I wonder if I have bullied someone…what comes to mind is intentionally scaring my sister, one year younger than I. I would raise my arms in the air like a vulturous bird and chase her around her bed, while hooting as if I would eat her. I enjoyed her being afraid. I would call the fat girl next door Toodles, which she disliked…I wonder if she ever cried. I know I wanted to cry when in junior high when I heard Jim Clark yell up the hallway stairs, as students passed between classes, “Hey Pancake!” I wonder why I couldn’t share how embarrassed and hurt I was with anyone even though I had a loving father. The hurt I felt stuck in my heart for years, rearing its ugly memory whenever I thought of my adolescent years, or attended my high school reunions. I was a wall flower of late blooming. Very late, barely buds of breasts as my period finally appeared at age fifteen. I wonder why I kept my mouth shut when I saw others bullied with more severe words, or even when seeing two girls fighting, pulling each other’s hair. The silence is horrifying as I write. At my forty-fifth high school reunion, Jim Clark showed up, whom I hadn’t seen since high school. I walked up to him as if I was a proud eagle guarding its nest. I asked if he remembered me, which he did. “I need to tell you something; I was really hurt when you yelled ‘Pancake’ at me in the hallway in junior high.” Without a pause, Jim replied that he did not remember saying that, yet he apologized. I wonder how he felt about me breaking my way too long silence.