Ode To The 25 Year Grudge

"I forgive you."

That's what he said to me. A week ago today. That's what the train conductor walked to the other end of the packed subway car, excusing himself while squeezing and shimmying through all the rush hour commuters on the packed train car to tell me.

"I forgive you."

"Charles?" I asked.

"Mike." He corrected me. "That's what I'm talking about, brother. I forgive you." He then went back to the other end of the train, back to the conductor's closet, to announce the next stop.

How long did he have this on his chest? I wondered. Has he been waiting to see me for 20 years to tell me this? He caught me totally off guard so I was only able to stammer something like "thank you," in his wake. "Thank you?" For fucking what? Get over it, man!

Back in Junior High School, we'd play the dozens; snap on people. Make fun of them. Whatever you want to call it. We were all kids. It was a daily event. It was either Get or Get Got. Get 'em before they got you. Pre-emptive warfare. As kids, we were all susceptible. We all had our problems, growing pains, awkwardness. Everyone was a target. Especially me.

I had a lot going against me. My mother was known in the neighborhood for being very religious; I wasn't allowed to celebrate any holidays -my birthday included- which made me a total weirdo; for the first couple of years in Junior High I had absolutely no clothes.

Pre-emptive warfare.

Now back then, Charles, er, Mike was the kid that could dish it out but couldn't take it. He was a very dark skinned kid with the straightest, Chinese eyes. He also smelled like a band-aid for some reason. So naturally we'd do things like draw the Great Wall of China with a band aid on it; we'd call him names like Chan, Chang and Chong. Soon, it was any word beginning with "CH" hence, Charles.

But he wasn't the only victim. We had this kid in our class named Ahmad that had the biggest head and we'd call him "Headquarters"; I was extremely bowlegged so in addition to the religious jokes they'd call me everything from Jerry's Kid, Cisco Kid, bowlegged Lou, etc. We all got it.

Antonio was a black kid in our class whose family attended an all-white 7th Day Adventist Church so we'd take out a sheet of 8.5 x 11 paper, draw five tiny black dots and say "Antonio and his family at church". John Patterson climbed a tree, fell down and got a twig stuck in his right ear and punctured his ear drum causing him to be deaf in that ear. We had a field day with that one. We'd always talk extra loud around him, even when on his left side; we'd say something then repeat it in sign language for him; we'd repeat things even when he heard it right the first time; or sometimes we'd act like we couldn't hear him when he spoke to us.

So while it may have been cruel and disheartening, it was also fun and inventive. In fact, it still makes me laugh.

Is that wrong?

Even today I'll see someone and notice something funny about them and laugh to myself. The 12 year old in me still wants to bust on them but nowadays you might get shot and I've never said anything funny enough to die for.

He "forgives" me?

That was how we lived. The unwritten code. We were all fair game. I didn't think I was hurting anyone. And here I am on an otherwise ho-hum Tuesday and this guy comes over and makes me feel all bad and shit. What an asshole!

It's almost like the 12 year old me traveled to the future to get chastised by an adult Mike. But on the flip side, it's also a chance for the 30-something year old Mike to get dissed one last time by the 12 year-old in me.

What an extraordinary opportunity!

But instead I take the high road. I obviously had some negative affect on him and it's probably best to bury the hatchet after all this time. So when the train pulls up to my station, I get off and walk to the conductor's car. Mike had his head out the car, checking people getting off and on before closing the doors and announcing the next stop.

"Mike" I called out to him. I planned to say something like "good seeing you." Or make a lighthearted joke like "meet me at 3 o'clock by the flagpole". But the way he looked at me, with this smug look of disdain as if waiting for an apology, made me want to slap him instead.

"You still smell like a first-aid kit, you dick!" I heard myself say.

The train pulled off and he shook his head at me. Pitying my existence.

Some people never change.