He hated how you talk to him. We both didn’t like him. We were smaller and weaker than him but we thought we had pride somehow. He was on stronger side in the middle school. He was taller and he hung out with many other strong boys. He started to beat you hitting on your chest and shoulder with fist. I was sitting right next to you watching it. I was scared. I was too scared in front of his violence. I wanted to stop him but I couldn’t. I’m really sorry I couldn’t do anything. I was coward. I can’t be a friend. I can’t be a hero. It’s so cold here. Please forgive my pusillanimous.

Next time when I meet you again, I will pick a fight on you to make you punch me in my face. Will that make us both feel better?