I was nine years old at the time. The September mornings shifted quickly from chilly to humid. I spent my mornings sitting on a short brick wall that bordered a patch of grass and plants in a daze of happy innocence. They felt like lonely but tranquil moments accompanied by the scent of the morning dew while I picked flowers to observe in my hands. I found some temporary peace.

Throughout the day, I’d get called weird, have people give me shifty stares, and I would get mocked about my clothing. I could always hear some kids whisper and giggle whenever I was in their presence. It all happened because they saw me as peculiar and ugly. I wore pants instead of the skirts that mostly every girl wore. I never thought much about wearing pants. I conducted an unofficial tally count in my mind of the girls who were pants. I was the odd one of two. A rumor circulated that I ate dirt by that patch of grass I’d always visit.

The one who made up that rumor put effort into ensuring no one would ever interact with me. That rumor was the thing that impacted how people thought of me. Other children thought I was this gross and nasty kid who was unclean and spread germs. When the rumor made its way around through word of mouth, I felt upset, frustrated, confused, and like I was some kind of clown. I lingered in my only safe space but this space was disrupted by their insults. However, that didn’t stop me from continuing to be there. I didn’t care how much it hurt or how their words would eventually get to me. That patch of grass was calming and made me feel at home from the hell outside the door.

Yet one day, I interacted with a few friendly girls that didn’t find me odd, ugly, or too tomboyish; they found me normal enough. It started with a quick conversation, and they offered to let me play with them. I was confused by this kind gesture, but I accepted. I remember playing tag with them every morning after that on the cold concrete floor by that patch of grass. I no longer felt alone, and I found a new sense of bliss. I was by people who didn’t flee from me in fear that they’d catch my germs, instead, they fled from me only because it was my turn to be it. They made the mornings less lonely, but I only saw them before the bell rang to start school. The day would be increasingly less bearable because they weren’t in a single class of mine, and no one else would even want to talk to me. As this was happening, I was thinking about the fun I had in the morning and looking forward to doing it all again the next time. In the mornings, I sat on that same short brick wall as we greeted each other and frolicked in the rising sun. That would be the moment my spirits lifted before they were diminished by the school day. It was just strangers who’d meddle with a stranger in stale, repeated jest.

Soon, those girls I met felt like friends, and the mornings kept me going until I left that school because nothing was done about the ones who teased and bullied me. I left those who mocked and made fun of me, but I was also leaving behind those with whom I’ve grown gratitude and friendship. When I think of one, I can’t help but think of the other. If I had stayed, I would’ve had the opportunity to keep having fun with those girls while continuing to endure the words and actions of others.

© Abigail. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.