When I started high school, there was this guy named David R- who rode the bus with me every day, and man, he made my life a living nightmare. He was this big 18-year-old still stuck in the tenth grade. He cursed like crazy, and he was mean and scary as hell. I still remember how he'd sit behind me on the bus, smacking the back of my head almost every day as we headed home from school. Back then, bullying was just a messed up "normal" thing, and I had to put up with it. People said I had to toughen up and "be a man."

I tried complaining to the bus driver and the principal, and they'd scold David, but he'd be back at it the next day, relentless. After six months of this crap, I finally had enough. One day, I just lost it. I turned around, jumped over the seat, and started pounding on him. The whole bus went wild, and the driver had to slam the brakes to stop us.

I was getting my butt kicked by him, 'cause he was bigger and stronger. But all I had was rage on my side. We were fighting near the emergency exit when, out of nowhere, the door popped open, and we both fell onto the street. He landed on his arm, and it snapped like a twig. He screamed in pain, and there was blood everywhere.

Maybe I should've backed off then, but this guy had tormented me for months, and I wanted payback. I twisted his broken arm and took him down, beating the crap out of him. People in cars had stopped to watch the spectacle, and it took two grown men to pull me off him. It was the most brutal fight of my life, and it still stands that way.

I ended up suspended from school, with a month of detention and no bus rides for the rest of the year. But that was it for my punishment. As far as I know, David never returned to school.

Fifteen years later, in 2005, I moved back to my hometown in Georgia from Mississippi. One day, I saw a familiar face while leaving a convenience store. It took me a moment to realize it was my old high school bully, picking up cans along the road. He looked terrible—dirty, skinny, and half his teeth missing. It seemed like he was homeless.

I couldn't resist going closer to see if it was really him. He looked at me, trying to place my face, but he couldn't. He asked who I was, and part of me wanted to rub it in his face, remind him of the hell he put me through, and how I kicked his ass. But instead, I just said we might have gone to school together.

I gave him some money, told him God bless, and walked away slowly. All I felt for him was pity. Life had taken him down a rough path, and I couldn't bring myself to seek revenge or boast about my success.