A cruelish yellow grin, crooked rotting teeth, and greasy wild hair. A beast with an animals behavior. Quick to anger, and the rain of any parade. A bit clumsy perhaps, but husky, and more than once I'd felt the humiliation of his calloused hands as he cuffed my head. Daring, no, begging for the slightest cue to shower his insatiable anger on any who dared to be happy. How I hated him, and it was well deserved. Many bloody mouths marked the failed detours I'd taken to avoid him, rushing, as he would on his rickety, rusting bike to scatter us, bearing down as we quivered too scared to run.

"he's just jealous" my mother would say as I wept, fists balled, swearing revenge. "that's not the answer" shaking her head slowly, sadly imploring me with her deep brown eyes. I always wondered why she wasn't angry. As for me, I hated, and I swore I would find ways to hurt him. I prayed nightly that misfortune would befall him, I would laugh happily. I would point and jeer "HAHA, good for you", and wish it was worse.

Late one night I climbed his fence, anger and malice in my heart. Creeping through a tiny garden my new shoes kicking up small clouds in the gravel and dirt as I entered his yard. Peering through a dirty windows I spotted him sitting at a sloping table, its chipped surface held up in one corner by milk crates. Looking closer, my eyes widened. We had thrown it out only weeks before, leaving it at our curb for the garbageman, thinking nothing when it was gone the next morning. I could see him poring over a book , a childs book. sweating in the summer heat, huddled close to a fan as it creaked, grinding from side to side, affording only meager relief. His brows knitted in deep concentration, mouth slowly forming the words. Only after long minutes that he did not turn the page did it dawn upon me. He could barely read. Perhaps not at all. I watched in awe, as his fierce demeanor melted. He began to quiver, and I knew though his back was turned, that he was weeping. I felt a strange knot in my throat, as I swallowed guilty thoughts.

A puttering engine pulled me from my revelrie as a dilapated, dull car rolled into the driveway puffing greyish smoke. Minutes passed without movement before the door finally creaked opened and the dim yellow dome light illuminated. A tired, beaten woman emerged, still wearing her dirty apron and faded black pants. I recognized her from the weekly outings my family had at the local diner, where we would happily order whatever we wished, eating our fill from platters of eggs, bacon, and pancakes drenched in syrup, leaving the rest, unable to stuff ourselves further. Laughing carelessly, enjoying the company of loved ones in our casual banters. Planning our fortunes, bragging of an outing at the lake on the family boat, maybe discussing the movie we'd just come from. Returning home to our cool air conditioned home, and soft beds.

The rocks I'd planned to hurl through his windows slipped from my clammy sweating hands. He quickly gathered himself as his mother opened the door, and he mustered a smile that begged for love, or even the slightest recognition. She neither paused or even looked at him as she trudged past. I heard a door slam from the innards of the house. He seemed to shrink, growing small and helpless as he shook uncontrollably and tears poured through his fingers where his open hands, palms up cradled his unhappy face. I felt tears well in my own eyes as I looked at my own hands, pink, clean and soft.

That morning before school, I awoke still reeling feeling as if I had awakened to see the world and life for the first time. I looked appreciatively at the clothes my mother had lovingly set out for me the night before. I felt like crying, knowing she loved me so much. Knowing I was always on her mind, and that so many things she did were for me. Knowing how lucky I was.

I entered the bathroom where she was brushing her teeth preparing for work. "Mom, I don't hate him anymore", she paused, one eyebrow raised to turn a quizzical look at me. and mom..

I love you.