New technology, old wounds

Me at my dorkiest, 1985

I spent six years at the same elementary school with all of the same kids. I was by no means popular, but I wasn’t a total outcast, either. Then 7th grade rolled around, and I was at a junior high school in a completely different neighborhood with some of the same kids from elementary, but with a lot new kids who really didn’t like me very much.

I don’t remember if I was just an easy target (most likely) or if I antagonized the Mean Kids (maybe?), but I do remember some awfully painful teasing during those two years at Herbert Hoover.

In particular, I remember one day quite clearly. I was walking down the hallway in between classes (awkwardly, as usual), and I heard her voice behind me, mocking me.

“Wow. Nice outfit. Your Mom took you to K-Mart yesterday, huh?”

(Actually, Sears, I thought, but thank you so very much for noticing my Toughskins.)

Then her voice was right behind me, still saying mean things, still trying to get a reaction. I walked a little faster. She did, too. Next thing I knew, I felt her foot in between my feet, and I felt my books fly out of my hands and my glasses flip off of my face right before my head hit the hallway floor. She laughed even harder, stepped over me, and walked away with her giggling friends.

I felt like an absolute worthless piece of garbage, and I suppose that was her intention.

I don’t know if she treated everyone like that, or if I was special. I just know that when I think about it now, more than twenty years later, I still get a sickening feeling in my gut.

The other day, her name popped up as a “Suggested Friend” on Facebook.

Curse you, Facebook! If you only knew! Why don’t you get your smart people on the case and program some sort of “Bully Filter”! And, oh, gee, THANKS for dredging up one of the worst memories of my adolescence.

This minor Facebook incident reminded me of a time when I thought I’d gotten the upper hand on her, too. Joel and I were in Sioux City, shortly after we were engaged. We went to a restaurant downtown. SHE showed us to our table. She SERVED us. It felt GLORIOUS! I felt so smug and so superior that I actually acted like a jerk towards her. I knew she recognized me because she wouldn’t look me in the eye. She seemed sort of embarrassed to be in a position of servitude towards the dorky high school nothing.

We went to high school together, too, so I could have been friendly and shot the breeze with her about what she’d been doing since then. But I didn’t. I gloated.

When Joel and I went back to my parents’ house, I relayed the story of my bully’s comeuppance to them as if I was relaying the story of how I’d won a freakin’ Olympic gold medal.

“Oh, she went to college and was in such-and-such city doing such-and-such, and then she had to come home,” my Mom tells me. (Sioux City is essentially a small town, and everybody knows everybody else’s business.)

“Oh, REALLY?! What a loser, having to come back home. She thought she was really big time, and now look at her! She’s a hostess in a restaurant in Sioux City!” I mocked.

“Jennie, she didn’t have to come home because she couldn’t make it. She had to come home for a very good reason,” Mom scolded.

And it was a very good reason. And this time I was the jerk. Big time.

I felt like going back to the restaurant and apologizing. But by then I was hoping that she still felt I was the little nobody she tortured in school and she still believed she had me in my place. I knew, though, that I was the only one keeping score.

I spent so much time in my own head during junior high and high school, yearning for the day when I would blossom like Mom had always promised. When I wouldn’t have to deal with Mean Girls at school and when I would realize I wasn’t really a loser. I fantasized about my Dad being transferred to the opposite side of the country so I could start over where nobody knew I was a dork, where I could reinvent myself and live happily ever after.

That was a waste of time. I would have made better use of my time forgiving and letting go. I probably should have prayed harder during Mass, not so much for relief from my tormentor but for her relief. Turns out her life wasn’t easy, and that’s probably why she let loose on me.

Forgive and forget.