I Didn’t Save My Bully. Cancer Did

Years later, fate brought to me the man that time forgot

Liam and I were set on a collision course. Photo by Kat Jayne from Pexels

Liam and I are both narcissists.

We sought different paths to self-preservation. Pin your foe to the ground or elevate the stage and its actors. One chose to destroy, one chose to build.

Two sides of a coin that spun with indecision.

But in that playground, Liam had an advantage: time.

The bully towered over us primary school rats. His face before the transformation is one I struggle to remember. But his bristly hair could keep a balloon on its toes.

Liam’s sleeveless sports tee swelled with his puberty-given guns.

“Hand over the bat and no one gets hurt.”

My brother watched on as I gripped the bat tight. I didn’t have two years to make up for the age gap. It took Liam two seconds to close the distance between us.

“It’s mine.”

Time is seldom kind to the brave and foolish.

For my insolence, I was raised off the ground in a one-arm headlock. Liam’s knuckles scraped my head and the bat began to slip. I could only watch in silence as my brother ran towards me.

The insufferable brat, always ready to take a bullet.

Liam raised his foot. My brother couldn’t stop in time.

As the bully’s shoe found its mark, the bat hit the ground.

Liam had his choice made for him but I made mine. Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels

Years later, that very convent school stood in front of me.

A familiar face emerged from a sea of people in the cathedral. A memory surfaced, that of a pearl-white BMW weaving through jam-packed lanes. A joyride offered by none other than Liam’s mother.

I answered her question with a question.

“How’s Leo doing?”

The warmth drained from her face.

“He… Blood cancer.”

Dread snatched my voice away and my shoulders tensed. Any animosity I had towards Liam vaporized on the spot. Before the tears arrived, someone tapped my shoulder.

The sight that greeted me pierced my lungs like a flat tire.

Curly hair, warm eyes, a double chin. None of it fit on my bully.

But there he was. He was Liam in the flesh, but not quite.

Hope at the end of the tunnel. Photo by Rick Davis on Unsplash

“What’s up? Long time.”

My wrists had felt the soles of shoes before. I knew what it was like to lose my lunch, before and after I had it. Racist remarks no longer fazed me.

In a victim’s eyes, a bully was seldom more than a bully.

But Liam’s words reminded me of a hearth, warm once more.

Here was a kind man who was once a bitter enemy.

My senses were caught off-guard. While I might have wished meteors upon him once, time’s punishment was too cruel, too drastic. As a child who thought bullies were incapable of change, this fact melted in front of me.

Liam entered my life anew and made me question it all.

I was no spiritual devotee.

But that day, a prayer was drawn from my lips.

I hope he is well. And I hope I meet him again.