let her do that to him. How could I? Her “friends” didn’t say anything. I turned to my brother and told him we can go now. So we did. Look at that, I thought. I caught my tower before it fell. I’m still in the game. But now she’s in a tight spot. Looks like every other piece is a support piece. She is out of moves. I’ve won. No matter which piece of this Jenga game she takes. She’s lost completely. No chance of recovery on her part.
I noticed over the next few days at school however, she was quiet. More so than usual. She wasn’t with her friends, didn’t say much to anyone unless she was spoken to. She looked as alone as I made her feel. Good. She deserved it. No one deserves what she put me through, and what she kept trying to put me through, and then saying that to a 5 year old. No, you’re not allowed to do that to kids. Or anyone, yet I let it go on. I wish I had stopped it sooner. But it didn’t that was my mistake. Did I let things get this drastic? Was I as bad as she in the end? Letting this happen. And then such a harsh retaliation. Was I that weak?
As the weeks passed, she looked worse and worse. Like she didn’t care anymore. Like her appearance was the last thing on her mind. Welcome to my life, I thought. Should I help her out? Be the normal cliché of harasser and victim relationship. No. I didn’t care about her. I couldn’t. How could I she was so mean to me and never did anything good for me ever. All she did was strive to make my life hell. I did one thing to her and she’s acting like this. That’s not good, that’s not normal, she really was strange. Worse than I, and I’m pretty weird.
She started fading in and out. I don’t know. Of consciousness? Reality? Was she ever really there? Not like I paid much attention to her, but you tend to notice when people just stop showing up to school. Teachers showed little concern, I’m sure, just another sick student, they would think. Maybe they were right. But what was she sick of? Did I cause this? Maybe I was the problem. Jenga must still be being played. Whether we knew it or not, she’s just taking a lot of time to take her turn. But I knew whatever move she were to make, it would be risky. Nobody wants to lose a game, it’s in nature. And people who tell you it doesn’t matter whether you win or lose… You ever notice they only say that when you lose? When you win you get praised. When you lose, oh well you had fun. Doesn’t matter whether you win or not. Liars.
Cars would come and go in her driveway. But I would never see her leave her house. Maybe she was really sick and had the flu or something. Not my fault, if she’s too sick to leave the house. It can’t be my fault; it took so long for her to really start to affect me, no way after a couple of weeks and me doing something once could affect her that drastically. I felt better knowing it wasn’t my fault. I turned a blind eye. It was easy. Too easy maybe. Still easy.
My friends were great, I would spend so much time at their houses playing games, talking, doing anything that we could think of. We never got in trouble. I would only befriend the kids from the good crowd. I’m allowed to be a bit biased on things like that though. I don’t like it when my friends get themselves into trouble, so I gain friends who don’t do that, often or at all. They were great. They were really a lot of fun. I was moving on with them. I’ll keep it that way. I liked it.
My little brother didn’t seem to be bothered by the whole incident. That was good, but I wondered if he ever thought about it. Like would he tell me if he did? And if I was to ask him, and he really hadn’t thought about it, he would now, and that could really bother him. I don’t really want to do that to him. I’m too kind and caring I think. In my head I am. Whether that shows to everybody or not, I don’t know.
I saw her in school. She looked like she was doing better. Great… the stronger she can be when she decides she wants to make her move. I wasn’t looking forward to what she had planned for getting back at me for defending myself. Victims aren’t supposed to do that. Victims are supposed to be hurt, scared, alone, and unhappy. I’ve read that somewhere I’m sure. I wasn’t acting like a victim anymore. I was acting like someone who hadn’t had anything bad happen to him. Ever. Though both she and I knew, I had it rough for a while. She wasn’t being quiet anymore. She was being vocal. She looked almost as if she was being social as well. With everyone. Why? That wasn’t her style. She was being kind to people. To real people. Was this her strategy? Was this her move? Or did she quit the game all together? That means I had won. A sweet victory.
She didn’t really look at me. And when she did, she looked sad. The game wasn’t over. Not yet. She didn’t look worried or anything, she just didn’t look extremely happy that I wasn’t as miserable as her. I knew she was miserable, I’ve been there. I know what it looks like. I know what it feels like. There’s no way she could hide it from me. I knew she needed to talk, whether she realized this or not. But did I want to talk to her? She was upset and hurting, and just needed someone, anyone to help. I’m too nice for my own good.
I go and offer my services to her, just letting her know I’m there to talk. Why? I’m not smart am I? “Excuse me? You want to talk to me? What do I look like, your friend? Which I’m shocked you have. You’re so moody. Even I can’t believe people listen to you when you talk.” She proclaimed right in the middle of class… in class! The teacher? She did nothing. But whatever. With a flick of my wrist I was done with her. If she has nothing good to say… ever, why say anything to her?
“Drop dead.” I said as I walked away. She may have sworn at me, a couple profanities. But to me, she was a lost cause. Jenga would have to take a break. I didn’t know how stubborn she was. I’m actually mad at myself, for thinking everyone can be good, that everyone has the potential. It’s not true. Which I think gives me just cause for my next actions. She wasn’t a good soul. She doesn’t have a good soul in her shoes. She deserved a little paint to the face… and hair… and clothes… and… well, I really hope she likes pink. If she didn’t I added some yellow.
She ran out of the room. I think she was crying, I embarrassed her so bad! Oh know… What a complete freaking tragedy. The principal seemed like a nice modern gentleman. Nah. Suspension makes him seem like he doesn’t like fun. Or revenge. Who doesn’t like revenge? The people who cause the revenge to take place, that’s who. So I was sent home early with an escort. For some reason paint is a reason why you’re not allowed to walk home alone.
I’ve won though. Jenga. I’m sure of it this time. That was her final piece and it fell. Right on top of her. She had no chance. I just wouldn’t allow a victory on her part, after everything. I felt good, my walk home was like a victory lap, not the walk of shame everyone expected it to be. I can’t be sure if I smiled or not the whole way home, all I can say for certain was my cheeks were red and sore. It wouldn’t have taken a master sleuth to figure out where she ran after the whole paint incident. Little pink and yellow dots trailed all the way to her house. Ah… I was given such pleasure from this it was almost cruel but not quite.
That night I was happy, the parents were quite upset with me throwing paint at a girl for no reason. I don’t know who should have been more upset. Me or them. Them at the fact I threw paint at a poor helpless girl who was minding her own business. Or me… for them actually believing I threw paint at a poor helpless girl who was minding her own business. That was the only thing about the night that really bothered me.
The next day was a breeze as well. Home all day, to relax and just float around doing whatever my heart desired. Unless I was told not to, in which case I would sneak it. I said I was a good kid. Not perfect. I didn’t think about her much that day. When I did, it was pretty much just, I wonder if she’s at school today, or, What’s she going to do to me tomorrow when she’s there. A little worried, but I knew it was nothing to be afraid of. I now knew I could get to her just as easily as she could get to me. I took pride and a little confidence in knowing that. I needed that just a little bit. Made me feel better than I did this whole time.
My brother came home alone, as I was not allowed to be on school property at all today. I asked him how the walk home was. If he got that I was hinting at her, good, if not, no big loss there. I told me it was fine, he was bored though. I knew she didn’t bother him than. I made my brother his favourite after school snack… an apple. And I went to go outside. My mother told me I wasn’t allowed and that I was grounded. I told her I needed to go to a friends and work on a project and that if I didn’t go I would fail. Just see her try and keep me in the house from that. I walked outside, and there she was. Just getting home. I couldn’t believe that she actually went to school that day. She was certainly brave.
She had something in her hand. I’m not sure what it was though. I tried avoiding her. But she walked right up to me, she confronted me in the street, right out front of our houses. “You really hurt me yesterday! You’re an a*****e! I can’t believe someone would do that to me! What have I ever done to you?” What a snobby little voice she had. Maybe she was born with a silver spoon. That’s not a good reason to be oblivious to how much you’re hurting people. I pushed her aside and kept walking. I wasn’t going to deal with her then. She open palmed hit me on the back. It hurt. I turned to her and made gestures with my body that made it simple to ask if she was crazy. But I kept walking. She just looked at me.
I got to my friend’s house and we playing some video games for a couple hours. He complimented me on the initiative I took in standing up to her in class, and not ratting her out to anyone at the same time. I realized I was pretty awesome wasn’t I? He told me that he had never seen an act such as that, with such great consequences, it made me look completely badass. I wasn’t badass I was… winning a game that never actually existed. What does that mean? How can you win something that was never there? Something that the other person didn’t even know they were playing. Did I win? How could I. I built it up so grand, but if you think about it. When playing a game against yourself, all you can do is lose.
I thought maybe it was best not to think about it anymore. I thought for so long that I was winning and that she was a worthy adversary. But I now know that I was really playing against myself, and my feelings, and you can’t beat yourself. But you can beat yourself up. And I did. More than she ever could. When she asked what she ever did to me, maybe she was serious. Did I do most of the harassing myself? Maybe… it was me the whole time. She was just the ledge I used to climb up so I could throw myself off.
I thought I better leave my friend’s house. I needed to get home for dinner and everything. But first I asked if there was any homework that I should grab from him before I left. He told me textbook pages and that there was a math test on Thursday. Nothing to worry about. There wasn’t much homework, definitely not enough to keep me distracted. I think I needed a good distraction for the night, where would I find it?
As I was leaving my friend noticed something on my back. He grabbed it and took it off. I asked what it was. He showed me. It was just a sticky note that read “Sorry.” I figured it was from her. That’s what was in her hand. A sticky note. And she couldn’t tell me that in person? No, instead she makes a huge deal about nothing. Why would somebody do that? She can’t even apologize to my face! What a coward! How can she act so tough and yet not be able to say sorry to me. That’s not okay. There’s a special place in Hell reserved for people like her. She really mad me angry. I thanked my friend for the homework and left.
Walking home I walk with my head always tilted down. I noticed the paint from the other day. Made me smile. Felt good to smile while being in such a foul mood. My mood didn’t change at all. That’s okay. A smile is a smile. Whether you’re happy or not. I kept thinking of the note. She seemed so cowardly and weak. That was okay. I knew I was stronger than her. I knew this now, whether I was playing a game to lose or not. I wasn’t losing without a fight. I’m going down swinging. I promise.
There was a site I wasn’t expecting. A police car outside her house. I wonder what happened there. Father go mental, mother run away, did she finally snap? Either way, something crazy is going on there. And this time I can know for sure it had absolutely nothing to do with me. I had done nothing to her today. Her crazy is her business. Not mine. If she can’t contain it and needs “special help” to get it under control. Sucks to be her. I’m fine. I’ve never been better. I felt strong, stable, supported. I was finally at one with myself. Can’t lose a game that pardons both players. I can definitely tie against myself. No objections.
Dinner was okay, nothing special. Spaghetti and meat sauce. We eat it about once a week. My mother asked me how the project came alone. I told her it was done, and that I have the homework that I had missed from today as well. She looked pleased. She believed me. That was good enough. I couldn’t focus on the school work though. I was too curious as to why a cop car was next door. I needed to know I needed the answers to all my questions that were causing my head to hurt. But how would I? I’m not very good at finding that kind of information.
I decided to ask my mother if she knows what happened next door. She obviously didn’t that would have ended my curiosity to quickly. That’s never actually happened to me before, where my curiosity just stops. I think it’s a rule I’ve read it somewhere before I think. Things just happen, never usually in my favour. Though I guess if it really wasn’t in my favour, the cop car would be at my house wouldn’t it? I looked out my window. And ambulance was there now. I’ve only been home 45 minutes and it’s escalated to an ambulance being needed. Maybe the father did lose it. I got scared. I was cocky. I was mean to someone only in my head, but still. I was cruel to someone and then something happens to them. No matter what you’re going to blame yourself, don’t bother with the sympathy.
My mom. As brilliant as she likes to think she is, my mother isn’t the brightest. She told me to go next door and find out what happened. I listened. Why I listened? I will never know. Which I didn’t. I should have told her to go check. I walk out and up to their door. Nothing looked different. The door was closed people were just inside. I knocked. And waited. The waiting. I started playing Jenga in my head again. I couldn’t help it. The pressure from the waiting seemed like the pieces were getting played with. But as I recall it still wasn’t my turn.
A cop opened the door. I said “I live next door and my mom sent me over to make sure everything was alright.” I could see her mother sitting in the living room through the hallway. She looked like she was upset, I was unsure why at this point. The cop told me everything was fine. The mother glanced up and saw me at the door.
“You’re the neighbour boy aren’t you? This is all your fault!” she yelled. Dropping Kleenex to the floor. “You made her do it! She was happy before you came along!” The mother tried to get off the couch but fell almost every time. She was too disoriented. “Get away! You’ve ruined my family! You’ve ruined my life! You’ve killed my daughter!” I stepped back. The cop looked suspicious. But did nothing but close the door. I felt weak. I needed aid now. I… what did I do?
I walked in my door. Slow. Unstable. Scared. Hurt. Ready to cry. I made a girl kill herself. I did. Me. It was my fault. I’m a monster. I don’t know what came over me. Something’s wrong with me. I would never do anything to hurt anyone. But I did. I became the person I was trying to get rid of in my life. I turned into a killer. I should be locked up. I need to be arrested. I need to be taken away, so no one else gets hurt. I shouldn’t be let in public.
My mother asked me if everything was alright, I told everything was fine, and I was going to my room to do my homework. I didn’t do homework. I cried. For hours. Nothing could make the hurt go away. I couldn’t tell anyone what I did. What I made someone do. When backed into a corner, what are you going to do? Not feel trapped. You’re going to do anything to get out of that corner, any actions necessary.
This game in my head had taken over my life. I was a pawn. I was useless in real life. Since she has come into my life I had been obsessed with beating her at a game that doesn’t exist. Obsessed with showing her I was better than her. And what happened? I killed her. She’s gone. I ruined the lives of her family, friends, and extended things not thought about often.
Don’t be so sad I would tell her. You can make it through. It’s easy, all you have to do is try. Try and push. Push through the hurt, the pain, the suffering. Find something to live for. I played for my game, and now that’s gone, she took it with her. She was an opponent, and no two opponents are ever the same. I lost. Her move was a great strategy. She found that one piece that was able to be removed from support. And left me to make the whole game go crashing down. I lost. I lose. I didn’t catch the falling pieces as they rained down around me.
I’m a loser. You can’t win a game against yourself. I never really had a chance. You can only lose, no matter how hard you try. You can’t walk away from it. You will lose. You can’t win. But I’m going down swinging. I promised I would. I even took a casualty. 'Cause… I’m just that awesome.