Indifferent: A Short Story About The Consequences Of Bullying

Travis and I have a strange history. We used to be friends in elementary school together. We hung out in art class, then any time we could be together, and we helped each other out. At some point, he drew away from me. He became more interested in sports than in art class. I’d ask him to hang out with me and he’d refuse then tell me he had to go.

He seemed to lose his sensitive side and then he somehow became who he is today. I sometimes have some hope for him, but most of the time I know better.

Travis was the only one who wasn’t convicted to jail time. His family had the better lawyers, I assume. That and the only saving grace he has is that he revealed that his female friends were the ones involved in the cyberbullying & telling Bianca to “go kill herself”. He insisted that he was “encouraged to tease Bianca” and “sometimes forced to, even when he got tired of it”. He insisted and swore under oath that he’d never tell someone to kill themselves. He also testified in court that he had “never meant to make her suffer” and he thought she was “a sweetheart”. That last statement stood with me long after the trial ended.

I confronted him about his statement in court when we had returned to school only months after the trial.

“Why did you bully Bianca if you thought she was a ‘sweetheart’?!”

He was silent.

I stormed up to him, ready to attack him.

“Answer me!” I demanded.

“I feel bad about what happened, too!’ he admitted.

“Why did you do it?!” I nearly screamed.

There were crowds of people surrounding us now.

“Listen. Bianca was a sweet girl but let’s face it now: she was a coward.”

I lost it. I attacked him and continued to claw at him even after security and other faculty members pulled me away from him.

“We need back up! We’ve got a ‘situation’!” I remember hearing a security guard requesting on his walkie talkie.

We were sent to the Principal’s office and I was forced to apologize to him. Not before I tried to attack him again. The police had to hold me back and sternly remind me I could be facing assault charges. I didn’t care. I was so angry that I cried.

“Now say you’re sorry to this young man,” Principal West repeated himself for the third or fourth time. He sounded like a broken record.

“I just want to know why,” I cried, as the police continued to hold me back from lashing out at Travis, “Why did you do this to her?! You’re responsible, just like them!”

Travis muttered an apology to me as he began to tear up. We made eye contact and I saw that in his eyes he truly was sorry. He even shed a tear himself that his quickly wiped away. He was just like the old Travis I knew long ago. That apology from him was good enough for now.

I finally apologized. For what, I don’t really know. Was I apologizing for my anger? For my reaction?

“She needs a referral to a counselor,” one of the faculty blurted out.

“We’ll inform the parents when they arrive,” someone else in the room said. I stopped giving eye contact to anyone as I kept my head down to conceal my pain and embarrassment.

That day gave me slight closure to a gaping wound.