on being little

i remember my first day of "school." recess. wandering alone in the woods on my own while the other kids played tag. i used to imagine that i had super powers, and climb through the mossy forest. i'd decided on super smell as my power, which makes no sense but i don't think i wanted to be too haughty about my super power choices. it was better than trying to prove to people that i'd make a good friend--i'd repeatedly been handed the ken doll when i asked to play barbies. i have nothing against ken, but i knew they did, and i didn't like the feelings of rejection. i eventually made friends: the girl who used to give me the ken doll, her mom yelled at her for being mean to me, it must've been a fierce yelling because after that she acted like i was her best friend. it's hard to trust someone after all that, though.

i went through another first day of school, 4 years later when i decided i wanted to go to public school instead. i wandered through the soccer field, kindof looking for four leaf clovers, trying to make my mind up on what i wanted to do. i latched onto two girls who seemed lonely too, two days later they were best friends and told me at lunchtime that they would like me to sit with other people. another girl took pity on me, sitting alone at lunch, and told me i could sit with her. but only every other day, so i wouldn't be alone, and on the off days she told me i should try to find myself some friends.

i was never popular, and even when i had friends i was never sure if i was well liked. i didn't stop caring until my freshman year of high school, when my dad passed away and i was too shattered to be insecure. after that, i barely remember what people thought of me. interacting with people i didn't know was hard, and often too painful for what i got out of it. i was told stories, sometimes i was a lesbian after some guy's girlfriend, sometimes i was the weird girl that fell asleep in class all the time, mostly nobody knew.

i was walking from work today to the grocery store. not much has changed, really, i still feel safer alone. there's a bit of euphoria in knowing that you're the only person you have to please at that moment, that you can be as thrilled as you want at the strangely warm january twilight, entertained by the path that the stoplights and crosswalks have laid out for you, relieved that the humanity around you can be reduced to mere obstacles, never having to know what they think of you.