He said that to me. In August, in the car.
I asked him whether he’d known it would go the way it went, and he said, “They had to think it was funny first. Otherwise nobody would have listened to the rest of it.”
Eighteen years old.
He walked into a room of six hundred people who were going to laugh at him, on purpose, and let them, so that when the principal said his sister’s name there would be nowhere for any of them to hide.
I have thought about that every day since May.
