The day was miserable. A storm had blown in the night before, and I was not brave enough to walk the 15 blocks to the office. Instead, I tucked my chin into the folds of my overcoat and hurried to the subway station.

I never liked the subway. As I walked to my platform, I saw a rat scamper across the tunnel, and the overhead lights blinked and fizzed uneasily. Mold grew in the corners, and there was a persistent drip of water from the cracks in the ceiling.

I arrived five minutes early, and as I waited for the train I observed the other passengers, a species I had previously avoided at all costs, expecting to find some with two heads and such. But for the most part, the crowd looked normal. There were the regular suits and briefcases, a few construction workers, and a little girl holding hands with her mother. But then I spotted a sinister looking man in the corner. He stood apart from the others, and wore a lumpy black overcoat and carried a briefcase. He was muscular and tall, with fair hair and mud-colored eyes. There was nothing unusual about his heavy features, but something about him seemed familiar. I know it sounds silly, but a shiver went down my spine.

The subway arrived, and I found a chair in the back and opened the Times. But I couldn’t focus on stock prices. My eyes kept drifting off the page and onto that ominous man. He leaned against the far wall, a meaty hand grasping the pole as if to strangle it.

And then it struck me. How could I have forgotten? The painful memories of my youth, which I had tried to shove to the back of my mind, all of a sudden came flooding forward.

It was my first year of secondary school, and we had just moved to New York. Puberty had not been kind to me. Pimples broke out across my face until my complexion resembled white bread dotted with ketchup, and I spoke two octaves higher than my little sister.

Julius, that was his name, singled me out quickly as his next victim. The bullying was not physical; there were no right hooks to my jaw or kicks to the shins. Instead, I suffered from mortifying embarrassment. He locked me in the bathroom, slapped cruel notes to the back of my uniform, and stole my trousers while I was in gym class. It was not the magnitude of these offenses, but his persistence year after year that wore me down. I could still hear the laughter of my classmates, feel the burning heat on my face, and taste the salty tears which dropped onto my tongue like snowflakes.

Julius clearly didn’t recognize me. He caught me staring for too long and gave a curt nod. I looked down quickly, my heart racing. This was my chance for revenge. But how? How could I humiliate him to pay for all the years he had humiliated me?

But of course. So simple, and yet so effective. I would stand up and walk over to him. I would smile, and then in a loud voice, so everyone else would hear, I would introduce myself. Then I would recall all the things he had done to me while everyone else starred.

He would blush, shake his head, mutter some apology, and then have to sit through the silent agony of everyone’s scorn until the next stop. Then Julius would step out of the car, and the others would sigh with relief. Some might even congratulate me. Oh, how cunning. How perfect! Finally, Julius would understand what it felt like to be humiliated.

I rose, folded my newspaper neatly and dropped it on the seat behind me. Then I walked over, holding onto the rails as the car swayed through the darkened tunnels.

“My name is Watson.” I raised my voice, and some of the others looked over. Julius had freckles, which I hadn’t remembered, and his hair seemed darker. He gave me a puzzled look that seemed genuine. He was a better actor than I thought. “I think we went to Saint Marks school together.”

He frowned. “You must be mistaken.” His voice was polite. “I went to school in Vermont.” I gave a fake laugh. It was natural for him to feign ignorance. In fact, it would cause him all the more shame when he finally admitted his faults.

“But surely Julius, you must remember what you did to me. What about that time you covered my books in super glue?

“Really, I must insist I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My whole left hand was stuck to my U.S. history textbook. I had to go to the hospital for them to tear it off!” I raised my hand, the scars still faintly evident. Julius backed slowly away from me. “I swear, you’ve got the wrong man!” I was surprised that he hadn’t come forward yet. But it was only a matter of time.

“Bad memory, eh? Well what about the time you locked me in the custodian’s closet, and I wasn’t found for five hours? Is it coming back to you now Julius?” I raised my voice to a shout.

“Sir, please leave me alone.” Ha! He called me sir. What a scoundrel. What a coward. I saw fear in his eyes, and that gave me satisfaction. I stepped even closer, and Julius raised his briefcase like a shield. It was then that I spotted the monogrammed initials K.L. stitched on the left corner of the leather.

The silence was horrible. The other passengers stared at me. The little girl hid behind her mother’s skirt. The man kept his briefcase raised; his eyes wide with fear. Then, when he judged it safe, K.L. backed slowly away.

The train rounded a corner, and I leaned heavily on the side rails. My face burned, and I sat down again, waiting in agony until we pulled into my stop.

The man who I had mistaken for Julius rushed out as the doors opened. I followed wearily. I sensed the others relax in relief, just as I had imagined. The bully was gone.