Cruel Girl

Vickie. The name makes me reach out to steady myself. She was a girl I knew, beginning maybe in fifth grade. She had a talent for cruelty. Maybe a genius.

That was Vickie. She changed lives. She changed mine. She seemed to mark a new era in a large family, pre-Vickie and post. They were a nice family, once.

But after Vickie had her way they would knock you down and take you out, find a weak spot and slash away at it. They would remember every humiliation.

You would be reminded of every defeat. And, man, the look of pleasure in her eyes, the celebratory glee, when she'd caused harm. Insiders were rewarded.

Outsiders punished. It was like a little mafia. If you were outside you wanted to be out of range, to be safe. Even the mother participated. I was surprised.

I thought parents were above that. This is not the sort of thing you tell people all over the place. Why would you? I've told only one person. Was Vickie a prodigy?

You have no idea, as a kid, what's normal and not. I assumed normal. My confidant was stunned at the specifics of the sorts of things Vickie said, pointing at prodigy.

I had been friends with the family. I was an insider for a time and then not, but I knew my sister had suffered horribly from some attacks at school. It was Vickie.

And here I became an insider, unwittingly adding to her hurt. I think all this just happens. There are brilliantly cruel people. They strengthen some people.

They destroy others. Which am I? I don't know.