My parents never liked me. My mom swore I was the devil incarnate. She was a very religious person. She would pray to God every night, and apologize to our Pastor. Maybe if she let me be baptized, I would be different. Maybe it's because I refused to believe in God. Maybe I was just different. My parents never liked me. And when they disowned me last Tuesday, I discovered, I didn't like them.
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I am six. It's 1994. It's halfway through the semester. Billy was being a jerk. Billy was calling me names. Billy was making fun of me. Billy was about to die.
I was taking the bus home as always. Mom never picked me up from school. Dad always came home late from work. I had to take the bus. At first I didn't understand why my mother was afraid to be with me in public. I thought I was a good child. That night changed it all. It was December fifteenth. It was raining. The old country road was muddy and the driver could hardly see. He wanted to get home. He wanted to see his wife and kids. He wanted to relax this evening.
"Hey, poo-head. Why doesn't your mommy like you? Is it because you're weird? Yea, you're weird. Weird-o."
"That's not true," I said. His words stung. They stung me in such a way I had never felt before. I had bee stings, I liked it. They feeling of the bee's stinger through my skin made me giggle. But, his words. They hurt me inside. Inside, where I was weak.
"Yea it is. Weird-o. Poo-head."
The bus gave a sudden lurch. I saw my chance. I had to take it. As the bus rounded the corner I leapt to Billy's seat. The buses had old fashioned windows. I didn't get a chance to hit him, but my body collided with his. His body with the window. There was a loud crack and then the noise of shattering glass. Billy disappeared. The bus driver turned around to see what the noise was. He let go of the steering wheel. Before anyone could say anything, the bus crashed.
The bus driver died that night. Billy was never seen or heard from again. The police came to investigate the scene and parents to pick up their children. My mom never came. I walked home two miles in the rain. I sang Happy Days all the way home.
Maybe it was fate. Yes, I know it was fate. Fate killed Billy. Fate killed my parents. Fate wrapped their intestines around their neck. Fate boiled their hearts. Fate carved "I Love you" on the walls. All I need to do, is find Fate.
And thank him.
