“i was born twenty-one days late,” i explain. “my mom says it’s because i’m lazy, but i think it’s because i knew how awful the world is & was prolonging my inevitable suffering.” “pssh, nine-year olds don’t know nothing ‘bout suffering,” the fat eighth grader on the bus snorts. “you gotta be at least twelve to understand the ways of the world.” (i know she picked that age because she got her first period on the bus two weeks ago. if you look hard enough, you can see the stain on her assigned seat. or at least i can.) “anyway, you already told me that story. you already told me all your stories, it seems like,” she sighs. having lost interest, she turns around. i relax, unclenching my jaw & butt cheeks because i no longer have to deal with the stress of talking to someone. i wish people wouldn’t talk to me. i know they’re only doing it because they feel sorry for poor fat me; they think that by conversing with me, they’re being nice. but i’m tired of being their good deed for the day. i’ve never talked; they know that. in kindergarten, i was so shy that i couldn’t even ask to use the bathroom; i’d just pee in my pants instead. eventually the teacher became so frustrated with me that she sent a letter home to my dad asking him to have me tested because she thought i might be mentally retarded. i’m not. but my silence isn’t my fault. i know better than to voice what i’m thinking – what i’m always thinking. & it’s not like i’m asking for or craving human interaction, small talk & anything else considered socially normal. hell, i didn’t even want to come into this world, remember? but i can’t think about that now because it always makes my heart stick in my throat. i can’t cry yet because there are still seven more stops until the bus pulls up to my house. just twenty more minutes, i tell myself. just a little longer & then i can go home & cry under my bed with a sock in my mouth like i do every afternoon. besides, i tell myself, it’s that eighth grader on the bus who doesn’t know shit. how’s this for suffering: i’m only in fourth grade, but my life is already unbearable; i’m only nine years old, but i already know that i can’t do anything with this misery but accept it. & even though the only thing i want is to escape, to leave it all behind, i can’t. & even though running away is all i can think about, i know i never will. i have to stay because someone has to make my little brothers their daily after-school tuna fish sandwich. i have to stay because someone has to do their laundry on the weekend. i have to stay because someone has to stay up all night to make sure the electrical wiring doesn’t short-circuit & kill us all. i guess this is why i don’t have any friends. i can’t relate to the other kids who play kickball & tell each other secrets on the playground. i bet they don’t sit by the window waiting for their moms’ car to make it home safely from the grocery store. i bet they don’t make their little brothers watch television at least thirty feet away from the screen so they don’t get crushed in case it were to topple over. i bet they don’t stay up all night thinking about all the different freak ways their family could die. no, they go home every day to their rooms filled with barbie dolls & video games. they spend their time at ballet lessons & little league sports practice. the only thing they worry about is which play date, birthday party or sleepover to attend. but i don’t have any of that. all i have is my family. i have no choice but to worry about them, to watch over them, because as bad as my own life may seem, protecting theirs makes my own tolerable, worth living. if i were to lose them, i would lose everything.
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“i was born twenty-one days late,” i explain. “my mom says it’s because i’m lazy, but i think it’s because i knew how awful the world is & was prolonging my inevitable suffering.”

“pssh, nine-year olds don’t know nothing ‘bout suffering,” the fat eighth grader on the bus snorts. “you gotta be at least twelve to understand the ways of the world.” (i know she picked that age because she got her first period on the bus two weeks ago. if you look hard enough, you can see the stain on her assigned seat. or at least i can.)

“anyway, you already told me that story. you already told me all your stories, it seems like,” she sighs. having lost interest, she turns around. i relax, unclenching my jaw & butt cheeks because i no longer have to deal with the stress of talking to someone.

i wish people wouldn’t talk to me. i know they’re only doing it because they feel sorry for poor fat me; they think that by conversing with me, they’re being nice. but i’m tired of being their good deed for the day.

i’ve never talked; they know that. in kindergarten, i was so shy that i couldn’t even ask to use the bathroom; i’d just pee in my pants instead. eventually the teacher became so frustrated with me that she sent a letter home to my dad asking him to have me tested because she thought i might be mentally retarded.

i’m not.

but my silence isn’t my fault. i know better than to voice what i’m thinking – what i’m always thinking. & it’s not like i’m asking for or craving human interaction, small talk & anything else considered socially normal. hell, i didn’t even want to come into this world, remember? but i can’t think about that now because it always makes my heart stick in my throat. i can’t cry yet because there are still seven more stops until the bus pulls up to my house.

just twenty more minutes, i tell myself. just a little longer & then i can go home & cry under my bed with a sock in my mouth like i do every afternoon.

besides, i tell myself, it’s that eighth grader on the bus who doesn’t know shit. how’s this for suffering: i’m only in fourth grade, but my life is already unbearable; i’m only nine years old, but i already know that i can’t do anything with this misery but accept it. & even though the only thing i want is to escape, to leave it all behind, i can’t. & even though running away is all i can think about, i know i never will.

i have to stay because someone has to make my little brothers their daily after-school tuna fish sandwich. i have to stay because someone has to do their laundry on the weekend. i have to stay because someone has to stay up all night to make sure the electrical wiring doesn’t short-circuit & kill us all.

i guess this is why i don’t have any friends. i can’t relate to the other kids who play kickball & tell each other secrets on the playground. i bet they don’t sit by the window waiting for their moms’ car to make it home safely from the grocery store. i bet they don’t make their little brothers watch television at least thirty feet away from the screen so they don’t get crushed in case it were to topple over. i bet they don’t stay up all night thinking about all the different freak ways their family could die.

no, they go home every day to their rooms filled with barbie dolls & video games. they spend their time at ballet lessons & little league sports practice. the only thing they worry about is which play date, birthday party or sleepover to attend.

but i don’t have any of that. all i have is my family. i have no choice but to worry about them, to watch over them, because as bad as my own life may seem, protecting theirs makes my own tolerable, worth living.

if i were to lose them, i would lose everything.

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  1. melissasantos posted this