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Halifax, October 18
10:15 a.m.
Detective Audra Price dreaded this moment. Not because she feared speaking in front of a gymnasium full of junior-high-school students, but because she chose to speak about a subject she’d kept to herself for thirty years.
Walking up to the podium, she wiped her palms on her pants and cleared her throat. She adjusted the microphone toward her.
Amplified by the PA system, she heard the tremulous tone in her voice as she asked, “Can everyone hear me okay?”
Some students in the back rows called out that they could, and Audra flashed a quick smile. She began speaking slowly and carefully, trying to maintain strong eye contact with the audience instead of glancing down too often at her notes.
“Hard words break no bones,” she said. “While that is true, they can break spirit. They can break dreams. They can lead to low self-esteem, depression, social isolation, and paranoia.
“Hard words can hurt and leave scars that last a lifetime. I know because it happened to me.
“It’s difficult to talk about things that bother you. Opening up to your friends, your teachers, your parents. Even though these people can offer you comfort, support, and advice, it’s difficult. I know because it happened to me.
“But those bothersome things don’t always go away. They can nag and fester over time. Or they can sit inside you for years, dormant like a volcano. Then one day they rise to the surface and come out as gushes of anger and tears. That’s what I experienced when I sat down to prepare this speech. I relived the nightmare all over again. Every poignant detail.
“What I’m talking to you about today is bullying. And my own experiences with it.” Audra paused a brief moment so the students could reflect on her words.
Her gaze swept past the faces and settled on her daughter, Daphne, sitting in the front row to the left of the stage. Audra locked eyes with her and gave her a small smile. Daphne responded with a smile of her own and an acknowledgment of empathy and gratitude in the blink of her eyes.
Tabitha Landes sat beside her. It made Audra happy to see the two had rekindled their friendship over the summer. It also made her happy to see Daphne on the road to a full recovery.
Four months after her brain injury, few issues remained. Speech therapy had smoothed out much of her stutter. Physical therapy had smoothed out the slight hitch in her step. Even her energy levels were on par with a normal teenager again.
Daphne didn’t remember the suicide attempt. But a few weeks after being released from the hospital, she began having raw flashbacks of the torment she’d suffered at school. She couldn’t understand what was happening or why. Audra and Daniel hugged her, comforted her, and explained everything.
Audra then gave Daphne the apology note Margi Tanner had written. Audra explained that Margi’s behavior, while inexcusable, might’ve stemmed from an abusive home life with her alcoholic father. Daphne quietly accepted the apology and tucked the note away in her desk drawer. It seemed to provide her with some closure.
Still, Audra worried about her.
She flicked her attention back to the audience.
“My name is Audra Price,” she said. “I’m a fifteen-year veteran with the Halifax Regional Police. Believe it or not, I was bullied in school.
“My parents were like nomads. They never stayed in one place for long. We moved around a lot. Every year or two, I went to a new school. This left me frustrated and lonely at times as a child growing up. I had to say good-bye to friends I had just made. It hurt to do that.
“But each new home brought a new set of friends and a new set of experiences. Some of those experiences were pleasant. Others were downright bad.
“Imagine being twelve years old and going to a new school for the first time. You don’t know anyone. You try to fit in. You want to fit in. But the other kids shun you. Not one of them wants anything to do with you. You’ve never felt so alone in your life. You keep to yourself.”
Audra softened her voice. “This happened to me. And it didn’t take long before a group of girls singled me out. They began taunting me. I was ugly. I was stupid. I was a loser.
“Those hard words hurt me. They bothered me. I used to come home from school and cry in my room. I never wanted to go back there again. My life was a living hell. Then, one day, the girls took it a step further. They beat me up after school.
“When I came home with a black eye, my mother was furious. I told her I got hit in the face with a ball during Phys Ed. I’m not sure if she believed me or not.”
Audra paused again, pretending to glance down at her notes. She needed the quick break to recover her professional side, to stomp down the emotion rising up her throat. The gymnasium was utterly silent. A few students were leaning forward in their seats.
Audra looked over at Daphne and met her glistening eyes. She could see she had rattled something in her, knowing her mother was in pain, knowing they shared a mutual tragedy. Audra gave her a reassuring wink.
She continued. “I dealt with that nightmare for two years before my parents moved again.
“Needless to say, I was terrified to go to another new school. I worked myself up so much the night before the first day that I never slept and ended up getting sick. But the new school turned out better. The other kids were more receptive. I made some good friends there. Some of whom I still keep in touch with.
“And how have those two years of being bullied affected me? Even now, thirty years later, it bothers me to talk about it. It never leaves you. That pain. That humiliation. I know what it’s like to feel alone. To be scared. To be targeted.
“Being bullied hasn’t made me stronger. It’s made me suspicious of people. Cautious.
“I want to get involved when I see someone getting bullied or being taken advantage of. It’s the underlying reason I became a cop.
“I cannot stand to watch children being victimized in any way. And in my line of work, I’ve seen it more than anyone should be forced to. Children the same age as many of you here, even younger, with their whole lives ahead of them. Victims of suicide. They chose to end their lives because they couldn’t see beyond the pain caused by their tormentors. Suicide was the only recourse they thought they had.
“In Canada, suicide is the second-leading cause of death among young people aged ten to twenty-four. Just over five hundred in that age group committed suicide last year. Of those, two hundred thirty were aged ten to nineteen.
“The suicide rate among ten- to fourteen-year-olds has doubled in the past three decades. Bullying has been linked to this increase.
“Ten to fourteen years old. Imagine seeing that body. A body from which no laugh or giggle will ever sound again. It could be your brother. Your sister. Your friend. The boy or girl sitting next to you in class.
“Imagine looking into the ravaged eyes of the devastated mother or father who just lost that child.
“I’ve seen this. And I pray none of you will ever have to, because it’s not pretty. It’s not funny. It’s not something you text your friends about or post on Facebook.
“It’s something you take home with you. You hear the screams of anguished parents. You see the faces of the dead. They haunt you. They invade your dreams at night.
“I’ve seen many police officers turn to alcohol or drugs to deal with the tragedies they face. I’ve seen them question whether the job had any value, and they’d eventually leave the profession. I’ve seen a few who have even committed suicide.
“We’re not paladins or heroes. We’re human beings, like you.”
The sudden shrill of Audra’s pager rang out in the gymnasium, making her flinch and some students perk up at the sound. Instinctively, she reached down for the button to stop it.
“Bullying has gone far beyond what I dealt with in school. In my day, you had to deal with rumors or face-to-face encounters. We never had Internet. Cell phones were coming out, but they belonged to rich men. They cost about four grand and were as big as a brick.
“The Internet and cell phones have made the world a smaller place. The playing field for bullies has changed. They can reach children right in their homes, at any time of day on their cells and computers. They post bad stuff on social media for the entire world to see.
“If you’re being bullied, silence is your worst enemy. Same thing if you witness another child being bullied. So tell someone. Your parents. Your teachers. Principal Scinto. Don’t be afraid. This behavior needs to be reported. It needs to stop in our schools.”
Pausing, Audra gazed out at the audience. The alert on her pager had pulled her attention away from really focusing on the students. Someone in the city was either dead or dying under suspicious circumstances, and she had to respond.
“Work is calling me,” she said, “so I’ll wrap this up by telling you that your education isn’t just about learning math equations or the periodic table. Education trains you to think, to make good choices. Your education is a lifelong process. At times, it can be hard and disappointing. But it can also be exciting and enriching.
“I’ll quote the great Nelson Mandela. ‘Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.’
“Remember, it only takes a moment to make memories, good or bad. It takes a lifetime to forget them. So please, be good to one another. And thank you for listening to me today.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then the applause started as a few scattered claps, slowly building, until it passed through the entire crowd. To Audra, it was the sound of respect.
She looked over at Daphne and gave her a smile. Daphne shot her back a smile that was wide, proud.
Audra walked away from the podium. When she reached the edge of the stage, she took out her pager and read the display.
Major crime alert.
Point Pleasant Park.
