Regrets

I don't remember how the subject came up, but I started it by showing him the bruise on my leg. We were in the bathroom at school. He showed me one that he had. It started at his waistband and painted his leg purple and black. His mom had given it to him when she spanked him. I nodded like I could identify (I couldn't). His mom had been very angry after finding him trying to drown his baby sister in the bathtub and had beaten angry colors into his skin.

I dropped my eyes for a second and stared at the mini-tile flooring of the bathroom. For a split second I thought about what I had just heard. I could tell it was wrong, but instead of saying anything else I dried my hands and headed back to class. I was only eight years old, and it was easy to put it out of my mind. Now I'm a lot older, and I was rudely reminded of this while watching a TV program. Obviously it's not something I'd forgotten, but it's something I don't think about much. I don't like to think about it because I was eight, and could be forgiven for not doing anything then, but now...now I can think of so many things that I might have said, and I just hope he's okay. I'll never know.