Bullied Beyond Belief, Then I Reached Out to Him Later

I was shocked by his response to my message

The minute hand ticked to 8:57 a.m in Mrs. Maddox’s ninth-grade algebra class as I rotated back and forth from doodling the Cincinnati Bengals’ new helmet and checking out Dana Knight’s legs.

Ring!

The first-period dismissal bell and on to dreaded second-period English and Mrs. Johansen. I enjoyed English class, but it was the fear of running into sophomore Brian Moshier.

Even though my second-period class was only two classrooms to the left, I would purposely turn right, then make two large looping lefts, and circle all around the entire campus to avoid this bully.

The second week of school, Brian saw me coming, made sure I tripped over his extended right foot, and then stepped on and squashed my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and potato chips. Nice guy.

Lonesome walks during lunch.

We, unfortunately, had the same lunch periods. So, fearful of being beaten up, and harassed or having milk or nachos dumped over my head, I avoided the lunchroom like a plague, which didn’t leave many options.

I asked numerous teachers if they needed help in the classroom, but none did. This left me with no other option but to roam the halls of Murray High— hoping and praying — I’d avoid running into Brian.

Began at baseball

It all started the summer before high school, playing Babe Ruth baseball on the Dodgers coached by Stan Warfield, who had little knowledge of how to coach a youth baseball team and zero discipline.

Our star shortstop, Jimmy Paulsen, made a few cracks when I’d miss a fly ball or strikeout — and I didn’t stand up for myself. Soon other players were joining in, including, of course, Brian.

He was ruthless. Name-calling, laughing at me every chance he got. It got so bad that I didn’t want to go to practice anymore. I considered quitting often, but then I’d have to tell my parents, and that didn’t seem like an option. If I told my parents, the problem would be alleviated. I even drew pictures of Brian and would throw darts at them therapeutically every night.

A break-up and bullied at a basketball game

Walking to the school bus that Thursday after school, I heard the oh-too familiar threatening voice, “Hey pansy! Are you wearing your pink panties? Hope you are at the basketball game tomorrow. I’m going to kick your ass. You don’t know how much I’ve waited for this day.”

It was the big Murray High-Calloway High rivalry game. There would be a record crowd on hand. And I was terrified.

What was I to do?

I certainly couldn’t tell my girlfriend Ashley, who attended Calloway and was meeting me there. It made me feel so inferior, helpless, and unworthy. I had only one choice. I had to face the bully — and get my butt kicked.

My mom dropped me off, and I kept looking every which way to avoid Brian but also attempted to spot Ashley. Instead, I bumped into her two best friends, Carol and Jenny.

Shattered dreams

“Hey, Mike,” giggled Carol.

“Um,” Jenny continued. “Like, Ashley is over there, and didn’t have the heart to tell you in person, but she wants to break up.”

And my incredible evening just became more awesome.

I slunk into the gym where the cheerleaders were leading chants and the Calloway jazz band was playing “Sweet Georgia Brown.” I found a seat way in the top row behind the largest man I could find to shield me and spotted Brain with his two friends, Eric and Larry.

In the fourth quarter — with the game knotted at 51 — and only 47 seconds to play, Brian spotted me and pounded his right fist into his left hand as if foreshadowing his post-game plans for me.

The great escape

I noticed Brian was engaged in a conversation with a few guys and a couple of girls. This was my big opportunity to sneak out.

I slunk my way down the bleachers, hoping he hadn’t spotted me. Briskly, I walked to the gym door, but when I reached the gym door and glanced over where Brian had previously been sitting, he wasn’t there.

Snow encounters of the close kind

Frantically, I raced at top speed like Usain Bolt out of the lobby and outside where it was cold and snow poured down. I grabbed a handful of snow and made a quick lopsided snowball — an instant weapon for self-defense. Just in case.

My dad was supposed to pick me up from the game at 9:30 p.m. It was 9:21 p.m. I turn around and there was Brian just a few short yards from me along with his two goon friends.

“Looking for someone?” Brian asked.

Oh shit!

Frozen

Shocked, I just stared at him with glazed eyes, large as owls. Completely frozen. Panicked and sweating. I didn’t know how to respond.

“You’re dead meat, punk,” he said to me, breaking the silence.

Immediately, I sprinted toward a sidewalk that lead to the parking lot. I stopped. Turning, I took out the snowball, and threw it with all my might as if I was pitching on the mound trying to get the last out of the World Series.

Strike!

It nailed Brian in the middle of the face. Brandon agonized in pain and shock and wiped off the snow, ice, and water from his red, cold face.

“Son of a bitch!” Brian yelled. “You bastard. You’re really going to die now. It’s going to feel so damn good to punch the living shit out of you. You little bitch.”

He continued to wipe more snow and ice from his face, which gave me more time to getaway.

Spotting a chain-link fence eight feet high, I impulsively decided my best bet was to scale the fence and leap over it and hide out in the dark open field until I saw my dad. Another desperate option was if I made it over the fence, I could keep running.

Reaching the fence, I leaped with all my might and grabbed the top of the metal fence. Larry arrived and grabbed my shoe.

Luckily, my shoe slipped off and Larry went tumbling.

Yes. I made it. I balanced myself on the top of the fence and jumped to safety.

Oh shit!

Without lighting, I didn’t notice the field was muddy. I’d landed in a giant swamp. I fell backward and was engulfed in thick, gooey mud. I took another large step — trying to find a hard grassy area — and the smell was ungodly.

Cow manure. Oh shit! I felt like Biff Tannen from Back to the Future.

Forty-five minutes later, I emerged looking like the Swamp thing meets the abominable snowman.

“Where the heck was you?” my dad asked. “You’re all muddy, snowy, and smell like shit. What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” I lied. “My friends were trying to rescue this poor lost puppy way behind the gym, and, well, I kinda fell in mud and poop.”

“And the puppy?”

“The puppy is going to be alright. He was pretty courageous.”

Telling my parents

Enough was finally enough, and I did finally come clean and told my parents the whole story, and they did — like I suspected — march into the principal’s office. Brian was warned but still threatened to beat me up.

There was one more incident after school at the buses, but luckily the security guards came and broke it up before punches were thrown. I got one verbal blow in, yelling, “You don’t scare me one bit. You only bully me because of your securities, sausage boy!”

Fortunately, we moved a few weeks later, allowing me to escape the constant torture and emotional abuse of Brian Moshier.

Contacting Brian years later

Recently, Brian’s name popped up on my Facebook feed as a friend of a friend.

Bravely, I sent a polite — as possible — message, saying “I hope you are doing well. I don’t know if you remember me, but you used to bully me back during my freshman year. I was just curious if there is any reason why you did this or if there was something I did.”

I received a response from Brian within a few days.

“So sorry you had such a traumatic experience. Unfortunately, I do not remember bullying you. I wish you the very best in figuring out or working through these issues.”

Fascinating. I was shocked. I was even angry. How could he not remember? I can remember so vividly the details of his bullying that I endured daily yet Brian doesn’t remember it at all. Was it not a big deal and a small aspect of his childhood? Was it something he wanted to forget? Did he have a poor memory? Or, did he remember but opted not to confess?

My takeaway

Particularly with social media, bullying continues to be a huge problem in our schools and society. To the bully, it’s often no big deal and just a regular mundane part of his or her daily life — something they do as a hobby for fun, to torment someone smaller, inferior or different from them. Years later, the memory is forgotten.

Not so for the one receiving the bullying. I know I was that person. It’s something they will never forget. It will impact them, causing them to be depressed, consider — or even attempt — suicide, or need therapy. Oftentimes, they have no one to turn to. They are living a daily hellish nightmare with no escape.

We have to do more. As teachers, parents, adults, role models, and loving humans, we need to educate others, be more aware and teach the importance of love and accepting one another and do all we can to remove bullying, hatred, and physical and emotional abuse from our society.

It could often be a matter of life and death.

Thank you for reading my story.

Tagging a few followers: Scot Butwell, Lu Skerdoo, Sreese, Gerald Sturgill, Alison Levine, Jan Sebastian, Ruby Lee, MarkfromBoston 🌻Ukraine, Klara Jane Holloway, Evon, Victoria Valentine, Ning Choi, Deborah Camp, The Sober Vegan Yogi, Ginger Cook, Diana Meresc, Janet Meisel

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Usually, Michael L Butler enjoys writing about humorous, nostalgic memoirs. You can read thousands of stories and earn money writing your own stories by joining Medium for $5 a month. If you use my link I receive a small commission.