A tough find

A few days ago I started a new file. I'm looking for one of those lost people from high school. Robert. Many of you won't know who this person is. Robert wasn't my friend. In fact, he shared only a few classes with me. I never talked about him at home and barely to my friends.

I am finding him very hard to find. I've looked on Facebook, Pipl, Spokeo and simple google. The problem is his name is fairly common and none of the people who have posted pictures with the same name look like him. I am torn. Part of me feels like I have failed, but there is another part of me that is a little relieved.

Mr. Sanders class was large and free. It was an art class where the students worked on wildly different projects. It was a double sized room with only half the seats filled. The desks made long rows in the from, whine the back had a collection of light tables and air brushing stations. Every wall had easels and sinks. In the annex was the computers, where I did most of my work.

I liked this class, except for Robert. The people in here were friendly. They didn't care that you were part of the group of unpopular kids who hung out in the library. They didn't know, and wouldn't care, that a group in your home room loved to call you "Snotty" for no reason other than it embarrassed you. They kept their heads down or admired other people's work, the rest of the world ended at the door.

Robert, though, couldn't blend into this world. I would see his dark curly hair and goofy walk and think to myself, please don't sit by me. I don't know why, but he loved sitting by me. He would bump me, but my pencil in the middle of projects. When I would tell him to leave me alone, and he would more aggressively talk to me. I was mean to him, and he wouldn't get it. As unpopular as I was, this guy was worse. I didn't want to be his friend, at every turn I would push him away, but everyday, there he was.

I even went so far as leaving my stuff packed up, so when Robert sat down, I would move to a different seat. He would follow me. The class that would admire my work in art, left me to face this ne on my own. Looking back, I realize I didn't know how to handle this, but then I knew what I would do. I would hurt him.

Robert had a fatal flaw, which was easy to exploit in high school. He had a high pitched voice and when he talked he used hands that flopped back and forth on his wrists. This meant his sexuality was constantly under suspicion. My high school was not understanding of any level of femininity in men. Youth who are not yet grown were no expection.

At some point I shift from calling him Robert to "Bob the Fag", which made him mad, but he was still there. I shifted to using that title to reference Robert in hallway conversations, with people who only loosely knew him, with people from other cicles. I wanted this to be his new name. I wanted him to hurt. He annoyed me and wouldn't back down. I thought, at the time, he was the bad guy, that he deserved what ever happened. He wasn't the bad guy, I was.

Now, when I see no useful results, no leads to follow up on, I am tempted to quit trying. If I don't find him, I don't have to tell him I'm sorry. That, while I was young and stupid, it is no excuse for how mean I was. I don't have to ask him what it will take to make it up to him, or give him permission just to let me have it. If I don't find him, I don't have to own up to my bad behavior from a generation ago, but I'll also not be able to tell him that really hope he is ok in spite of me.

I keep looking.