I Hate to Rain on Your Parade But I'm a Cloud That's My Job (Poetry Chapbook)

Bystander

I still remember
the first time a teacher
told me,
"Bullying is wrong."
And I remember
telling myself:
"If I see someone
in trouble
I'll step in,
without delay,
and save the day!"

It's what we all believed.
What we wanted to believe.
What some of us still do.
And it was true.
At least for a time.

But things have changed.

In my grade
there's a scrawny ginger called
Miles,
with glasses so big
he looks like an owl.

Miles is a quiet kid.
He keeps to himself,
hiding in his library nook,
drawing in a little notebook.
Nobody really talks to him
but he doesn't seem to mind.

Until one day,
this other kid comes along.
I've never seen him before
and I don't know his name,
but his buddies call him
Marshall.

Marshall walks up to Miles
and starts picking on him.
Miles doesn't react,
but Marshall doesn't stop.
He calls him names, like
nerd,
loser,
four eyes, and
carrot top.

None of us say anything
because it doesn't seem
like a big deal
at the time.
So we stand there
and we watch.

But Marshall doesn't like that.
He doesn't like it one bit.

So he kicks it up a notch.

I'm walking
on my way to class
and I see Miles sitting
by himself,
inside the library,
drawing.
Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until
Marshall steals Miles' notebook.
Miles, for the first time,
looks scared.
But he doesn't jump up
and try to get his book
like Marshall baits him to.
He just sits there
with a calm look
and he waits.
And I watch.

Marshall throws it in the trash
with a sick smile
like a Cheshire Cat.

After that,
I start avoiding the library.
I tell myself:
'If I don't see it,
it isn't happening.'

A week later,
while I'm out behind the school,
like some high school dropout,
I hear a shout.

I run over and see
Marshall beating Miles
for the sake
of truth or dare.
His lackeys laugh,
and I stand there,
and I watch.
And I hate myself for standing there,
and I hate myself for watching,
but I'm too afraid to wade out of the shadows,
so I watch,
and I wait,
and I hate myself for it.

The next day,
Miles shows up to school
with a black eye.
He doesn't say anything.
Neither do I.

Time passes
and Miles becomes
the school's stress ball.
They forget his name.
They call him
wimp,
loser,
weirdo,
whatever taunt they want.

But most of us
don't call him anything.
We pretend we aren't aware.
He gets potatoes
dumped in his hair,
and we sit there,
and we watch.
His belongings constantly go missing,
and we sit there,
and we watch.
Somebody makes a group
on every social media website titled
'Everybody Hates Miles'
and we sit there
and we watch.
As if scotch tape
covers our mouths.

We hate ourselves
for sitting there
and for watching
for so long,
because we know it's wrong
and all along
we've cared,
but we're scared.

I remember remembering the statistic:
Eighty percent of bullying situations are resolved
within ten seconds of a bystander getting involved.
But what about the other twenty percent?
Who do they represent?
If we should fail,
will we live to tell the tale?

I am surrounded
by people who wish to help
and have been grounded.
But I don't want to make it stop
if it means
I could be next,
bleeding out on the blacktop.

It could be me
going to a school I despise
with black eyes
and broken bones,
names thrown like stones
without a care.
And they'll all be standing there
and they'll all be watching
because they're not willing
to take this gamble
with what's at stake
if they break under pressure.
I hate them
yet, I am one of them
as I stand.
And I watch.

I stand and watch
when Miles walks by
with clenched fists
long sleeves hiding
cuts on his wrists.
I stand and watch
when he sits alone
with eyes so raw
yet cold as stone
and he doesn't draw.
I stand and watch
when he walks into school each day
looking like a stray dog
with no life in his eyes.

But he never cries.
So by design,
we think,
we believe,
we hope,
he's fine.

It's gonna be
okay.

One day I find him
standing on a bridge,
right on the edge
and in my mind
I see myself running to save him
but my body won't move.
I can't scream.
I can't even crawl.
So I stand there and I watch.
I watch him fall.

He falls.
He falls and he falls
until he
can't fall
anymore.

He falls
and I stand there.

He falls
and I stand there
and I watch.

He falls
and I hate myself.

He falls
and I
want
to
join
him.