How I met fear

It was because of my neighbor across the street. He was the first person I was completely afraid of. I found out that he’d bent Jonah over the iron rail out front of his building, just to be mean. Jonah was OK, but in a lot of pain, physical and emotional. They were supposed to be friends. I could see the black railing from the front room window, the room with a thin carpet full of big colorful flowers and their long green stems. We lived in the basement apartment, the kind with windows level with the front lawn, with pipes that clanked and hollered any time for any reason (I thought everyone lived with this fancy utility concert). Sitting at the window (which I did often, idly observing the world as only a young child can), when my eyes wandered to his front step and I saw the black rail, neighborhood boys leaning on it, standing around it (which was many hours a day), I’d feel afraid. I was afraid because I knew someone who could purposely harm another and not seem to care. I was 6, just becoming aware of the world and Jonah was my friend (only a year older than me). We lived in that apartment until I was 10. I remember that every time I looked across the street I became freshly aware of meanness, the kind that goes beyond harsh words, the kind that scars. I would feel upset and worried, worry with no words. Now I might say that I wondered if he would ever hurt me, but I don’t think that was it (though I was always afraid for Jonah). I believe I was worried about meanness and not a particular person. I never heard of him hurting anyone else, but that once was enough to leave a scar.