Most Stories About Kids Who Were Bullied Don't Have a Happy Ending

Orson was one of those boys who looked about nine even when he was in high school. He had quite beautiful amber colored hair that flowed down to his shoulders. His features were so fine and his skin so white you might think his nose had been erased. His eyes were as brown and soulful as a puppy’s.I remember him half skipping through the hallway, always laughing at something. He once presented me with a play he’d written for English class. Checkov’s gun was a character in the play. He giggled as he showed me the dialogue.Checkov’s gun: BANG!Naturally, he was constantly beaten to within an inch of his life. I stopped it a few times. I was a senior when I met Orson, and that gave me power. Once or twice I encountered football players putting him up against the green lockers.Orson’s brown eyes plead with me from beneath a mound of heaving letterman’s jackets.“Don’t,” I said.The football players would retreat. They considered themselves above the law because that’s the way it goes with football players in small rural towns, but they didn’t challenge me. I wouldn’t have cared if they did. I was nothing but frustration then.They probably recognized that in my eye and that’s why they elected to walk on by.I never said anything to Orson when this happened. He slunk away embarrassed. I didn’t expect gratitude and he didn’t offer it. We treated it like something that needed to be forgotten.Like all abuse. That’s all we knew how to do.Orson’s mom managed to get our little town on TV. She started dating one of Orson’s friends. I remember that kid, his name was Lenny. He reminded me of Paul Finch, the character who sleeps with Stifler’s mom.Lenny seemed like a kid I could be friends with, but something kept me away. Maybe it was the fact that I kept having to drag the football players off him too. Incidentally, there had been a kid who had done that for me when I was their age.It’s become cliche to say a boy is old for his age, but with Lenny that was true. He could rattle off titles and names of authors. He bludgeoned the ignorant with knowledge. The farmers and the entitled country folk didn’t like it. They always looked upon those of us who read with suspicion.I leaned into that. I read the books openly. Kids like Orson and Lenny had to hide.Word broke in the cafeteria that Lenny was going on some sleazy talk show to talk about his relationship with Orson’s mom. I was with a group of friends when I heard. Our reaction was to smirk. “What?” But then the mirth went away.We turned on the screen. It was some studio in some big city. There were a bunch of educated people who looked at Lenny like he was a feature of the zoo. Every single one of them had the same look on their face. It was a combination of disgust and bemused.The host asked them questions as if this were a real discussion, but it was clear they were mocking him.Lenny sat there, back straight, answering. He was good at it. He was a well-spoken youth. The mom sat beside him looking desperate. It made me sad. I guess here were two people who just wanted out. They’d been thrown into a cage with wild animals and they were clinging desperately to some approximation of love.I think we hoped that the folks in the big city with all their money and their fancy degrees would recognize what was happening and come to help us.But they looked at that boy and that woman with contempt. They roared with laughter. Every single question had an edge. Through the screen, I recognized that Lenny figured out what was happening.Our town was on the map, as a disgrace. He wouldn’t be able to return here again.“Shut it off,” I said.Like with every other beating, we pretended it hadn’t happened.The last I heard of Orson, he’d ended up dead. Apparently he’d gone trotting off to finish a drug deal. They found his body in a dumpster. Nobody really investigated. Nobody cares about kids like him.Little Orson with the flowing caramel hair and the puppy dog eyes. He once wrote a play with Checkov’s gun as a character.That’s actually pretty funny when you think about it. But it didn’t earn him any points with a rural high school English teacher.The last I heard, some entitled jerk who had the opportunity to go to film school had selected Orson as the subject of a documentary.They haven’t contacted me to talk about him.They wouldn’t publish what I had to say anyway.I wonder if his mom and Lenny are still together.I think about Orson sometimes.Not always, but perhaps every couple of days.You all make this newsletter happen! Thanks for your sponsorship! 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