![Bryant Literary Review](/assets/md5images/76f74d20b69b6d7141cdce6fd1c52f74.png)
Abstract
When I was nine years old, a boy socked me on the arm at recess. He hit hard, enough to cause me to cry out, to bring tears to my eyes, though I wouldn’t let them escape.
When I was nine years old, a boy socked me on the arm at recess. He hit hard, enough to cause me to cry out, to bring tears to my eyes, though I wouldn’t let them escape.