A Moment that Brings me Pain [Class Post: Getting to Know You]

           As it is for most people, middle school was one of the less enjoyable times in my life. Yet, it has the audacity to be incredibly memorable, though often not for any good reason. 

            The year was 2013, and I thoroughly established myself as the “weird” kid. First of all, I always wore sweaters despite the California heat regularly taking temperatures into the mid-90s in the fall and spring months. Secondly, I rarely spoke to anyone, opting to read books in the library instead of interacting with my classmates. Finally, and most importantly, I was remarkably socially unaware. 

            You see, it was only a couple of years prior that the desire to make friends had finally appeared. Up until then, most my friendships were entirely incidental, and more of a contractual allyship. I would have a firm belief that there was a human skeleton in the dried-up canal behind the school. Another girl would have an equally firm belief that there was a human skeleton in the dried-up canal behind the school. And so, we would spend all of our recesses staring through the chain-link fence until one of us got the courage to attempt to climb in, in which we were immediately caught and reprimanded. Deterred by the concept of detention and our proven inability to climb a chain-link fence, we would drift apart, and never speak again. That’s just how it was. Otherwise, I spent most of my time alone, or aimlessly drifting through other people’s amateur basketball games. Everyone else was learning and practicing their people skills. This left me very much behind in that department. 

            With this realization (and the bullying that led me to it) came a crushing sense of self-consciousness. I lived in a chaotic state of anxiety -the kind that turns your bones to ice and your skin to static- which was occasionally broken by rabid compulsions to become the center of attention. This is a terrible combination, which leads us to the event that remains the cringiest moment of my life that continues to haunt me to this day. 

            In middle school, people tend to go through phases as they quest for their “true” identities. Oftentimes, these phases are expressed through clothing. Some people bought expensive jeans with bling covering the pockets and legs. Others wore bracelets from wrist to forearm. I… had an Angry Birds phase. More precisely, I had an “I only wear Angry Birds t-shirts from Kohls with the exception of that Perry the Platypus t-shirt, which I also got from Kohls” phase. My most favored article was a bright pink shirt featuring a red bird with a bow flying out of its slingshot and the caption, “Oh Snap!”. I wore it at least once a week, and for once, would unzip my hoodies so I could share it with the world. Why I was so in love with the shirt, I don’t understand, but I wore it until my cat clawed it to pieces. I was devastated at the time, but in hindsight, this was probably a blessing from God. 

(It looked something like this)

            It was this shirt that I was wearing on the day that it happened. I had had a doctor’s appointment that morning, and thus, was late for class. I arrived at school halfway through second period- my Orchestra class. I collected my late pass from the front office and made my way to the music hall. As I was walking, one of these spurts of energy burst into cloudy, anxiety-ridden, offering what I assumed to be a brilliant, hilarious idea. There was no doubt in my mind. With unwarranted confidence, I took off my sweater and walked into the music hall. 

            The door to the orchestra room was one of those big, metal-lined things with a push bar. These are very convenient for when your arms are full of books. You can press your back against them and they’ll open right up. If you aim well enough, you can also execute a front kick (a habit that I continue to restrain to this day). That’s what I decided to do. 

            I slammed my foot against the push-bar and burst into the room. The class stopped mid-practice, and fell quiet. Everyone’s eyes were on me. This was my moment. I pointed at my shirt, and shouted, “Oh, snap. I guess I’m late.” Then, I headed to my seat, oblivious to the awful, oppressive silence that had just filled the air. I had done what I’d needed to do. It was only after I had settled into my seat that sound slowly began to trickle back into the room. The mid-morning sleep-fog and anxious chills settled back into my bones. I put my sweater back on. The moment, now losing its grandeur, faded from memory, to be forgotten until years later.