Scars.
I was weird when I was a kid. Shit, I’m still a weirdo.
But I don’t get ‘hazed’ anymore. I guess when you’re a weird kid, you grow up to be ‘creative’
Those of us who were teased and outcasted as kids had to find alternative outlets. We read, or paint, or sing, we’re photographers, we write. We’ve become the advertising geniuses, the billboard artists, the showcased.
Should we remember who turned us this way?
In school, I never exactly ‘fit in’ I was weird. I was having family problems and didn’t have a coping mechanism really. Kids didn’t understand that.
When I was in third grade, I walked to the bus stop everyday. A lot of kids went to the same bus stop I did. I remember a few of them. I’m friends with a couple now. But there is one name I’ll never forget.
Matt.
We’d gone to school together for the entirety of our elementary career (a whopping 3 years) and we never liked each other. He was just as weird as I was, and he smelled funny, and put to much gel in his hair. He got picked on just as much as me.
So his way of dealing? Pick on someone else.
That someone else was me.
I didn’t have the nicest shoes, or the best clothes, I didn’t have a lunchbox. I had a platic bag. I did my hair funny too, but I didn’t smell funny. (:
I got to the bus stop on October 14, 2000 and Matt was there with Derrik, an 8th grader waiting for his bus that came 30 minutes after ours. Derrik was making fun of Matts jacket. When I got there, I stayed about 5 feet away from them, but I could hear the things Derrik was saying, and it was awful. I knew that Matt was trying not to cry.
But I didn’t speak up. I heard Derrik say something about me, so I turned around. Im not really sure what happened, but I’ve come to the conclusion that Matt was only trying to get Derrik to leave him alone so he started picking on me.
I understood. So I turned around and started looking for the bus again. But then, I felt something hit my arm. It was a rock. I heard Derrik laughing.
I turned around to tell him to stop, but when I did, I realized that Derrik wasn’t throwing them… It was Matt.
I just looked at him, and he raised his arm, and pelted me with another rock. It hit me in the forehead.
All I remember after that was Matt turned white, and Derrik ran to a house and started banging on the door.
I felt something run down my face, and soon all I could see was blood. It was all I could taste, all I could smell.
And the pain, I didn’t know what to focus on. I can’t even remember if I cried.
I must’ve fallen down because Matt had come over next to me, and I looked up at him, i knew he didn’t mean to hurt me. He just stared at me. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t say anything.
I whispered “I won’t tell”
And he took off his jacket and used it to clean around the cut on my forehead. And he sat with me until my dad got there, and when he did, he asked Matt and Derrik what happened, and they just looked at eachother.
So I told him that we were playing tag and I tripped and hit my head on a rock.
I needed 3 stitches. And I went as Harry Potter for Halloween.
I never spoke to either of them again. I see Matt every now and then driving, or in a store, and everytime, we walk past each other saying nothing. Even though he and I both know he had a huge affect on my life.
Derrik is in prison. For theft. Who’da thunk it?
I still have a scar, and I have to look at it everyday. An uneraseable reminder that I am a freak. I don’t think about them everyday, but somedays my eyes wander and land on my scar, and I remember Matt and Derrik.
And I’ll always remember how I felt that day. When the blood was streaming down my face, and I could barely breathe, I’ll always remember that pain in the pit of my stomach. I’ll always remember that that day, I was a freak.
People may forget your name, or what you look like, but they won’t ever forget what you made them feel.
