by Bullying is not always obvious. It sometimes presents itself in the forms of cunning, slicing words and psychological manipulation—the kind of injuries that linger long after adolescence. I believed I’d left it all in the past until my brother became engaged to the very person who’d bullied me throughout my teenage years.
The Lasting Impact of High School Bullying
Nancy wasn’t a bully who relied on physical force. Instead, she had mastered the art of verbal cruelty, delivering insults disguised as compliments so well that even the teachers believed her to be charming.
By the time I graduated, I’d had the ability to fade into the background perfected. I left town, began a new life, and left behind the painful memories of high school. But when my brother called to inform me that he’d gotten engaged, the past came flooding back.
“I’m engaged,” he said excitedly.
“That’s great! Who is the lucky lady?”
There was a brief pause—one that lasted just a second too long.
“Nancy.”
Her name alone made my stomach clench. I couldn’t believe it. The person who had been my tormenter all those years was going to be a member of my family.
Reunions with an Unwanted Person
I reminded myself that people do change. I reminded myself that I was an adult, and the past is just the past. So, despite my reservations, I accepted my brother’s invitation to their engagement party.
The instant I arrived, it was obvious that Nancy hadn’t changed a bit. She greeted me with a familiar smirk, her words laced with a veneer of politeness.
She sounded surprised that I had come at all, her voice light but unmistakably patronizing.
What followed then was a night of backhanded compliments, each so skillfully crafted:
“You still have the same high school ‘do. Few people have the talent to pull off nostalgia.”
“I’ve heard you’re still single. That’s got to be so liberating—not having to answer to anyone.”
Each of the remarks was specifically made to get me off balance, just as she had done years earlier. But I wasn’t the same bashful adolescent I had been all those years earlier.
That night, when I couldn’t sleep, I reflected on the night and realized something important: I wasn’t helpless anymore.
A Chance at Poetic Justice
One thing reminded me of it—one I hadn’t thought of in years. We’d learned about live butterflies in freshman high school. The other students were fascinated, but Nancy reacted very differently. She’d shrieked, ran out of the room, and had to be soothed by staff. That’s when we learned about her irrational, intense fear of butterflies.
Some fears, I realized, do not fade with time.
Considering this, I devised a plan. I discovered that my state allowed live butterfly releases, and businesses were available that traded in providing them for special events. I ordered: two hundred butterflies, to be brought on the night Nancy and my brother returned from their wedding.
For the sake of being certain that everything went well, I asked the delivery person to insist on opening the box inside since the butterflies were fragile. And, to keep the moment, I had it recorded.
One Unforgettable Wedding Gift
The wedding itself was just as I expected—an overdone event with everything centering on Nancy. She soaked up the spotlight, gliding graciously through the crowd, with everyone’s eyes on her. Later in the evening, she called me over in a voice heavy with saccharine sweetness:
“So I noticed you hadn’t sent a gift. I know you wouldn’t miss something so special.”
I gazed at her, my expression not revealing anything. “Oh, I didn’t forget. I wanted to get you something special. It’s at home, waiting.”
Her eyes widened with excitement. “Really? What is it?”
I leaned forward slightly and whispered:
“Something you won’t forget.”
A Scene of Sudden Chaos
Later that evening, when my brother and Nancy came home, they saw a beautifully wrapped gift on their porch. They were greeted warmly by a friendly, elderly delivery lady.
“This is very delicate,” she said. “It is better to open it inside so the interior is not damaged.”
Nancy, expecting what she thought would be an extravagant wedding gift, carried the box inside.
The moment when she lifted the lid, two hundred butterflies took flight, filling the room in a flurry of gentle wings.
There was silence at first.
Then, a piercing scream.
Nancy recoiled in terror, stumbling backward, her arms thrashing wildly as she fought to escape the harmless insects. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her fear increasing as the butterflies danced around her. My brother, dazed and scared, attempted to calm her, but she was inconsolable.
And, of course, the entire event was recorded.
A Much-Needed Discussion
The next morning, my phone rang.
No sooner had I spoken than my brother’s angry voice came out over the speaker:
“What is wrong with you?” he demanded. “You traumatized my wife!”
I remained calm. “Oh? Traumatized now? That’s interesting.”
“This is not humorous!” he snapped. “She collapsed. She barely slept!”
I took a deep breath. “And how many nights do you think I cried in high school, Matt? How many mornings I woke up not wanting to leave my bed because of her?”
Silence.
“It’s been years,” he protested half-heartedly. “You have to get over it.”
I allowed myself a small smile. “That’s right. Just like she got over it, right? Wait. She didn’t.”
There was a moment of silence. I then said the final statement:
“By the way, the whole event was recorded. Everybody loves a good wedding blooper.”
His breath hitched. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Finding Closure
That is the last I ever heard of Nancy.
For the first time in years, I felt utterly at peace.
I slept soundly that night, better than I’d slept in years.
