Fatal Attraction

Dinner. Dinner was always the time of day where the whole "family" gets together and talks over one another and is just annoying as shit. Everybody's always asking how my day was and I usually just respond with "fine." I never have anything interesting to say; that is, except for today. I had something to say today and, naturally, it's about a boy.

Normally I don't let any of them in on my personal life. But, I feel like this is a new day and maybe a new me. Maybe for once my life will be on track and the universe will let me have a moment. It'd be the one moment when I'd say more than one word at the dinner table.

Silverware clanked against glass plates as we ate our pasta, all nine of us. That was the only noise echoing throughout the room. My foster father cleared his throat and the newspaper rustled in his hand. He turned the page before glancing up at us, "How was school today?" He reminded me of Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. My foster father is just like Atticus in the sense that he is a lawyer, a very successful and well-liked lawyer.

All the children, including myself, mumbled a simple "fine." I was waiting for one of them to start talking and then everybody else to butt in and interrupt, but nobody had anything to say. My heart was beating fast, why was I so nervous?, as I cleared my throat, "There's a new boy at my school."

The clanking of the silverware stopped and all eyes turned to me. Some mouths were agape, others shut but all the eyes were staring at me. Even my foster parents seemed shocked that I was talking. I hoped they didn't assume that this would be a nightly ritual for me; I believe this will only be a one time thing.

The banging of the silverware started up again and out of the corner of my eye, I saw my foster father fold up his paper and place it in his lap. He took off his reading glasses and looked at me, "Oh yeah?"

I nodded and shoved some pasta in my mouth to refrain from talking. My voice was always unheard by the ears of these people; I don't even think the seven year old has ever heard me say more than one word. I guess there's always a time for change right? Not a big change, but a casual change. Maybe I should let my voice be heard.

"What's his name?" My foster mother asked. She looked delighted that I was speaking. She should be delighted. I never have anything interesting to say and this is her chance to bond with me.

I swallowed my food slowly and responded, "Tony. Tony Perry. He looks kind of like one of those kids that you wouldn't want to associate with, but he also seems shy and like he doesn't really fit in anywhere. All the popular kids have claimed him. He won't last." I shrugged and took a deep breath. This was too much. I don't think I can last any longer.

"Well, um, I don't-"

"Was he that guy with the things in his ears?" interrupted the freshman girl, staring at me hopefully. This was her chance to spark a conversation with me. Her name is Michelle, a typical slutty girl name. I don't think this Michelle even knows what a slut is, let alone know that sluts suck something called a "cock" and fuck every male they see. She's pretty much a failure as a Michelle; I mean, she's in marching band, and plays the clarinet. I would have more respect for her is she played the flute or the drums. Something other than the damn clarinet.

"Um, yeah. They're called tunnels." I stabbed at my food and shoveled it into my mouth. A smile broke out across Michelle's face and I knew it was a mistake to answer her question. Our foster mother was looking at her as if she committed a crime; there was one rule and one rule only: do not interrupt her. I get that Michelle had sprung on her chance but she could've waited after foster mother finished her sentence.

"Oh, so does that mean he's emo or something?" Michelle questioned.

I shook my head at her naivety, "No, it doesn't mean he's anything. You shouldn't judge people by the way the look or dress. It's stupid. The popular kids can have these gauges but they don't want to. They assume gauges are all large and at least two inches but they aren't. They can get really small ones, but that isn't the point. Just because people look a certain way, doesn't mean you should immediately label them as "emo" or "goth." You, I could look at you and say, 'Oh, so she's a loser?' just because of the way you dress." I stood up with my plate and walked into the kitchen. I dumped the rested of my pasta into the garbage and placed the dirty plate in the sink.

"Mayella-" But it was a failed attempt on my foster mother's part. I had already left the room and headed to my own, shutting the door. I climbed the spiral stairs and opened another door that lead into my actual room. I shut that one and fell on the bed.

I hadn't meant to snap and be a bitch, but I know what it's like to be judged by the clothes I wear. I know what it's like to be judged because of how I live and the tragic events that have happened in my life. I know what's it like to have people making fun of me right in front of me. My life is not a happy one. I can make it seems like rainbows and butterflies and all that shit but it's not. It's simply the shit that it will always be. It will not get better, only worse.

I grabbed my hair and fell to my knees. I wanted to cry. All these pent up feelings that I never want to portray are coming up like vomit. I screamed silently as I cried. I cried for Samantha. I cried for my brother. I cried for my parents. I cried for me. I cried for the person I have become, because that isn't the person my parents wanted me to be. I was nothing, with nothing going for me.

It will never get better.