“You’re scary, Mrs. Eller.”
I know that is not the best way to start an email, but that is how I remember you, as of April 2008.
Five years ago, I was part of your 4th grade class. And there was one thing I never had the courage to do. I remember that afternoon as if it were yesterday.
It was around 1 o'clock when you called Michael and I out of the classroom for a supposed "discussion." I knew something was wrong the moment I glanced upon Benedict who held a flood of tears upon his pair of eyes.
"You know what you did," was the first and only line of words you spoke. Then silence.
"It was my fault," Michael admitted, "Royce shouldn't be blamed."
"That's nice, Michael, but there are consequences for everyone involved in spreading rumors about Benedict," you replied. From those words, I came to the realization that Benedict was crying in response to a rumor. What rumor? was my question. I then began to say "But I don't even -- "
" -- You know what you did."
Your voice overpowered mine and you cut me off. You trusted whatever Benedict had said to you just because he had salty liquid in his eyes. You didn't even want to listen to me and my side of the story. You wanted nothing but an apology from these lips. And as a 11 year old, I didn't have the courage to speak up against a policeman.
But now I do. I was not involved in any rumor spreading that afternoon. In fact, up until today, I still don't know what that rumor was.
With the days that followed, I cried. I cried out of regret. Regret that I had not spoken up. Regret that I was not the brave person I perceived myself to be. Those days were also the days you forced an apology from me. During recess when other students were playing, I had detention. I sat on the wooden benches along the hallway, spread apart from the others, who were indeed guilty for this incident. The others, too, knew I had done nothing wrong, and they were even curious as to why I had detention. I was too. But no one spoke up. And no one ever found out what Benedict had said to you.
I was miserable.
By demanding me to apologize for what wrong I did, you forced me to make a choice: either act fearlessly and go against that policeman to tell the truth, or to concoct a fake apology for what wrong I could have possibly done.
I ended up making the wrong decision. I wish I didn't give Benedict my SpongeBob joke book as an apology gift. I wish hadn't wrote that card asking for forgiveness concerning something I didn't do. Yet most ruefully, I wish I could go back in time 5 years to change the decision I made that day.
At least now you know the truth.
I'm grateful for this experience, which shaped me to be who I am today. I'm grateful to be stronger.

With heartfelt love,
Royce Y.