I've been doing a lot of training lately and one of the
things that I was being trained on was bullying and what can happen if teachers
choose to ignore it. For me, it was kind of a waste of time. I've been bullied.
No teacher ever stepped in. No teacher
ever clued in. It’s like they didn’t know it was happening. But you know what I've
figured out over the years? They
didn’t know what was going on because, of
course, bullies behave themselves when the teachers are around, and I only ever
told one teacher what was happening. She pronounced me “melodramatic” and
encouraged me to learn to take a joke. I
know, sad story, but that was a long time ago. I've learned a lot since then
and because of that, I've been able to write about it. So, I'm going to share the first chapter of
that book with you. The story is timely
and has really been hitting a chord with me lately even though I wrote this
about six years ago.
Now, before you read this, you should know that it’s not
100% autobiographical. I do have an imagination and this book is a work of
fiction. In any case, this is my latest
project currently under revision. Let me know what you think. It's called Invisible.
Chapter 1 : Sometimes the frying pan isn't as bad as you think…
I
want to be able to say I’ll be okay, I do.
But I guess… I just don’t believe that, not really.
Not anymore.
Some days, I feel
like the last person left on Earth wandering mindlessly through empty streets,
devoid of sound or companionship. Other times, I'm dangling over a tiger pit by
my hair. You have to admire the beauty of the tigers, but face the fact that they
will, ultimately, savage you. It’s a fine line to walk, but here I am.
They seem to get braver every day, you know, and
still, no one seems to notice. So, I’ll go on recording these events here.
Someone may need to understand someday. They may need an explanation or a
reason: why? Most likely, I won’t be there to provide it. This journal will
speak for me. It will be found and then…the truth will come out. Maybe then
they’ll understand.
Emily
slapped her journal shut and quickly stuffed it into her beloved army surplus
backpack, glancing at the exaggerated clock over her head. The bell was about
to ring. Soon it would be time for lunch. Lunch.
For
Emily, it was not the longed for breath of freedom it was for most students. It
was one of the most dangerous times of day. It was an unmanaged, uncertain
hour. She had tried bringing a lunch from home, but that was almost worse,
because people could, (and often did) either steal or “enhance” the lunches.
She had tried not eating but found that she was shaky and weird in the
afternoon. Something to do with low blood sugar she guessed. The best she could
hope for was a distraction; enough time to grab some food and flee.
With
every part of her body and mind clinched in tense fear, Emily would be forced
into the throng of students circulating in the cafeteria. The very thought made
her breath come in short, ragged bursts and her stomach convulse in knots. It
was a daily occurrence, but she never got used to the panic that seized her.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to control her breathing.
In, 2, 3, 4, Out, 2, 3, 4. Okay, again.
It
was the only way she was going to be able to calm down enough.
Oh, I
know she thought to herself it seems… melodramatic. Mom
and Dad always said she was just being melodramatic, a drama queen. But, it wasn’t that. It’s real. I have to
calm down. I swear they can sense my fear and if I don’t get it under control,
they will smell me coming and pounce. Nobody believes me. Nobody understands.
What else can I do? Stop it! Stop it! Who are you talking to you idiot! Shut up
and breathe!
Emily could feel the panic, lumping
up hard and bitter at the back of her throat. Sweat began to pool under her
arms and tickle between her shoulder blades. Great! Now I’ll stink too. She
tried to reassure herself: they will never have the guts to actually try
anything in the lunchroom; too many witnesses for that. In reality,
however, she knew the cafeteria was where they practiced random humiliation
techniques on the younger or different, the weaker or weird. It was in the
cafeteria where they sharpened their claws.
She
looked down at her backpack slumped at her feet. Even the bright pink and
orange flowers she had glued on it did nothing to brace her courage anymore.
The appliqués were curling and peeling up at the edges, threatening to desert her at any moment. One alone clung desperately to the gray-green canvas.
The
bell clanged angrily overhead. Emily cringed as the sound was quickly drowned
in the chaos of slamming books and scraping chairs. She leaned over and,
pretended to adjust the straps on her pack, allowing the bulk of the other
students to flow out into the hallway. They all seemed to be chattering and
laughing at the same time. In clumps of twos and threes the girls moved out
into the main stream, chattering like blue jays. Most of the boys traveled
alone, but even they would meet up with others during the lunch hour. Emily
would not.
When
she was certain that the rush had ebbed, Emily stood up and started out of the
room. As she turned toward the door, a flash of brilliant white, as brief as a
vapor trail, made her freeze and hold her breath.
Are they there? Waiting on me? They have me trapped here in the room and if I dare to step out…or worse… what if I stay here?
“Emily?
I need to talk to you for a minute.” Mrs. Gonzalez’s throaty voice startled
her. She had completely forgotten about the teacher.
Emily
leaned a little forward, straining to catch a glimpse… a sound…a warning, but
there was nothing, only a faint hint of flowery perfume lingered. Mrs. Gonzalez
said her name again. Emily struggled for another moment and then forced herself
to take another deep breath and respond.
“Yes,
Ma’am. I’m coming.” She turned on the heel of her battered black boots and
scuffed over to her English teacher’s sagging gunmetal gray desk. Emily liked
Mrs. Gonzalez. The woman was actually tiny, but she barreled through the halls
on lethally high heels with such force that no one got in her way. Her
complexion was a toasty brown and dark honey-colored eyes defined her pretty
face. She had a serious accent which, in combination with her midnight black
hair and odd perfume, made her seem exotic.
She
was actually a perfect target for ridicule and racist affinities. But Mrs. G
was nobody’s idea of helpless. Her mind was as sharp as her trademark high
heels and even faster than her stride. There was a compassionate streak in her
if you tried, and public disapproval if you did not. Every student knew they
would have to get through her English classes to make it in high school— no
simple task. So everyone either genuinely respected her, or were so busy
sucking up that it made little difference what they really thought.
Mrs.
G never gave grades. Every student in her class earned exactly the marks they received; she treated everyone as if
they were college-prep and consequently, Mrs. G’s after- school tutoring was
always full. Everyone called her Mrs.
G. Behind her back, though, they called
her the G. She was also one of
the only people that Emily knew who didn’t make fun of her. Even other teachers
occasionally found Emily amusing, but not the G.
“I’ve
read your latest essay, Emily. It was excellent, as usual,” she said, handing
over a thick bundle of papers with a bright A+ emblazoned on the front.
“Thank
you Mrs. G,” Emily said quietly through the fat clumps of thick, dark hair
hanging across her face. Emily glanced back over her shoulder as best she
could. She was certain she’d seen someone there, at the door, though maybe it
was only a feeling. Still she felt it: They were watching. Waiting. Somewhere.
It was only a matter of time.
“Is
everything alright, Emily?”
No! Emily’s brain screamed as she turned abruptly back to
her teacher. Swallowing, she forced herself to answer calmly. “Hmm? Oh, yeah.
Everything is fine. Why?”
“I
don’t know, really. You seem a little… down... more so than usual, I mean.”
Other
than feeling like the main attraction at a foxhunt you mean?
“Oh,
well, no. I’m fine. Just… Fine.”
“You’re
sure?”
Emily
nodded and managed a smile she thought didn’t look too artificial. There was
nothing to be gained by involving the G. Emily doubted she could really do much
anyway. That was always assuming she believed anything Emily had to say.
“Well,
okay, if you’re sure. Anyway. Now, the big news: I've spoken to Mr. Simmons and
he agrees with me that you should be put into a special education program for
Gifted and Talented.”
Emily’s
heart skipped a beat, then two. “I
thought we didn’t have any G&T classes in this district?” she said, gulping
hard.
“We
don’t, per se. But what we can do is move you into a higher class level, based
on your outstanding performance on that test I gave you last week.”
Emily
looked up through her veil of hair, but remained speechless. Mrs. G, usually
fairly astute, somehow mistook that for elation and moved quickly forward,
presenting Emily with an official looking sheet of paper: “Take this home to
your parents and have them set up a meeting with Mr. Simmons. Starting next
Monday you will begin reporting to Mr. Maxwell’s eleventh grade English Three
class followed by Mrs. Andrew’s Literature four. Isn't that great?” She couldn't look more pleased if she had pulled a cake out of the desk drawer in
front of her. Emily felt like howling.
“You
mean I won’t be in your classes anymore?”
“Emily,
you’re too advanced for standard freshman English. This test proves what I’ve
suspected since the first of the semester. You need to be in an accelerated
program that can challenge you intellectually, one that will be stimulating and
exciting. Since our district is so small, we don’t have accelerated or Pre-AP
courses. You need to be in a program where they can actually teach you
something and help prepare you for college. I expect they will test you in your
other subjects next week and you’ll officially skip a grade or two; move ahead
in all of your classes.” She sat there beaming, waiting for Emily’s joyful
response.
Emily
stood silently. Inside, however, her brain was screaming and her heart hammered
against her ribs. She was certain Mrs. G would hear it.
That’s just great! As if you weren’t already the
biggest geek in the entire freshman class! Now they have to move you into a
class of high school kids who can really harass you AND they’re taking
you away from the only teacher in the whole school who ALMOST got you. Great
work-- Emily… just great! A real genius you are.
“Thanks
Mrs. G. I… um, appreciate it.” She turned to go.
“Emily?”
She
stopped and looked directly into her teacher’s eyes. For a single, breathless
moment, Emily thought Mrs. G had figured everything out. She knew what was
going on; she saw it all, and she was going to help her! Emily waited,
squeezing her eyes closed, willing the tears back. She held her breath.
“Make
me proud, okay?”
The
silence began to grow thicker. Emily had to respond or spill it all.
She
swallowed what felt like a rock in the back of her throat and replied, “Sure
Mrs. G-- I’ll do my best.”
Ultimately,
her entire lunch hour was spent among the graffiti of the last stall in the
girls’ bathroom, alone. Emily turned sideways on the toilet stool, and braced
her feet against the wall. A few moments of silence in the hallway, and Emily
let the tears go. All at once, they were pouring hotly down her face. She
clutched her backpack tightly to her chest, hugging her books and holding her
breath, struggling not to make a sound that would give her away.
