In ninth and tenth grades, I had a friend named David. Or at least, I'll call him David here. He and I used to like to play stickball and basketball together. He was bright and funny. I can't recall if he moved to my high school from California, or if that's where he moved away to, after tenth grade.

David was, for a time, one of my closest friends. These were difficult times for me. I knew I was different, and, based on what I knew back then, not in a good way. People didn't talk about gay the way they do today. There was no positive spin to go with the negative words. Calvin the gay frat guy on Greek was 20-plus years away from reality. Curt on Glee didn't exist. Let's just say there was not a lot of glee in my life.

I don't know why I decided to confide in David that I was gay. I mean, I know why I confided in someone. The secret was ripping at the frayed stitches of my existence. I often say now that I'm amazed I didn't run away and become a hustler on Santa Monica Boulevard. That was sort of the level my self-esteem was at, back when I was 15. The non-existent level. The go-away-and-never-come-back-don't-mind-if-I-die area.

So I did confide in him.

I remember his reaction for so many reasons. It was the look on his face, like I'd just told him a dirty joke.

"Billy!" I remember him saying, like I was a bad dog, maybe. "You're joking, right? You're joking?"

I couldn't even muster the strength to say no. I wanted to say no. I wanted to say no and go back to our normal joking style. Nice shot, dickweed. Way to strike out, ass face. I remember wondering why I'd thought confiding to this kind of friend was a good idea in the first place.

"Tell me you're joking."

And when I didn't tell him that, because I couldn't, the abuse began.

He called me a fag. He told me that dogs don't do what I wanted to do. He called me dirty and low down and gross.

There are things I don't remember. I don't remember how I reacted, on the outside. I can't tell you if I told him to stop saying those things, or if I nodded, or what I did. I can't tell you, because I don't remember, because the real me disappeared then. I boarded up inside, took refuge in a blind place where feelings don't exist. Billy died that day, and it wasn't a simple death, but one that re-occurred, every time we played basketball during P.E. class and he muttered fag under his breath or told me to "lick a pussy for once."

He told some other kids. Not all of them believed him. And if they did, not all of them were as mean as David was. But I don't recall any of them being really nice, either. This was about the time I stopped playing baseball in high school. I played through tenth grade, then stopped playing and started acting in spring plays and musicals.

The friendship ended, but I don't think the contact did. I seem to remember that we still spent time together. I can't tell you why, or what we did. That was a long time ago. I just know that thanks to David, I stopped trusting other guys. It took a long time to really let that go. Maybe not until Chuck, seven-to-eight years ago.

I've been thinking about forgiveness. I'm a believer in it. David surely had his own demons. No one acts that way without having their own pain and suffering.

But do I forgive David? For putting the final puncture in me, a puncture that began a few years earlier, when boys began to act like boys, and I began to have a secret that made me feel ashamed and different?

I don't. And I suppose I hope he reads this. Who knows who he is now, or where, or what he's gone through. Maybe he was just another closet case. Or maybe he was just a mean kid, and now he's a mean adult. I just don't know. But I hope he reads this so that he knows what he put me through. I think bullies should have a day of reckoning, and I don't mean "in heaven." I mean, a day where everyone who terrorized those who were gay or lesbian or black or poor or weak or different or talked funny or whatever has to face up to those they terrorized. I would be in favor of this.

I just looked David up. He's an attorney now, in California. I wonder if he knows what he did? I wonder if he'd care?