The lawyer in my nightmare and I have been snarling at each other, he trying to impugn my character, to say it’s all my fault I got backed into a corner and was on the point of having to decide where to spend the last bullet in my gun when help arrived and I didn’t have to fire it at all, I arguing that it can hardly be my fault that a pack of idiot guys decided not even to ask for fear of being told no. And then, suddenly, I recognize this creep who’s made his living defending the indefensible.
“You haven’t changed at all, have you, B?” I say, and he freezes. My eyebrows rise. “You were hoping I’d forgotten, weren’t you?”
The judge bangs his gavel. “Really, Miss Wolfe–”
“Let us call things by their right names, Your Honor,” I retort. “I’m Dr. Wolfe, and I went to school with this man.” And I tell the court the truth–that B had bullied me all through seventh grade simply because I wouldn’t go out with him. “Did you know [a certain guy who wasn’t exactly a friend] offered to fight you for me?” I ask B. “Maybe I should have let him.”
And then I woke up.
The courtroom scenario was pure nightmare. The bullying, on the other hand, really happened.
“That was over twenty years ago,” you may say. “Why don’t you just get over it already?”
The truth before God?
I thought I had.