As I looked in the mirror tears streamed down my face, rejuvenating the ones
drying to my cheeks. It was the third day that week I had walked home from school
rather than ride that damn bus. I feared that bus more than death itself. Bobby and his
group ride my bus. Bobby is everything everyone else wants to be, everything I want to
be. He is quarterback on the football team, rich, and is dating the most beautiful girl in
school. When I ride the bus, I pretend that I don't hear them calling me names, that I
don't feel their spit balls hitting my face. But I know they are there, everyday making my
life a living hell. I'll never let them see me cry, never let them see the pain they cause.
The next day I woke up late, I would have to ride the bus or I would be late to
school. I gathered my books and ran out the door. Immediately the yellow bus made a
halt at my driveway. As I climbed the steps I heard Bobby yell, "Awe, the poor little fag
has to ride the bus today" followed by many laughs. As usual, I kept my head down and
sat in the first available seat, pretending the remark went unheard. They just use me as a
toy. A toy to laugh at and throw away when they are done playing. Suddenly Bobby
came and sat down right beside me. He began poking me in the back, as usual I said
nothing and just continued to look at the floor. He then said, "Man Mike, you are such a
When he called me that it hurt the most, I wanted to yell that I wasn't a queer, to
please leave me alone. Instead, I looked Bobby in the eyes, I never looked any of them
in the eyes, and I said, "You'll be sorry one day". A threat I knew that would not go
unheard. My upper lip began to tremble as Bobby said, " Oh, gay Mike, we'll see who's
sorry...we'll see". Bobby then walked back to his seat i
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