A boy and I were playing in the grass lawn that separated our apartment buildings. He wasn’t one of my good friends, but we were familiar. We were playing together one day and, out of the blue, I physically attacked him. I’ve earnestly tried to remember why, but all I can recall is the feeling. It felt like an out-of-body experience, where I was both indifferent and violent. There are flashes of me kicking him as he laid on the ground, my foot stomping on his face. When his mother angrily demanded justice, I nonchalantly offered a lie, that he had insulted my mom and that he deserved it.