William Royden

He had missed a week of school before he overcame his fear and went back to normal.

but both his mother and father wanted him to see a therapist soon.

Whether it was a real psychological problem or just bully-related, or maybe just a reaction to something his teacher had done, they had no idea.

We parted, and I never saw Trent again.

I wanted to tell him why I was there that day and what I had seen, but even more, I wanted to tell him that I understood what his son was going through.

Because the same thing had happened to me when I was ten years old.

It was something I'd never revealed to anyone.

I was in fourth grade at the time.

I'd awoken in the middle of the night to the sound of something striking my windowpane again and again.

There was nothing to be seen, but the next morning I was afraid to get out of my bed.

I made myself get up and walk to the bus stop, but every step I took, I was afraid something was coming to get me.

In school, I couldn't concentrate.

And when the bus let me off at the end of the day, I ran as fast as I could back to the house.

For two days, I told my mother I was sick with a stomachache.

But on the third day, my excuses dried up and I had to go.

Over the weekend, it got worse and worse.

I did not go out and play.

I could only sleep in fits and starts.

On Monday, I shook when it came to walk to the bus stop.

I cried silently as the bus took me home, knowing that I would have to run hard as soon as it left me behind.