Ordinary
I’m not your average girl. I don’t think I ever was. But sometimes,
I wish I could be.
What I’m doing now, it’s like watching life through a window. I can
press my face right up against the glass, but I can never truly live
the life outside.
At the front of the class, the math teacher goes on mindlessly with
her derivation of the cosine law. No one’s paying attention. I
wonder if she even knows. I wonder if she even cares. It’s last
period anyway; she must want to go home as much as the students do.
Two rows ahead, I can see Jeanette and Yvonne whispering together, no
doubt already making plans for the weekend. Next to me, Pierre is
amusing himself by erasing the graffiti on his desk, weaving hypnotic
patterns of newly clean streaks. I’m just as bored as the rest of
them, although I’m less inclined to show it. Trigonometry seems so
trivial to me. Not simple, just... superfluous.
Actually, the whole school experience seems unnecessary to me. I
don’t know what I’m supposed to accomplish here. There isn’t much for
me to enjoy. And even the pleasure of the rare class that I do enjoy,
art for instance, seems strangely muted by the shadow of my social
ineptitude. But Mireille insists, she assures me it’s for the best,
and I have to believe her. She may not be the model product of
society, but she’s still better off than I am.
School is such a pain to me. It’s like I’m a character in one of
those teenage television dramas Mireille’s so fond of. I’m alone
here. I’m older than everyone in my class because of all the time I
missed, and that’s just one more barrier on top of all the others. I
wish I wasn’t special. I wish I wasn’t different.
I look around me, and I see the boy with a dozen metal studs in his
face, I see the girl with the blue hair sticking up in jagged spikes.
I don’t know why they want to do that, why they want to be that way.
I don’t understand why all these teenagers strive to break out of the
box, to be unique, to be noticed. All I ever wanted was to be just
like them, just another girl. I want to be just another face in a sea
of thousands, just another person in a world of billions. Adolescence
seems to be so much about anti-conformity, but that’s not what I want.
In fact, I want just the opposite. I want to fit in.
So I’m sitting in my customary seat by the window, watching the wind
sweep the fallen leaves across the schoolyard. I know I’ll be out
there in less than five minutes, fighting a thousand other students
for the right of way. I can almost see myself standing out there,
alone, in the eye of the angry storm swirling around me. It happens
everyday. All the other students run and push, joke with their
friends, jostle each other. But me, it’s like I’m untouchable.
They’re afraid of me. No matter how bad the shoving gets, somehow I’m
immune. There’s always a loose ring of space around me; I’m always
alone in the crowd. And I know there are some people, in this class
even, that would give anything for that kind of respect, but I hate
it. It’s just another way of showing me how different I am.
As if I wasn’t already special enough. I’m the older girl from Japan
who joined the class halfway through the school year, the girl who
spoke eerily perfect French despite her Asian heritage, the girl who
moved with such quiet confidence it held off even the meanest of
bullies. They’re scared of me. They don’t even know me, and they’re
scared of me. Maybe I should just count myself lucky, take my breaks
and run, move on with my life. But where exactly is this life of mine
headed?
Sigh. Glance at the clock. One minute to go.
All the other students are already quietly packing their things,
getting ready to leave the instant the bell rings. The whole scene
seems so distant to me. Personally, I don’t see why they have to rush
out of here. It’s not as if they have somewhere vitally important to
be. It’s not as if those couple of extra minutes are going to make
any real difference. Up ahead, the teacher is wrapping up, telling us
which practice problems we should do for homework. I scrawl down the
numbers at the top of my blank notebook page, writing them down even
though I know I’ll remember them anyway. The bell goes off as I close
my book, and just as quickly, the classroom is empty. Out in the
hall, the cacophony has already started: lockers slamming closed,
students calling out, thousands of feet pounding towards the exits.
My eyes stay on the window for just a moment longer, until I see the
first students burst out into the schoolyard. It’s like race to them.
I don’t understand it at all. I want to know what it’s like out
there, beyond the glass. I want to feel the real world. I want to be
ordinary, but I guess that’s beyond me.
I head out at my own pace. Obediently, the crowd parts for me as I
step into the hall. I wonder if it’s unconscious, their reaction to
my presence. Can they sense the stench of death clinging to me? Or
are my hands dripping blood? I doubt it’s anything so flagrant. I
doubt it’s anything I could change. Sometimes, I’m not sure I want
to. Let them fear me.
I’m still mulling over my dark thoughts when I make it outside. My
steps are automatic, feet following their path by rote. I’m not
watching where I’m going, but I can still sense the people around me.
It’s reflex, the way I pick up on everything going on. I might not
think about it, but unconsciously, my mind is taking note of
everything, filing it all away, anticipating danger. Old habits die
hard.
So I guess it’s not surprising I pick up on the presence near me.
It’s her. Mireille. She’s waiting for me, just outside the gate, and
she smiles when I look up at her. And all of sudden, the sea of
screaming teenagers around me disappears. All of sudden, it’s a
beautiful day. I didn’t notice that before, too concerned with
feeling sorry for myself. But the sun is shining warmly on my face,
and the gentle breeze rippling through my hair is pleasant.
“Hi.” She says as I step nearer, her hand coming up to push a lock of
my hair back into place. Her touch is divine. I want to grab her
hand and hold it against my face. I’m finding it hard not to smile
back at her.
“Hi.”
“How’d you like to go for ice cream or something?”
Now I really do smile. Summer’s long gone, but I don’t care. Ice
cream sounds great. I grab her arm and drag her off in the direction
of the dairy bar.
* * * * *
So we’re sitting in the ice cream parlour, and I’m looking out the
window again, watching the people scurry around. And yet, it doesn’t
feel like life is passing me by right now, it doesn’t feel like I’m
just a spectator. All I have to do is look across the table to the
blonde grinning at her chocolate sundae.
She catches me looking at her, and she smiles that beautiful, radiant
smile for me. She reaches over and puts her hand over mine, leans
forward to kiss me lightly.
For the moment, I’m not alone. Let’s try to keep it that way.
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