Notes

Dear Ms. Simon,

We used to laugh our heads off. Up on your wall in the strings room in the 700s, next to schedules and emergency contact numbers and instrument rosters, sat a small slip of white printer paper with a definition printed in standard computer font.

--Bullying. Using superior strength or influence to intimidate (someone) repeatedly, typically to force him or her to do what one wants.--

"She wouldn't know bullying if it smacked her in the face!" we cackled after class. "I can't believe she doesn't see it happening," we laughed. "I can't believe she doesn't see it happening," we say again. "I can't believe," we say, more discouraged each time.

Let me say, I tried to talk to you. Hell, I talked to you. I did. You said it was just kids with a conflict who needed to work out their problems. That I didn't understand the real story, what was actually happening. That infuriated me. I knew exactly what was happening. I just didn't realize exactly how infuriated I was until last night, at least two years later. It spread through me like little spouts of venom starting in my chest and seeping down into my body until it overtook me and I could feel no pity for you.

And do you want to know why?
Because it's not funny anymore. Because we can't laugh anymore. I know it's over two years past and there's probably some sort of "30-days-back money back guarantee" for filing a complaint against complicit teachers at the moment of the incident, but how can you not feel the anger coursing through you when you say "we can't laugh anymore," and then realize that you mean "I, I can't laugh anymore?" Because I can't laugh anymore. I can't.

I also can't blame you. That's probably why this letter won't ever make it to you. Who am I to say that if you paid more attention this never would have happened? Who am I to say that you weren't right the whole time, that you really did know best and there was simply nothing to be done?

That still doesn't erase the fact that every time I turn to check when class will be over and I see that slip of paper, taunting me with the irony of its existence, a lump forms in my throat and I think of what could have been. I just can't laugh anymore.

Sincerest wishes,
Caroline David