I was 12 years old and she was in my class. She was barely scraping through from year to year, struggling with every subject. I don't think she had any friends. She probably hated coming to school and we didn't help. I remember girls seeing lice in her hair sometimes and snickering behind her back. I remember when we went on class trips she would be sitting alone. Most of us had friends we wanted to sit next to and chatter away but no one wanted to sit next to her. I remember trying to explain to her the difference between singular and plural once. I was scandalised she was in 6th grade and didn't know. And I remember not being patient. I don't think any of my teachers were patient with her. Occassionally when I wasn't so caught up in my own world I would feel bad for her but I never did much about it. Today, I wish I had. I wish I'd made a difference.


There were many such students in my class and we weren't nice to any of them. Children are an odd mix of compassion and cruelty. While they don't see the differences we do sometimes, on other occassions they react with undue harshness to these very differences. I was never really mean to her but I was never more than polite. I don't think I ever really wanted to be her friend. But I wanted her to know I was nice for my sake. I couldn't stand being downright rude or mean to anyone so I tried to help when I could and I was polite. But she needed a friend. A voice to speak up for her and I wish I did. 


I don't know what demons she was fighting. Family, disorders or circumstance. But I wish we hadn't added to it. 


And I'd like to say I'm sorry. 10 years later as I sit here thinking, I wish I'd had a little more courage. Just a tad bit.