Young Mr. Lee wears a rat tail

Brian asks me if I remember middle school with fondness, suggesting that it might even be possible to do so. We are driving down Boulder Canyon after climbing; I'm exhausted, my fingers pulse, and my soul is full from being outside in perfect vertical meditation.
"Not at all."
"Oh, I did."

And that seems strange to me. I remember middle school in the form of Jessee Lee. Young Mr. Lee wears a rat-tail, the Mullet's love child, both badges of depraved upbringing. Jessee is my age, but takes a distinct abhorrence at my existence. Demographic elitism prods me to think it's my good bloodlines. He swears to the class that he'll kick the shit out of me, and I swear to myself to avoid him at all costs.
My main memory is a public threat, humiliation from a bully in a Metallica shirt with the sleeves cut off.
"No, I was ready to move along. I didn't like it too much."