Perhaps I wasn't a good person back then. It's a guilt I've carried with me for over a decade now.

Nearing the end of second grade, I'd been teasing Liron for his large glasses and messy blonde hair for months. He'd absolutely never taken it seriously enough, to my chagrin, but I suppose we were both in a certain mood.

For about a week he'd been particularly pale, and he was even more recluse than he'd usually been. He would normally respond with a stupid comeback or so, but this time he completely blew me off, and it infuriated me.

We were both lingering after school - his mom was late and I was waiting for soccer practice - and I took the opportunity.

He told me to go away, to leave him alone, and I never did. I said some things - I called him stupid, a crybaby. I was itching for a fight. He started tearing up half-way through and I felt the rush of victory. 

I remember I was sneering in his face, about to say something my eight year old brain thought was particularly wounding, when his fist met my nose and my ass met the floor.

I was stunned for a moment, looking up at him, standing with his fists clenched and scowling at me, trails of tears running down his face.

The fury built up in me, and I launched myself at him, but he had me in headlock on the ground before I knew it. He let go almost immediately, and shoved himself off of me, sobbing into the dust.

This was the first moment I realised that I should never know what to expect from Liron. He was a scrawny kid, and short, but I still remember my younger self thinking that must be some karate or shit. I dusted my hands off and crouched down in front of him, staring at his red eyes. He wasn't ashamed of crying in front of me.

I put a hand on his shoulder and breathed slowly in an attempt to get my heart rate down. It took a while for me to say anything. I wasn't very well practiced at apologising.

"That was pretty cool," I said eventually. He didn't respond. He just kept on sobbing into the dust, and I thought I must really have hurt him. I made a silent promise to myself to make amends to this kid who kicked my ass.

I think that was the day we became sort of friends. A week later he told me his dad had died from fatal insomnia. I didn't know what that meant.