Eight and bullied
The first time, it happened at school. I had stayed over after class to finish my homework. A sudden urge to pee disrupted my plans. It was often the case at eight-years-old. Taking to my feet, I ran as best I could on my clumsy toothpick legs, now even more uncooperative because of the effort required to maintain the excess fluid in my bloated bladder. When I burst inside the toilets, he was already standing there, smoking a cigarette, indifferent to the stench of bleach – Javion, the only black kid at my elementary school. I did not really know the boy since he was from the sixth grade. As a general rule, I avoided big kids. Especially those that scared me like Javion. There was a malicious glow in the black boy’s eyes and …