When I was in my early twenties I was on the phone with my sister Liz and she said she had something to tell me but I might not like hearing it. I had no idea what she was talking about. She said she’d started seeing this guy that I had known growing up. Let’s use an obviously made-up name and call him “Greg.” She wasn’t sure what my reaction would be to Greg. I wasn’t especially overprotective of her or anything like that, and she definitely wouldn’t care about my opinion of a boyfriend. So it was sort of weird that she was even making a point to inform me. Therefore my response was mostly something like, “Huh, Greg. OK. So?”

I didn’t really even know him that well, and not at all as an adult. He was among the local kid population in the fairly typical suburban neighborhood where I grew up. By rule of proximity, I was friends with all the boys my age to varying degrees. When you’re a kid you’re friends with anyone your age who lives within walking distance and isn’t too much weirder than you. But even so, he wasn’t a kid I was good friends with. I don’t recall ever meeting up with just him specifically. It was mostly by association. He was in my classes and on my baseball teams. If a bunch of kids got together to play basketball or video games we would likely both be there. Sometimes there was a group of four of us that played Street Fighter 2 on Super Nintendo. Greg owned the game and was, by extension, the best at it. Greg’s best pal “Dan” was always there as his foil. But his main challenger was our mutual friend “Finn.” I rounded out the foursome even though, in the realm of Street Fighter 2, out of the four of us, I was a distant fourth. Mostly I suppose the invites came from Finn, who considered me a funnier and less mercurial balancing force to Greg. Because the other thing about Greg was that he was the kid who would lose his temper when things weren’t going so great and unceremoniously depart in a huff. He literally took his ball and went home from basketball games with some regularity. Gaming get-togethers always ran the risk of abrupt endings. He might lose a particularly tense Street Fighter showdown and festivities would come to a halt, with terse instructions as to the location of the exit to his house, and to which side of the door we were expected to direct ourselves.

By high school one’s friends are generally less proximal and more self-selected, and by the time graduation rolled around I wasn’t hanging out with any of these guys anymore. Finn’s family had moved away and everyone got older and things just change. I went away for college and didn’t stay in touch with more than a few people, so even more time and distance filled in the gap.

So when my sister brought up Greg, it wasn’t unlike her mentioning any random kid I’d known years ago. My reaction to finding out he was dating her was some part “Huh, a kid I knew is now dating my sister, weird.” But it was mostly “Wow, he’s still around town?” In total, I didn’t really care, or understand why she was treading carefully about it. She further revealed that the concern about my reaction actually originated from Greg. To which I was equally mystified. Greg didn’t have a sister, maybe he thought all brothers wanted to beat up anyone who got near theirs. But Liz told me that Greg was afraid of me in general, even aside from anything that might have to do with her. Now I was entirely confused. Afraid of me? Afraid of me? Who would be afraid of me? I am really not the sort of dude people fear. I’m not physically imposing, and am generally quiet and unassuming and I’d rather ignore and be ignored. Many people respond to physical presence, a booming speaking voice, or radiating confidence. I do not have, nor have I ever had, any of these.

Yet apparently, here was Greg having anxiety about me. Since I continued to seem baffled by the direction of this conversation Liz finally coughed up the details: he’d told Liz that in a fit of anger I’d once shoved him against a locker. What a crappy thing to do! I should feel bad! Only—I had literally no memory of this. Was he sure? He wasn’t thinking of someone else? This was completely out of nowhere, and so strange to hear I think I just scoffed. I had no defense, no side to the story. Which probably sounded a lot like lying. She even asked if I had been a bully in school! Which was another level deep and laughably ridiculous. So she didn’t know what to think. I was laughing it off either because it was entirely outrageous or perhaps I was a terrible liar.

(As it turned out she didn’t end up dating Greg for long and I’m not sure how he ever reacted to my denials. I ought to ask her again.)

Anyway, I still think about this from time to time. Memory is a funny, notoriously unreliable thing. I can say for certain I was no kind of schoolyard terror but could I have really forgotten a locker-shoving incident? Let’s break down some possibilities:

1. Such an incident is pure fiction.

He made up the whole thing. As described, he had his odd moments. Maybe he formulated a story in the event that I reacted badly to him prowling around my sister. Or maybe he just didn’t like me.

2. It’s partial fiction.

Maybe he dreamed it and got confused. Or maybe someone else victimized Greg and he somehow mis-remembered the perpetrator. Perhaps I was in the vicinity, or he didn’t like me and it was easier for him to believe that I’d done it rather than whomever else.

3. I am totally guilty.

Did I really have a moment of blinding pubescent rage that came and went so suddenly it didn’t even register for me, but traumatized poor Greg? Or maybe he was giving me a hard time about something and I overreacted and didn’t realize he wasn’t in on the joke. I mean, I’m making up reasoning for an event that I don’t remember and may or may not have happened. I don’t know what he could have done to provoke such a reaction and I was never much for random roughhousing. But I have to admit I’m rather haunted by the possibility. It’d be deeply shitty if I did, and even worse that I didn’t even remember. The problem is that I can never prove I did or didn’t do it. All I can say is that it would have been awfully out of character for me. If it really did happen, I doubt Greg would take much solace in that, though.

* * * * * * *

In any case, I get to enjoy this vague feeling of potential guilt forever. Thanks, Greg. Though unless it’s complete fiction it’s not a pleasant memory for him either.

So how should I deal with it? I could just own it. Doesn’t matter what I think or believe. If I ever see Greg again, I’ll just apologize. What if Greg is still tormented by this childhood incident that sapped his self-confidence and sent him into a dismal tailspin? What if he now he works nights trapping rats in the chemical factory because he’s too fearful of human contact? A simple apology could turn his whole life around. (I guess it should also be considered that the opposite could be just as true. His triumphant bullshit story to earn sympathy with a girlfriend in his early twenties taught him to trust his creativity and today he’s a millionaire artist living in Paris. He would be delighted to learn I was still worried about him.)

Or do I even need to justify it? Kids do kid stuff and it can be rotten but they’re kids and don’t know any better. There’s a reason they don’t try kids as adults. Adolescents especially are feral little hormone-churning monsters. I wouldn’t trust any of them, including myself when I was one. Let’s say it were definitely proven that it was actually Dan who did the shoving. I wouldn’t expect Dan of Today or defend himself. I’m sure he’d feel sorry. I’d certainly be sorry if it was me. But I kind of think it doesn’t really matter as a one-off incident between kids. I feel a similar weird helplessness when my Grandma obsesses over how I would only eat hot dogs when I was three years old. It’s not like I should have to justify my dietary choices as a toddler. Three-year-old me is only “me” in the linear biological sense, not in any real meaningful way.

Still. Any of this can’t help but feel like all of this is an exercise in being a weasel if there is any sliver of a chance I once was a jerk. Even if this didn’t happen, I guarantee I did something rotten as a kid that I never got called out on so directly. But at least every single other human is equally guilty of at least some moment of indiscretion or temper.

Anyway, Greg, sorry dude.