le-olam va-ed

02: חסד

02: חסד

Dear Ben,

            חסד. Chessed. Kindness. It’s one of the first values that they teach you at a young age, and serves as a basis for ultimately the rest of your life. I remember when I was in kindergarten, and we did an entire art project to explore the concept. We spent the day decorating tzedakah boxes with tissue paper and stickers, and then got a lesson about chessed, sprouted from the containers we had adorned that were meant to place money for charity. It was just a basic way to try and convey the large message of chessed to five year olds, but it stuck with me, even to this day. Because we grew up very similarly, I can’t imagine that you don’t possess a story similar to mine in your history. They teach you about chessed, and then expect you to apply it to the world. For the most part, you did that, Ben. But then you stopped. למה? Lama? Why?

            From that very first day in eighth grade when we made a kesher—a connection, I knew that you had chessed in your heart, Ben. Who else would be willing enough to approach the new girl if they didn’t have chessed? You didn’t need to do that on the very first day, Ben, but you did. And then after that day, you would periodically check in with me, making sure that I was okay and adjusting well to my new school. I thought that you were the nicest boy I had ever met, and loved you for that.

            Do you remember the first time that you met my little brother, Ben? It was one day during that first year that we had met, and he and my mom were picking me from school. You and I were talking about something regarding life, and then out of nowhere, this little person lunged at my legs, almost knocking me over. I was fine, but you seemed to be confused and alarmed.

            My younger brother who was about four at the time was hugging me securely, hiding behind my legs so that you wouldn’t see him. Remember when he was first afraid of you, Ben? Oh, those were the days… He took a peak at you, quietly asking me who you were. Sometimes, Ben, you were really intimidating. It wasn’t anything you did, it was just who you were.

            I told my brother that you were my friend, and then you greeted him in the friendliest of ways imaginable: “Hiya, I’m Ben.”

            My brother giggled a bit, looking up at you like a hero or an Olympian. After all, you did become his role model not long after that. “That’s my name too!” my brother exclaimed proudly, moving in front of me so that his entire body was visible to you.

            “Really?” you said.

            “Really!” my brother smiled.

            “It’s a great name,” you told him, meeting my eyes with your own.

            My brother then tugged on the edge of my shirt, implying that he had something to tell me that could only be accomplished by a whisper. I leaned down to his level, and then he put his hand to my ear and his mouth, quietly asking, “Can you tell him that his hat is cool?” I looked down at my brother, nodding, for at the time, I agreed with him. Back then, your hat was pretty cool. Looking back on it now, though, I still question why you had the lack of fashion sense to ever wear a purple and teal flat-brimmed cap. It was so stupid, Ben. Especially the monster logo on it, from whatever sports team the hat derived.

            “He wants me to tell you that your hat is cool,” I said to you as you observed my little brother.

            “Thanks,” you grinned at him, crouching down so that you were at his height. I watched as you took the hat off of your head, and then placed it on the head of my brother. He looked at you with such an awe-filled gaze, wondering why such an Adonis like yourself had done such a thing. “You can have it if you want,” you then said, your tone serious and comforting.

            “Wow! Thanks! Are you sure?” my brother then said, the hat flopping in such a manner so that it covered his face entirely.

            “Of course,” you assured him, “I have a couple more at home.” And if only I knew then that you had an entire closet in your room devoted to hats, I probably would’ve felt better about the action, and would’ve probably questioned your sanity sooner than I did. “Besides,” you continued, “it looks better on you, anyways.”

            My brother then rammed into you, giving you a large hug, and thanking you profusely. It was the first time that I really saw how kind you could be, and how much chessed you truly had. Most guys wouldn’t give a little kid anything, let alone the beloved hat that they were wearing. Do you remember how kind you were, Ben? What happened? Where did all your chessed go? Why did you change?

            It was the middle of sophomore year, and we had been dating over a year, despite everyone thinking that we wouldn’t even last a month. That’s when I started to notice a change, Ben. We were just sitting on the bench beneath the main stairwell, as we normally did, when a dazed freshman boy approached us, asking if we knew where a particular room was.

            I opened my mouth to politely respond, giving the kid directions, though you beat me to it. “No. Sorry,” you said bluntly, probably scaring the boy more than required. It wasn’t necessary, and though you were probably just acting possessive of me at the time, it was one of those things that set an alarm off in the back of my head. Where was your chessed, Ben?

            Do you remember what you did to me after you dumped me, Ben? I sure do. How could I forget such a traumatic time as that? Ben, you could’ve been nice and acted neutral like I was trying to, but no, instead you decided to drop all your chessed out the window and trample me, making me feel even worse than I already did.

            Ben, you stopped talking to me, which was completely understandable. I wasn’t dying to start a conversation with you, either, but what happened after that made me die inside. You told everyone—all of our friends—to stop talking to me, and they listened, because you were you. What did you accomplish by doing that, Ben? Was it really worth it—making my life miserable and all that? You already ruined my life when you publically dumped me, but I guess that you decided that more damage was needed to be done.

            You know that day in the cafeteria that paralleled that scene in High School Musical with Sharpay and Gabriella so well? I was just walking with pasta and red sauce, and I had obviously decided to wear a white shirt that morning. Then, as I walked past the table that I formerly spent every lunch period at, laughing and talking with my ex-friends and you, someone put their leg out, and tripped me. But it wasn’t just someone, was it, Ben? It was you.

            My lunch landed right on my shirt, staining it for all of eternity. Tears formed in my eyes, and all you could do was smirk, laughing as you uttered a meek, “Sorry,” with a shrug of indifference. I started to run, all my years of track finally paying off in that one moment. No one came after me. Why would they? I was the girl who was shunned by her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Popular. I don’t think that I ever hated you more than in that moment, Ben. It was so embarrassing, but what made it worse, was that you were the one who had done it. Quite the dearth of chessed on your part, Ben.

            It’s amazing to see a person who I regarded with so much esteem and love due to their chessed transform into a monster. After all, that’s what you are, Ben. A monster. A bully. My ex-boyfriend. Just like our supposed “kesher,” your chessed was a lie, too. Thus, there’s only one real way I can think to end this letter, and all the rest:

            Le-olam va-ed,

            -Me