There was a small apartment building next door to our house. Billy lived there with his parents and his chihuahua. I found an image of a chihuahua skull to tube and that got me thinking about Billy.
One time, some of the neighborhood kids and I were picking on Billy. This was usual for us, a routine. Although we didn't beat on him with our fists, we were hell-bent on keeping Billy on outsider status. He ran home crying.
I was the ringleader of what happened next. We picked some berries and put them in a tin pie plate. Then we covered the mess with whipped cream. I rang up Billy and told him that we were sorry for teasing him. And that we had ice cream for him to make up for it. He bought that story. His hair was still wet from the bath he had just taken. I remember that. He had changed into tan pants and a white tee-shirt. I remember that too. He came willingly with me.
Once in the backyard, my accomplices brought out the pie plate. "Eat it! Billy!" I mocked him. "Eat it!" He began to cry and look for a way out. I dumped the whole mess on his head. Again, he ran home crying.
His mother called my mother that evening. My mother's response was [always] to deny that I would ever do such a thing. Consequently, nothing happened. I had only my own conscience to tell me that what I did was wrong. I covered it up with a false bravado.
Eventually, I forgot about Billy. Life went on for both of us I suppose. I don't know if I will ever find Billy to be able to offer my amends to him.
Billy, if you are out there still, I hope that you found true friends who are able to accept you for who you are.
~sapphoq on life
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