Sleepy
That Shirt is Really Tight
I walk up the main stairs to my locker on the second floor of my middle school. I push the little knob between my finger and feel my shirt pull up in the back. I quickly try to readjust it. I pull up my pants, pull down my shirt. I put my books down on the ground to try and alleviate some of my anxiety. I open my locker and grab one of the binders and leave. The girls at the locker next to me watch me squirm and juggle my things and giggle to themselves- obviously enjoying my awkwardness. I shuffle down the hall to class, barely making it. I am late for this class 100% of the time. The teacher smiles at me from down the hall and shakes her head as I am the last person in my seat as always.
We read poetry, we read books, we talk about current events, we write stories and essays and I fall in love with the way words are powerful and subtle; the way diction can create emotion, the way commas can capture a single gasp, and the way I could escape into their words and melt away my fears and anxieties and become anyone I wanted in those pages. I am captured in the way literature can transform my simple existence into something meaningful and beautiful. I read anything I can. I read stories about lovers, about drugs, about people living in disparity. I read about history and read books about past lives. I became hundreds of people and forget the awkward, fat 7th grader I am. I could forget the lack of friends, the anxiety about gym and lunch and the abuse at home. I could keep my head down and be ignored and fall into peace. Reading is my outlet.
I study hard for class and do my best. I always liked succeeding. I put 100% into everything I do, and that has never changed. The boy in the back of my math class calls me a retard when I can't remember the formula for the homework I am sharing with him. I don't share with him anymore after that. My teachers encourage and support me. My peers laugh and destroy me. I find comfort with adults and feel myself alienated from those around me.
The bells ring every day and I am ushered through the hallways in a sea of bodies to each room. Filing gently I try and be organized and neat but somehow I am forever clumsy and forget things. I forget my binder, my paper, my packet. I forgot that article I was supposed to bring with me. I feel my face get red and flush as my teachers shake their heads and call my parents. I get berated at home. No one teaches me how to use a planner. No one tells me to write down my homework and assignments. No one told me that you can study for tests before they happen, you don't just have to know everything. I am suddenly the only one who doesn't know how to use a planner.
The girls around me are perfect. They smell like candy perfume and have flat ironed hair. They wear makeup and push up bras. They have Juicy tracksuits and name brand shoes. Their planners are decorated with stickers and special Post-it tabs. Mine is just black pen and dog eared pages. Their binders are organized and neat; they have special sections and little staplers in their bags. They always have everything done and never miss class. They are thin and have full looking breasts with cleavage.
I am round. I have large breasts that hang at my sides. I have underarm hair and hairy legs. I use generic brand deodorant and I do not own a bottle of perfume. My shirts are tight and accentuate whatever form I see fit during this time of development. I want to be hidden and seen at the same time. My face is large and round. I have acne and braces. I am smart and sarcastic. I do not watch reality TV, my parents do not buy brand name clothes and I do not have fancy make up on. I am not interested in sex the same way they are.
The boys like them. They like the way they look and smell. They like when they flirt and giggle. I try and do the same but get shut down. They call me fatty and ugly. I roll my eyes and go home and disappear into books. In my novels the boys and girls always fall in love and have insatiable attraction to each other. I want someone to like me. Maybe if they like my body they will like who I am. I go online for hours and talk to my internet boyfriend. He lives many states away and does not see me because it is the early 2000's and we do not have webcams and pictures. I send him a pic now and again from my webcam. He sends me a few also.
We are naive and talk about music and feelings. We really exchanged a lot of music. I love him for that. I told myself I would marry him. I begin to use Myspace and Facebook. I look at emo girls and scene girls and I listen to their music. I hear the anger, the rejection and the desire in their voices. I feel the pain and I want to be cute too.
I buy my first black Linkin Park sweatshirt from Hot Topic. My mother nearly faints at the price but she knows I want it so badly. It is an early Christmas gift and I wear it until it has holes in it and smells like permanent markers. I live in it and it becomes my outer shell. I figure if I cannot become one of the girls at my school I can become my own type of girl. I start to see others wearing black. They have studded belts and converse. They notice me too. I am too late to the party so they do not embrace me. I spend my first year of middle school being embarrassed and alone.
I find a friend named Saul who becomes my brother. He is an only child, a closeted gay, and someone who is eccentric way beyond my time. His parents are smart and older. They embrace me like their child. He is my only friend for a long time it feels like. I didn't know it at the time but he introduces me to my future best friend. He introduces me to future boyfriends, future girlfriends, and eventual parties that I am amazed I was at. He began my life and as I sit here now writing this his number has not been dialed on my phone for many years. We are facebook ghosts- only friends for a cutrosy. I watch him become an adult and I wonder if he thinks about me.
We read poetry, we read books, we talk about current events, we write stories and essays and I fall in love with the way words are powerful and subtle; the way diction can create emotion, the way commas can capture a single gasp, and the way I could escape into their words and melt away my fears and anxieties and become anyone I wanted in those pages. I am captured in the way literature can transform my simple existence into something meaningful and beautiful. I read anything I can. I read stories about lovers, about drugs, about people living in disparity. I read about history and read books about past lives. I became hundreds of people and forget the awkward, fat 7th grader I am. I could forget the lack of friends, the anxiety about gym and lunch and the abuse at home. I could keep my head down and be ignored and fall into peace. Reading is my outlet.
I study hard for class and do my best. I always liked succeeding. I put 100% into everything I do, and that has never changed. The boy in the back of my math class calls me a retard when I can't remember the formula for the homework I am sharing with him. I don't share with him anymore after that. My teachers encourage and support me. My peers laugh and destroy me. I find comfort with adults and feel myself alienated from those around me.
The bells ring every day and I am ushered through the hallways in a sea of bodies to each room. Filing gently I try and be organized and neat but somehow I am forever clumsy and forget things. I forget my binder, my paper, my packet. I forgot that article I was supposed to bring with me. I feel my face get red and flush as my teachers shake their heads and call my parents. I get berated at home. No one teaches me how to use a planner. No one tells me to write down my homework and assignments. No one told me that you can study for tests before they happen, you don't just have to know everything. I am suddenly the only one who doesn't know how to use a planner.
The girls around me are perfect. They smell like candy perfume and have flat ironed hair. They wear makeup and push up bras. They have Juicy tracksuits and name brand shoes. Their planners are decorated with stickers and special Post-it tabs. Mine is just black pen and dog eared pages. Their binders are organized and neat; they have special sections and little staplers in their bags. They always have everything done and never miss class. They are thin and have full looking breasts with cleavage.
I am round. I have large breasts that hang at my sides. I have underarm hair and hairy legs. I use generic brand deodorant and I do not own a bottle of perfume. My shirts are tight and accentuate whatever form I see fit during this time of development. I want to be hidden and seen at the same time. My face is large and round. I have acne and braces. I am smart and sarcastic. I do not watch reality TV, my parents do not buy brand name clothes and I do not have fancy make up on. I am not interested in sex the same way they are.
The boys like them. They like the way they look and smell. They like when they flirt and giggle. I try and do the same but get shut down. They call me fatty and ugly. I roll my eyes and go home and disappear into books. In my novels the boys and girls always fall in love and have insatiable attraction to each other. I want someone to like me. Maybe if they like my body they will like who I am. I go online for hours and talk to my internet boyfriend. He lives many states away and does not see me because it is the early 2000's and we do not have webcams and pictures. I send him a pic now and again from my webcam. He sends me a few also.
We are naive and talk about music and feelings. We really exchanged a lot of music. I love him for that. I told myself I would marry him. I begin to use Myspace and Facebook. I look at emo girls and scene girls and I listen to their music. I hear the anger, the rejection and the desire in their voices. I feel the pain and I want to be cute too.
I buy my first black Linkin Park sweatshirt from Hot Topic. My mother nearly faints at the price but she knows I want it so badly. It is an early Christmas gift and I wear it until it has holes in it and smells like permanent markers. I live in it and it becomes my outer shell. I figure if I cannot become one of the girls at my school I can become my own type of girl. I start to see others wearing black. They have studded belts and converse. They notice me too. I am too late to the party so they do not embrace me. I spend my first year of middle school being embarrassed and alone.
I find a friend named Saul who becomes my brother. He is an only child, a closeted gay, and someone who is eccentric way beyond my time. His parents are smart and older. They embrace me like their child. He is my only friend for a long time it feels like. I didn't know it at the time but he introduces me to my future best friend. He introduces me to future boyfriends, future girlfriends, and eventual parties that I am amazed I was at. He began my life and as I sit here now writing this his number has not been dialed on my phone for many years. We are facebook ghosts- only friends for a cutrosy. I watch him become an adult and I wonder if he thinks about me.