The Woodpecker and Jimmy Wright

When I think about what happened to Jimmy, I get this dislodging in my gut; a feeling or a suspicion that I am a stranger to my own self, as if the hat on my door peg, the hat that molded itself to me (and I to it), belongs to someone else. That feeling is so disconcerting to me, that I try to put it away, out of my head, yet that very avoidance seems to draw my mind back to this puzzle, again and again. It is a vague feeling as if I have forgotten something critical or took a wrong turn somewhere, somewhere where I don't know I am going.
I hope he is alright, I should go see him, but in a way I just want the memory to go away. I guess I am writing this to clear my mind and to express my fear that my 'take' on the situation, my point of view, was perhaps, wrong. I guess, I owe something to him, maybe an apology. Maybe something that will fix the situation.
You see, I had known Jimmy for well over thirty years. We lived in the same town, attended the same school, walked the same streets. I was a few years older than he and remember the first words I said to him. He was a little kid that lived somewhere in my neighborhood and even then was somewhat of an odd duck. He had that lost look about him, as if his parents had left him at a gas station on their way to another life. It was painful to see, the way he looked. I hated it. It made me want to hurt him, to get him away from me. Yet, at the same time, I would stick up for him, as he was a target for other kids, who no doubt, felt the same unease.
When I first talked to him, it was after I intervened in a one sided fight. Four kids had him cornered against the rear wall of the grocery store and were taunting and pushing him. I was curious who they were bullying, so I walked over to see what was going on. When I saw it was the weird kid, I shrugged my shoulders and was about to leave. That was when I saw his eyes. I saw no fear in them, just that lost look and something else. Something I have noted over and over, something undefinable. It released a kind of outrage in me, a resolve or stubborn streak. I shouldered my way past the cordon and stood there, next to him. I became very quiet inside, calm yet tight, like a compressed spring. I wasn't the kind to fight, I mostly avoided that but I was no wimp either. I could hold my own when angry. As I stood there listening to the distant protests of the bullies, I heard a rushing sound, loud and static, in my ears. I also heard the whine in their voices, the whine of fear, the protest of little kids who had a toy taken away. It probably was only a couple of minutes before they left. It certainly seemed a long time. I was in no hurry. When it was over, I looked at Jimmy and he said: "I'm sorry."
I shrugged my shoulders and told him it was alright. "No you worry." Babytalk. I walked home.

to be continued....