I wish his tears didn’t exist.
I think I wish that more than anything.
He thinks I don’t notice. How could I not notice the painful, repressed sobs that echo through the flimsy door of the boy’s toilets? I’m not stupid.
I wonder how the other boys don’t notice. Or maybe they do, they just don’t care.
After all, they’re the ones that inflicted the pain.
Or maybe that was me. I don’t know.

I wish I was a boy.
I think he wishes I was a boy too. Or perhaps for him to be a girl, but that’s not a masculine thing to admit, is it?
Not that he ever says that. It would be rude after all. It’s not my fault I turned out to be a girl. My parents always tease me that they always wanted a girl, my Mom because she could take me shopping and my Dad because he wouldn’t have to wrestle and fight me all the time. But I hate shopping and when I was younger I used to wrestle my Dad all the time, which is probably why they joke about it. Maybe I should’ve been born a boy.
Who decides what gender someone is?
They decided wrong with me.

I wish they’d leave him alone.
I think they wish they were like him, with his intelligence and strength. Yes, that’s it. It must be.
Did they know they were slowly extracting his soul, one punch, one laugh, one mockery at a time? Couldn’t they see his already bruised arms, swollen lips and tear-streaked face? Maybe that spurred them on. They chanted words made of swords that pierced his skin, leaving cuts engraved in his flesh that he created in a silent plea.
Why didn’t they leave him alone?
He’s done nothing wrong, except befriend a girl.

I wish I loved him.
I think everyone wishes I love him, but I don’t.
How could I? He’s my best friend. I couldn’t lose him in that way, not after all he’s been through. He needed someone.
I know that if I loved him, everyone would understand why we were inseparable. And they’d stop pushing him around, shoving harsh words down his throat and destroying his every day, second by second, until it stretched into minutes, then hours, days, months, years. Eternity.
Why couldn’t they stop?

I wish they understood.
I think I wish that if they did, I wouldn’t be alone now.
Why couldn’t they grasp that two friends could be of the opposite sex? Him being friends with girls doesn’t make him gay. But they obviously thought that. They told him it every day, accompanied by foul beatings and jeering.
Why couldn’t they have understood our friendship, before it was too late?

I wish that wishes come true.
Because if they did, maybe I wouldn’t be at his funeral now.