Tabby
O1.
I've always felt like the odd one out.
Never good enough, always the one you'd think of when someone mentioned the word "awkward", seldom ever picked first out of a line of pretty, athletic girls. I was used to it, had been for a good three years, ever since puberty kicked in and I was, well, kicked out. I didn't feel particularly ugly, but I knew I didn't stand a chance against any of the girls I'd grown up with who never failed to tell me how loose my clothes were, how good I would have looked with a little make-up. I knew they didn't really mean any harm, it was their nature to critique everyone around them so ruthlessly, but every once in a while, it stung.
I'd grown up in a normal middle-class neighborhood, my house situated in the cul-de-sac right beside a wooded area that, if you knew the short cuts, led to a massive skate park where my brother and his friends spent the majority of their time. I'd only been there a few times, seeing as Corey hated having me around, but I knew that only the best of the best hung out there. Why my 17-year-old brother thought he was included in that exclusive label was beyond me, but it was all the more reason for a girl like me not to be.
It wasn't like I skated or anything. Hell, I didn't learn to ride a bike without training wheels until age 8. It was just that I hated being left out because of my social status, because of my appearance, because I was 2 years younger than everyone there, with the exception of Corey. He'd only been admitted because he could pass for a 20 year old. Corey thought he was something else, he really did. "Go away, Tabitha. You're too little." That was a favorite of his when I was 3, and he always popped it in here and there whenever his friends were around. It embarrassed the hell out of me, especially when I wasn't even trying to bother any of them.
He wasn't even the type to be my best friend when no one was at our house. That was what really sucked; the fact that we really weren't close at all. He'd always disrespected me, hated my presence, and denied being related to me. After a while his lack of regard just blended in with the insults/help from my "friends", and I paid it no mind. Talking to me was like talking to a brick wall; you could insult and abuse me all you wanted and I'd still stay standing.
It wasn't something I was proud of, but it was me. I was the type of person you could know for years and still never be able to figure out whether or not I was stubborn. I was eager to please, but I'd always say no to something or other. Most of the time, I'd refuse anything and everything my brother asked of me. I didn't call that stubborn, but he did.
We were known as the Brummer pair, though we were seldom seen together if we could help it. That was just the way things were. I didn't hate my brother, I couldn't hate anyone really, but I was 70% sure he'd choose his buddies over me any day in a life or death situation. Our parents didn't seem to notice it either, not once had they ever tried to force his company on me or vice versa. We didn't even have family outings. I wasn't particularly close to my mother or father, but it didn't bother me that much.
Other than school, the only thing that I really paid any mind to these days was ballet. I'd been dancing since I was 5, and obviously it contrasted against the person everyone else saw when I was off the stage. I was tall and long legged, something that could have worked miracles for me in the dating department but only worked against me in the friendship area. I doubted it was jealousy, though that could have made perfect sense. Like everything else though, it didn't matter.
I loved the way dancing in Pointe shoes made me feel, like I was light as a feather, spinning around and around in circles faster than anyone else could. I was at the top of my class, one of the more advanced dancers, and I was proud of it. My mother had danced up until she was 24, when she basically hit her expiration date. I knew she was satisfied with what I'd become, as was I, but lately she'd failed to make it to any of my recitals and it was rare that she ever asked how my feet felt or if I needed them wrapped at night. It didn't really bother me; I was 16, old enough to stay on my toes by myself, literally. Having her full support would have been nice, but like so many other things in life, it was too much to ask for.
Sometimes I looked in the mirror and wondered why was I even put on this Earth? Because in all honesty, I wasn't anything special. If I were, I would have had a pile of friends and a boyfriend, plus a supportive, kind family. It seemed like to me, I'd been born to lose. Things just...didn't go my way, unless I was in the studio. I was the ugly duckling, the discarded shoe, and the flaw in a sea of beauty. I didn't fit in, plain and simple. Everyone and everything were constant reminders too, Corey especially. All he seemed to do these days was skate, smoke, and ignore the living hell out of me, refusing to come home for dinner and insisting on taking Dad's car to school instead of riding the bus with me. I was due to get my license any day now and he would never dream of giving me a ride, but it still irked me. Not bothered, irked. They weren't the same.
And now, as I sat on the front porch swing, watching Corey and his friends set fire to some poor kid's shirt, I wonder if he could tell the difference.
Never good enough, always the one you'd think of when someone mentioned the word "awkward", seldom ever picked first out of a line of pretty, athletic girls. I was used to it, had been for a good three years, ever since puberty kicked in and I was, well, kicked out. I didn't feel particularly ugly, but I knew I didn't stand a chance against any of the girls I'd grown up with who never failed to tell me how loose my clothes were, how good I would have looked with a little make-up. I knew they didn't really mean any harm, it was their nature to critique everyone around them so ruthlessly, but every once in a while, it stung.
I'd grown up in a normal middle-class neighborhood, my house situated in the cul-de-sac right beside a wooded area that, if you knew the short cuts, led to a massive skate park where my brother and his friends spent the majority of their time. I'd only been there a few times, seeing as Corey hated having me around, but I knew that only the best of the best hung out there. Why my 17-year-old brother thought he was included in that exclusive label was beyond me, but it was all the more reason for a girl like me not to be.
It wasn't like I skated or anything. Hell, I didn't learn to ride a bike without training wheels until age 8. It was just that I hated being left out because of my social status, because of my appearance, because I was 2 years younger than everyone there, with the exception of Corey. He'd only been admitted because he could pass for a 20 year old. Corey thought he was something else, he really did. "Go away, Tabitha. You're too little." That was a favorite of his when I was 3, and he always popped it in here and there whenever his friends were around. It embarrassed the hell out of me, especially when I wasn't even trying to bother any of them.
He wasn't even the type to be my best friend when no one was at our house. That was what really sucked; the fact that we really weren't close at all. He'd always disrespected me, hated my presence, and denied being related to me. After a while his lack of regard just blended in with the insults/help from my "friends", and I paid it no mind. Talking to me was like talking to a brick wall; you could insult and abuse me all you wanted and I'd still stay standing.
It wasn't something I was proud of, but it was me. I was the type of person you could know for years and still never be able to figure out whether or not I was stubborn. I was eager to please, but I'd always say no to something or other. Most of the time, I'd refuse anything and everything my brother asked of me. I didn't call that stubborn, but he did.
We were known as the Brummer pair, though we were seldom seen together if we could help it. That was just the way things were. I didn't hate my brother, I couldn't hate anyone really, but I was 70% sure he'd choose his buddies over me any day in a life or death situation. Our parents didn't seem to notice it either, not once had they ever tried to force his company on me or vice versa. We didn't even have family outings. I wasn't particularly close to my mother or father, but it didn't bother me that much.
Other than school, the only thing that I really paid any mind to these days was ballet. I'd been dancing since I was 5, and obviously it contrasted against the person everyone else saw when I was off the stage. I was tall and long legged, something that could have worked miracles for me in the dating department but only worked against me in the friendship area. I doubted it was jealousy, though that could have made perfect sense. Like everything else though, it didn't matter.
I loved the way dancing in Pointe shoes made me feel, like I was light as a feather, spinning around and around in circles faster than anyone else could. I was at the top of my class, one of the more advanced dancers, and I was proud of it. My mother had danced up until she was 24, when she basically hit her expiration date. I knew she was satisfied with what I'd become, as was I, but lately she'd failed to make it to any of my recitals and it was rare that she ever asked how my feet felt or if I needed them wrapped at night. It didn't really bother me; I was 16, old enough to stay on my toes by myself, literally. Having her full support would have been nice, but like so many other things in life, it was too much to ask for.
Sometimes I looked in the mirror and wondered why was I even put on this Earth? Because in all honesty, I wasn't anything special. If I were, I would have had a pile of friends and a boyfriend, plus a supportive, kind family. It seemed like to me, I'd been born to lose. Things just...didn't go my way, unless I was in the studio. I was the ugly duckling, the discarded shoe, and the flaw in a sea of beauty. I didn't fit in, plain and simple. Everyone and everything were constant reminders too, Corey especially. All he seemed to do these days was skate, smoke, and ignore the living hell out of me, refusing to come home for dinner and insisting on taking Dad's car to school instead of riding the bus with me. I was due to get my license any day now and he would never dream of giving me a ride, but it still irked me. Not bothered, irked. They weren't the same.
And now, as I sat on the front porch swing, watching Corey and his friends set fire to some poor kid's shirt, I wonder if he could tell the difference.
♠ ♠ ♠
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