I have been and am confused, hurt, and most of all an emotional reck. I smile to everyone around me looking happy and cheerful but in reality this poem expresses how I feel:
Behind my smile is a hurting heart
Behind my laugh I am falling apart
Look closely at me and you will see
The girl I am isn’t me.
“Samone Taylor Pa’Otala! Get down here this very minute!” There she goes again. You would think grandmas don’t have mood-swings! I’ve learned my lesson.
“What?,” I say dragging my voice as long as possible.
“What is this?!?!”
“My bowl...”
“Where does it belong?”
“I guess in the sink.”
“Exactly! I am so tired of picking up after you!”. I slowly started to put the bowl in the sink with her watchful hawk eyes on me every moment. It took every piece of me not to yell, “Sorry, I have been helping my busy mom, doing my school work, watching a frantic 2 year old, and worrying about who knows what else! I have been trying my best now why don’t you try your best to treat me right!”. I know, I know I have a lot to say...
I walked up the dark staircase, crossed the covered in dirty clothes living room, and made it to my room just before hot tears streamed down my face. People say when you cry it is because you have been strong to long. It doesn’t seem to comfort me since I think so lowly of myself. Seems more like people cry because they are to weak to handle things.
I know I may seem babyish sitting here on my bed crying just because my grandma is mad at me but there is a lot more than that going on. My whole life it feels like, I don’t deserve. Like, I don’t deserve my family, my house, my clothes, my friends, and most of all the compliments. Oh boy, compliments are my worst enemy! I feel like people are lying to me. People tell me I am pretty, have got good sportsmanship, so lucky, I am so smart. I usually just say my usual, “Heck no!,” and they get all wound up. They go on forever about how I don’t see what they see and all that. They are totally right, I DON’T see what they see.
I feel like a failure. Like, helping my mom. She has a 2 year old and a 1 month old. That is a lot to balance. I know I dedicate a lot of my time to help her but she is always still full of sorrow and burdens in the end I feel like I did a crappy job. In that way I think I am the start of everyones problems. I know I am off, but I can’t help it.
As I sob in my pillow I feel the need to hit a volleyball. I wipe the tears away in the mirror (and even though my teacher said it was impossible to multitask) at the same time was disgusted in what I saw. If you didn’t know what I saw it was me. I quietly and sneakily slip through the house and out the door. I find a spot in my spacious backyard that conceals me away from the view of the people inside.
I throw the volleyball up in the air and feel myself flying with it. It comes back down and I calculate quickly where it needs to hit my arm to bounce straight back up in the air. I am not excellent I can tell you that, but I know how to play. Every time the ball hits my wrists I feel another weight lifting. The ball is taking them away. Away from me. I smile even when I miss because I know life will allow me only a little bit of free time. I think back to the times when I saw Jessica playing and I screamed when the ball came my way. I still do when I play with other people but I run after the ball instead of hiding away. I separate the good things and bad things that have come because of volleyball. Some good things are: Jessica and I have finally found a sport we both like and want to succeed in, makes me happier, and it is something I can play with ALL my friends. Some bad things: has made some of my friends separate themselves and quarrel over stupid stuff, made me self-conscious about something else I love, and I have gotten hurt a couple times.
“Samone! Can you please get Sarah? She is shoving gum in Sandy’s mouth!,” yells my mom from the window. I guess they found me.
“Sure,” I yell back some what cheerful fearing she will ask what is wrong again.
I have four sisters and one brother. I am the oldest. It goes in this order: Samone 12 yrs. old (me), Sabrina 10 yrs. old, Sapphire 9 yrs. old, Peter 7 yrs. old, Sarah 2 yrs. old, and Sandy 1 month old. So basically, we got an issue if Sarah is shoving gum in Sandy’s mouth. She can’t even chew yet!
I drag Sarah away as she screams. I promised her even before she was born that I would be her “bestest” sister she has ever had, caring for her more than anyone else, wiping away her tears forever and always. The only way I could do that for her now was taking her far away from here. I took her outside to teach her how I deal with things.
“Stop!,” she screamed as she clawed at my face and hair trying to make me give up. I have thick skin now though. It won’t work. I sit her down on the grass and hand her a rubber ball. She smiles through her tears and throws it at me. It hits my face. I laugh anyways. Me and her toss the ball back and forth, chase each other, and hide from each other till we are tired. I crawl out from hiding and lay down on the grass. It feels perfect under my hot skin and is a beautiful shade of green. I pray in my head that my dad will forget to mow it. Sarah comes out from the shed with a handful of cat food and lays next to me. Our cat, KitKat, walks up to Sarah for the food. Sarah opens up her hand and KitKat’s purring engine comes on and licks up the food. Sarah giggles and wiggles at the feel of KitKat’s tongue on her palm. She may not be able to communicate with me very well, but me and her, well we are bonded stronger than anything I have ever experienced before. We lay there, just me and her watching the sky get darker and insects flying past our noses. She dozes off. Peaceful is what I would call the look on her face. None of her features are hardened or exaggerated. So nice to know at the end of the day she is still her sometimes. I carry her into the house, upstairs, in our room, and carefully set her on her bed. So peaceful...
I know it is dinner time, but I don’t feel like eating. I jump in bed, close my eyes, and even drool a little. If they think I am asleep they won’t wake me for dinner.
“Samone, SAMONE!! It’s dinner!,” says Sabrina obviously annoyed. She shakes me around a bit, but I just turn around and moan. She falls for it and sings as she skips back down the stairs:
“Samone, the little lazy head!
She acts as if might be dead!
The little nerdy nerd!
Her glasses make her look like a terd!”
Wow soo mature Sabrina. If only she knew how many times I have killed her in my mind...
I lay there aware that I have an hour where I can relax or think things through. As I go through my day something sticks out in my mind. George. It is really kind of awkward and complicated, me and him. You see, he makes me laugh when no one else can during class. Not a fake forced laugh, a for real, can barely stop laugh. Plus, I am fairly serious during class time. Ha, who am I kidding? Still though only boy to make me laugh during class. People are bugging me (I don’t know about him) about how we should date or ask if we are. So weird. I can’t even date anyway! I swear though every girl in the room was or is in love with him, but at the same time trying to set us up. It is kind of sweet of them, I guess. The one thing I have not admitted is that I like him. It’s like he has penetrated through my wall or shield that kept me from being hurt. Instead of hurting me though he made me feel comfortable. I could tell him everything and he wouldn’t treat me any different. Unless, maybe it was special treatment. It makes me feel special. I rarely feel special so I just hold on to that feeling. I can never find the time to say thanks...
I found myself counting the colorful glow in the dark stars on my cream ceiling as my eyes fluttered to a close. Then they where commanded to flutter back open with Sapphire’s words.
“Samone? If you are going to sleep can you make a bottle?”
“For who?,” I muttered.
“For Sarah,” Sapphire said sleepily as she hopped in her covers that where identical to mine and Sabrina’s.
I sigh. Even when I am “asleep” I don’t get a break, I think. I pull myself out of bed. I shuffle my feet to exaggerate the amount of effort I am putting into getting up. I can’t help but feeling claustrophobic when I walk through the living room to get to the stairs. It is so cluttered! When I finally get down stairs my feet are freezing. The tan slats of tile are so cold! I grab a bottle and rinse it out in the sink. I begin to twirl on my way to the fridge. I get dizzy and WHAM, I hit my face on the fridge door. I fall on my butt and all the colors blur except for the fridge which is still bright white. I feel my face for any broken bones and then laugh it off like I do with everything else. Even when no one is watching and even when it really hurts inside (or outside.)
After some time, difficulties, and dizziness I finally made a bottle for Sarah. I wasn’t in the best mood by now, so I slammed the bottle on her dresser and threw myself on my bed. I moaned. For a record amount of time too, until I heard voices shushing me. It brought back a faint happy memory of someone shushing me when I was already quiet and he was the one talking. George. I fell asleep with that in mind and dreamed some weird dreams.
“Girls! Girls! You need to wake up! I’m not kidding this time!,” squealed an undersized 7 year old boy in my room named Peter.
“Just one more minute please? Of peace and quiet... And peace?,” I whispered as my voice cracked.
“Get up! You went to bed early anyway you should have been up first!,” says Sapphire from the bathroom.
Sarah walks up to me, raises her hand and slaps it back down on my face.
“Stop!,” she yells at the top of her lungs. Sometimes I wonder if this is the only word she knows.
I sluggishly sit up and rub my eyes. Another morning, another day, another nightmare to unfold. What awaits me today, I wonder. My favorite blue felt blanket that I made in Ohio is on the ground along with half of my very very old flower covers and pillow. I guess I had a restless night. I dig my toes in the carpet that my mom says used to be white. When I get to my dresser (which feels like forever) I pull out a simple pink ruffle shirt and a navy blue lace sweater off of a hanger. I spend forever picking out just the right pair of jeans. I change, do the tiniest bit of make-up possible, do my hair, and skip breakfast as usual.
The rest of the morning goes by quickly. Get to school, work on math, you know everyday stuff. Then it is break. Yeah, volleyball, I think. Ha, so I think.
“You gay Mormon!,” I hear someone yell from somewhere in the basketball quart. I freeze. I am a Mormon. I am proud of it and I don’t care who said it and what their reasoning is I wasn’t happy.
“Who said that?,” I ask the few girls around me.
“Oh, I did. Your not Mormon are you?,” she asks ever so innocently.
“Oh, I did. Your not Mormon are you?,” she asks ever so innocently.
“Yes I am. Know...,” I trail off and turn around. I don’t feel like talking.
“It wasn’t directed toward you I promise! We didn’t know!,” says another girl. I know maybe you didn’t direct it toward me, I think, but it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t make it right! I AM a Mormon. I hear more people saying it and the girls who apologized still are too. I don’t know what to say. If they where real friends they would stop completely instead of apologizing, saying it’s not about me, and do it again. I walk away uncomfortable and confused. There is nothing wrong with my religion. People have no idea! They just hear rumors and make worse one and pass those ones on. Not cool.
I tried to ignore the rest of the school day, but that didn’t work out very well. We switched classes and went to Mrs. Clemp’s class. I heard we were switching seats in her class. I was hoping I wasn’t going to be stuck with talkers again so I can learn.
Usually my group conversations are more interesting and I get sucked up in those instead of boring papers and things like that. I might be a bit more interested in class if I knew that there would be a reward for being good, but I can never count on it. Even if Mrs. Clemp says we will be doing something fun usually she changes her mind or it isn’t really fun at all. She just doesn’t know that is all. She doesn’t know how to have fun which is very unfortunate and sad. Maybe, somebody should teach her how.
We all line up against the wall waiting for her to call our names and point to our seats. She starts but I am not listening till she calls my name. I look quickly to see who else is in my group and where my group is. I moan, and for a good reason to. I am sitting in a group full of talkers! George sits across from me, his x-girlfriend, Taylor, sits next to him, and Abby sits next to me. I like Abby she is nice, but the other two are nightmares. I mean don’t get me wrong I like the both of them, but put together it is like 3rd grade girl drama all over again! Except it isn’t just girls...
“Oh please someone tell me why I am in this group?!? This is terrible! I have to sit next to you!” Taylor shoots a look over at George.
“Taylor don’t start a fight please,” I say really not wanting to hear it today. George rolls his eyes and leaves. Who knows why, he gets up to get paper all the time then he licks it. Weird.
“You are just sticking up for him because you like him!”
“Nooo. If you didn’t sit down and say something rude then maybe he wouldn’t be mean back!,” I say raising my eyebrows. I am tired of arguing about stupid stuff like this with her. George sits back down and turns all the way around do his back is facing Taylor. This is going to be a very long day... George and Taylor don’t stop fighting for a very long time. Oh wait they never did! Time seems to pass like molasses. In other words, very slowly.
Finally it is Social Studies. We are studying Alexander the Great and he seems like a pretty interesting guy. When we open up our books I glance around the table to make sure everyone is on the right page. I see George is not only on the wrong page but the page he is was supposed to be done yesterday.
Finally it is Social Studies. We are studying Alexander the Great and he seems like a pretty interesting guy. When we open up our books I glance around the table to make sure everyone is on the right page. I see George is not only on the wrong page but the page he is was supposed to be done yesterday.
“George, you missed that whole...”
I was interrupted (or maybe I interrupted her I’m not sure) by Mrs. Clemp’s eyes staring down at me.
“I wasn’t talking!,” says George.
“I was, I was just showing,” I pointed to George’s book. Her face tells me I am not helping myself so I shut up. She looks around the table. Every second seems like a minute. When she looks at me I can’t look at her back because all I will see in her eyes are disappointment. Which there shouldn’t be any in her eyes because I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just helping George out.
“I see I made a mistake in this group”
“Yeah no kidding,” mumbles Taylor under her breathe.
“And it isn’t you,” she looks at George (this next part nearly made me scream in disbelief), “It is heeeer,” she says very slowly while looking at me. I suddenly feel the whole class looking at me. I keep myself together, but find myself glaring at her. I hastily change my facial expression to regret (not at all what I was feeling by the way) to keep myself from being sent outside. Never before have I had a teacher hate me so much.
“I’ll have to fix this,” she says as she takes a quick glance around and gets right back to reading aloud. I hope she won’t fix it the way my old Hula teacher fixed Sapphire’s problem of singing in class! She put duct tape on her mouth and then at the end of class ripped it off. Bad memories.
George laughs and smiles at me when Mrs. Clemp is not looking. I shake my head in disbelief, but manage a smile.
We switch classes again. It is time for P.E. We get the chose of volleyball or dodgeball. Obviously, I pick volleyball. I’m in the court, I see the ball coming down, only a couple feet away, I can make it if I go now, I can do it. Oh! I didn’t make it! I look down and see that my feet didn’t even move! A couple of comments and the ball is back in the air. It is coming my way. I don’t even think and just block it from my face. A couple of complaints and I am out. I don’t know what is wrong with me. Why didn’t I get that? Why am I missing? The most important question is why am I not laughing? It is not like me at all...
I walk over to dodgeball and watch the rest of the game. George is the last one on one side of the game. Balls are flying at him from all directions. He misses them all by so little! I watch and cheer from the side and then BOOM! One of the yellow balls hits him right in the face... Ouch. I can see it hurt but he is up again ignoring the pain demanding the next round of games. He is doing almost exactly what I do. Shake it off and laugh. Except he isn’t laughing. He is pretending like nothing happened, just as eager to play again.
Jessica walks up to me.
“So you got in trouble today?!”
“Oh please. I was just telling George that he missed a whole page and she got all mad.” Jessica didn’t say anything. I started to feel awkward.
“Ya know... I hope he isn’t changing you. Or you aren’t changing for him,” she says lightly. I laugh.
“No, no he isn’t!” I say defensively and in shock that she would think such a thing. Deep inside of me though something clicked, and I could feel it. I was just to afraid to admit it. I walked away unable to rely on what was written on my face. I couldn't understand what she said or stop thinking about it.
Finally when I was home, in my backyard, in the shade of the gazebo, laying on the cement, with chalk in my hand, I understood what she meant. Before I met George was a completely different person. I would still laugh and smile but I would work my butt off in class. I didn’t have teachers that hated me (although I don’t know if that counts). I didn’t talk in class or put things aside. I didn’t get distracted so easily. I couldn’t believe it. Yeah, George did make me happier when I was sad and stood up for me when I was brought down, but I shouldn’t ever have to change for anyone. I will only be taken for who I am. I am thankful for those times when George brought out the best in me. In fact I don’t think anyone else could have done it. I realize I have some things to fix. I could still be friends with George I just had to be careful that he didn’t change me. Thank you, Jessica for giving me a chance to realize that...
To Be Continued...
