Let me tell you a story.

Red sweaters. I hate red sweaters, Sam thinks to himself as he wanders through the door, his mind hanging on one thought: Red sweaters. The mere idea threatens to send him back to that night. He clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut tight as the memory begins taking control.

Red sweaters.

Suddenly, he isn’t at school anymore. His eyes fly open, but his vision becomes blurry. He finds himself … there.

Red sweaters.

Hands clench onto his arm. Sam starts to feel the handprint-shaped bruise forming. Sweat trickles down his brow. He fights to get away, thrashing with all of his strength.

“Hold still, Sam!” His mother’s shrill, scalding voice is forever seared into his memory. “Stay STILL! GOD! Just STAY STILL!” Tears slip down Sam’s face as he gives in. He stops struggling, and he opens the eyes he didn’t quite realize were closed. There she is. Her hand on his arm. Her strength keeping him pinned down.

Her red sweater dancing in front of his eyes.

He keeps his eyes on the red sweater as his father’s hand crashes down upon his back. Over and over, each wave of pain is more intense than the last.

Sam’s vision begins to blacken little by little until all he can see is the red sweater.

That woven piece of betrayal.

Sam’s feet slam onto the floor of reality as he recognizes he has been standing in the middle of the school hallway, staring into nothing but the past. Shaking his head to rid himself of the trauma that plagues him, he trudges down the hall with no such luck.

Red sweaters. 

He picks up the pace. If he gets to class quickly, maybe the thoughts won’t pursue him. Faster now, he rounds a corner only to run straight into a girl, knocking her books to the ground.

She’s wearing a red sweater.

Red sweater. Red sweater. 

All of it’s coming back. It’s all happening again. The handprint hidden under his sleeve is burning hotter than ever — as if he’s just now receiving it. The only escape he sees is to run away. Without a word, Sam takes off, leaving the girl in his wake.

“JERK!” she screeches after him. But the only voice Sam can hear is his mother’s.

End story.

Every day we make judgements in our minds. We assume things about people without discussion or conversation. We don’t know the background. We don’t know the circumstances. Yet, in our minds we find it okay to make assumptions about other people.

Even when we don’t know their story.