I'm sitting in the back of the classroom today. I normally sit somewhere else, but Ricky Ortiz has been stabbing the lead side of his No. 2 pencil on the right side of my back, right onto one of my chunky rolls. It started as a joke, I think, but it has gotten out of hand. He and his 3 friends just laugh themselves to tears saying "But you got extra padding! It doesn't hurt, so stop fidgeting!" I feel my stomach twist and turn, nausea and this horrible fire crawling up my face and ears. I hear them snicker and Ricky's talking to me quietly in a baby voice "Awww look at you all red..." Just at that moment where I feel the tears well up, the bell rings shrilly to announce phase two of my daily torment. I can almost picture that bell as a cold, ruthless drill Sargent screaming down a poor kid's neck and spitting on his face while yelling "MOVE, MAGGOT, MOVE! YOU WANT YOUR MOMMA, MAGGOT?!". My feet finally receive the brain's signal to move, and there I go: big, red-faced, awkward and terrified. I'm a Senior in HS. I shouldn't be this afraid of school by now, I'm almost done.
The loud talking, laughter and lockers slamming accompany me to the cafeteria - the doom room. I step in through the pale yellow, metal double doors and it almost becomes too much to handle. I'm clenching my jaw, grinding my teeth and almost feel a bitter taste in the back of my tongue...I must have bitten my cheek to hard on the inside, again, drawing blood. I don't even look up, I know the exact layout of all the tables and who is sitting where. Swearing under my breath, feeling every pair of eyes burning holes in me, I stand in the same line I always do. The one with the pre-made sandwiches, the jello cup and a soda. I've had the same lunch for 5 months now, only because my fear and dread of classmates prevents me from taking 50 steps across the cafeteria to the other line, with the warm food. I could trip or be tripped on the way there, they'd be looking at me and I'd get even more awkward, they could scream things at me or worse...not acknowledge my existence at all. The possibilities, though endless, had been lived by me so far. So this is where my road splits. Time for a decision.
I could sit at the table I had been sitting in since the first day of school, with the same 4 girls. They had never said hi, looked at me or even seen me sitting at their table. We had English class together. Lauren was a track athlete, Sarah was in the swim team, Jessica was in the Debate Club and Skylar was in the Photography club. I knew their names, what they did, they're boyfriends names and if they were virgins. I only heard two words from Lauren directed at me. She said "No" when I asked if someone was sitting at the end of the lunch table and "Oh" when I told her she gave me an extra exam in English class as she was passing them around. At this point I can go sit with them, or go to Plan B. This amazing plan consisted of putting my sandwich in my backpack, dumping out the jello and sip my Coke in a calm manner as I left the cafeteria. I'd avoid the corridors, so security wouldn't ask me to go back to the lunch area and sneak into the auditorium restroom.
There's a scene in the movie Mean Girls, in which the main character is having a hard time adapting in a new HS...so she ends up sitting in a bathroom stall by herself eating her lunch. People thing that scene is exaggerated, but that is exactly what my lunch was like at least 2-3 times a week. I'd sneak in there and pretend to put on make up while the girls finished up, I'd hang my backpack from the door and close the stall door. I'd curl up on the top of the toilet, the large metal pipes and sit there with my feet up so no one would see. I'd pray for time to fly and for no one to come in and start banging on the door, then I'd read the scribbles on the walls with each bite of my soggy sandwich. I
shouldn't have felt I had to do that, yet that's the reality of my high school years. I tried to find a home with different groups of people, but at least I found Shante. It was just her and me. I will forever be grateful that she stuck by my side until today. However, how does one get rid of those memories? Of the stereotypes those years formed in your head? I still can't see a jock, wearing Hollister or some attractive guy near me because I feel nauseous and just sort of recoil as if I've been slapped.
Why did I write this? I don't know. But I feel worse now than I ever have for simply existing in this planet.
Bye.
The loud talking, laughter and lockers slamming accompany me to the cafeteria - the doom room. I step in through the pale yellow, metal double doors and it almost becomes too much to handle. I'm clenching my jaw, grinding my teeth and almost feel a bitter taste in the back of my tongue...I must have bitten my cheek to hard on the inside, again, drawing blood. I don't even look up, I know the exact layout of all the tables and who is sitting where. Swearing under my breath, feeling every pair of eyes burning holes in me, I stand in the same line I always do. The one with the pre-made sandwiches, the jello cup and a soda. I've had the same lunch for 5 months now, only because my fear and dread of classmates prevents me from taking 50 steps across the cafeteria to the other line, with the warm food. I could trip or be tripped on the way there, they'd be looking at me and I'd get even more awkward, they could scream things at me or worse...not acknowledge my existence at all. The possibilities, though endless, had been lived by me so far. So this is where my road splits. Time for a decision.
I could sit at the table I had been sitting in since the first day of school, with the same 4 girls. They had never said hi, looked at me or even seen me sitting at their table. We had English class together. Lauren was a track athlete, Sarah was in the swim team, Jessica was in the Debate Club and Skylar was in the Photography club. I knew their names, what they did, they're boyfriends names and if they were virgins. I only heard two words from Lauren directed at me. She said "No" when I asked if someone was sitting at the end of the lunch table and "Oh" when I told her she gave me an extra exam in English class as she was passing them around. At this point I can go sit with them, or go to Plan B. This amazing plan consisted of putting my sandwich in my backpack, dumping out the jello and sip my Coke in a calm manner as I left the cafeteria. I'd avoid the corridors, so security wouldn't ask me to go back to the lunch area and sneak into the auditorium restroom.
There's a scene in the movie Mean Girls, in which the main character is having a hard time adapting in a new HS...so she ends up sitting in a bathroom stall by herself eating her lunch. People thing that scene is exaggerated, but that is exactly what my lunch was like at least 2-3 times a week. I'd sneak in there and pretend to put on make up while the girls finished up, I'd hang my backpack from the door and close the stall door. I'd curl up on the top of the toilet, the large metal pipes and sit there with my feet up so no one would see. I'd pray for time to fly and for no one to come in and start banging on the door, then I'd read the scribbles on the walls with each bite of my soggy sandwich. I
shouldn't have felt I had to do that, yet that's the reality of my high school years. I tried to find a home with different groups of people, but at least I found Shante. It was just her and me. I will forever be grateful that she stuck by my side until today. However, how does one get rid of those memories? Of the stereotypes those years formed in your head? I still can't see a jock, wearing Hollister or some attractive guy near me because I feel nauseous and just sort of recoil as if I've been slapped.
Why did I write this? I don't know. But I feel worse now than I ever have for simply existing in this planet.
Bye.
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