Speak No Evil
Have you ever been haunted by a saying?
Maybe it was something a profound philosopher said. Or your father. A teacher, even.
The words that haunt me were said by a friend. She didn’t know it at the time but her words would soon apply to me. I say that it haunts me because her words terrorize me and taunt me. I repeat them in my mind on the bad days. The days when I’m made to feel stupid and less than. The words hurt. The words have wounded me.
I wonder sometimes why I paid no heed to something that she found so important. I brushed it under the rug and made up excuses to make sure that I thought she was wrong. But she wasn’t. Her words had weight. They were valid. They meant something. They mean something to me now and they should have back then. What felt wrong to her should have been my warning, my lighthouse in the darkest of hours. Now I only drown in the profound depth of her words and the implications that would pound me over the head, over and over and over, like waves crashing down.
It was foretelling. I see it now. Most importantly, I hear it now. You don’t have to throw a punch to leave bruises. And you may not see blood, but I’m in pain. Words carry such weight, they’re like throwing around anvils when you aim to hurt. I didn’t see him hit her, she left much too soon. And now I’m the one whose taking the abuse.
She said, “It’s the way he speaks to me.”
