Small Town Boy

I try to remember what I remember about him. We shared the same grade and the same first name. He was different. He was born with pure white hair—some genetic thing—which I thought was cool. That was not what made him different. We were young enough that we didn’t know what the difference was, but we all knew what the difference was. He was bullied and tortured by his classmates, because. After he killed himself, no one spoke of him again. I hid because I was different too. When I remember him, I feel my hair turning white.  

Mark Hendrickson (he/him/his) is a gay poet and writer in the Des Moines area. His work has appeared in Variant Literature, Vestal Review, Modern Haiku, Spellbinder, and others. He has a background in music, health information management, and marriage and family therapy. Mark worked for many years as a mental health technician in a locked psychiatric unit. Follow him @MarkHPoetry, or visit his website at markhendricksonpoetry.com.  

This essay first appeared in Variant Literature, issue 17 (2024).