Everlasting Sin

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When I was in first grade, there was a boy who used to pinch me on the bus, and every day I would go home crying. He was older than I was by at least three years, and he had a snotty nose and dirty hands. I hated him with as much passion as a six-year-old could hate a boy. And one day, in my bravest voice, I told my mom that I no longer wanted to go to school on the bus because of this horrible little boy. The day after I told her, my mom found out the boy’s name from the bus driver and took me to his house so that she could speak to his mom. That was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I sat there on the couch in the living room, waiting in fear. I was so scared that the boy was going to come in and pinch me again. But he didn’t. Instead, my mom brought him over to me and he apologized with a big dopey grin. A grin that told me that he didn’t think he had really done anything wrong. My mom told me that he was going to look after me on the bus and at school and make sure that no one ever hurt me. He was going to be my very own protector. He called himself Batman, I called him Dopey, and his parents called him Hudson. Hudson Blake. From that day on, he never pinched me on the bus again. But I can’t say that I’ve never cried because of him since.

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