They say I’m crazy.
I also know why. I do things –sometimes pretty outlandish- just to get attention. For instance, last week during lunch break, I stood on a table and started yelling a gibberish chant I know. People looked at me, pointed and laughed. So I chanted louder. I thrive off the attention. But so what?
Everyone has their needs, their issues. Look at Sam, the big-shot, everyone wants to be like him. But not me. His parents are divorced, and I happen to know it’s because his father is manic-depressive. I wouldn't want to have to live with him. Sarah, one of the smartest girls in my class, has some kind of metabolism disorder. Don't get me wrong, she’s a great person, but I’m happy to be without her problem.
Just like everyone else, I have my issues. So what? Does that make me nuts? Does that mean people have to start up with me? Why can’t they understand that I am a normal person, just like them? Why won’t they respect my feelings and emotions?
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Today, during break, I was sitting on the floor in the hallway, reading an interesting book about the origins of the Zulu language. Sam walked up to me, with no provocation whatsoever, and kicked my leg. His “friends” guffawed like the loser tag-alongs they are, as if there was something exceptionally funny in getting kicked.
I hate it when people get too close to me. It nauseates me. I don’t know who has sexual issues and who doesn’t, and I’m not that interested in finding out. So I keep my distance from everyone. That means no touching. Period.
So I looked Sam straight in the eye and said, “I don’t like when people touch me. Don’t touch me.” And at that, for reasons completely beyond my intellectual abilities, his tag-alongs laughed uproariously. Seriously, what's up with them?
Sam snickered. “What’re you gonna do, huh [insert obscene title]?” However, unlike his friends, I knew he was scared. Because, unlike his friends, I knew what I did to him last time. I don’t understand why he continues to annoy me. Really.
“You touch me again, and you’ll end up in the hospital,” I said flatly. They laughed again. But I had made my point. I returned to my book.
Sam couldn’t back down now, his friends were watching. He kicked me again. I ignored him. To the intense enjoyment of his friends, he kicked me a third time. I tried not to wince, and stayed put. Then they laughed and called out more obscenities in my direction, but they grew bored after a few minutes and walked away.
School ended hours later. Sam, with his mom working until 7 pm, usually hangs around the schoolyard for a while. I stayed in the building for 45 minutes, reading my book. Then I grabbed one of the school’s metal bats and headed out to the deserted yard. His back was to me. I walked up behind him, and slammed him into unconsciousness. I dropped the bat next to his fallen body, and walked home.
I wonder if he won’t respect my feelings now.