Death of a Pedophile [slightly edited for television]
RS
I got a text today from a childhood friend (fellow victim), whom I hadn’t seen or heard from in years. Nothing intentional, mind you, just life getting in the way. He told me that the sick [SOB] who abused us as kids had finally died and sent a link to the obituary -- as if I wouldn’t believe him and that this proof would make it real. The thread ended after some back-and-forth profanity-laced macho posturing, bravado to try to cover up our real feelings. …. And just like that I was back to that 4th grade hell, trapped in that recurring nightmare: the new kid, called to the teacher’s room during recess, ushered by classmates I thought were my friends but who couldn’t suppress their mean-spirited giggles behind their hands and my back…. The combined shock of what he did -- he a teacher, an adult, an authority figure -- and what they did – they classmates, supposed friends, but also vic- tims too -- has left an ulcer upon my soul that has never healed, never faded, always re-opened with the slightest bump or scratch. It was bleeding afresh with this news. …. Now here I am, older than he was then, gray invading my beard while my hairline recedes. Sitting in this ratty recliner, the phone still in my shaking hand, a cold sweat across my brow and down my back, and my heart thumping like an unbal - anced washing machine. I have no one to talk to -- really talk to -- about it. Honestly, don’t know if I
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