Ballet Slippers and Newspapers

Memoir: Waving Back At Me

When I was ten years old, I read a book called Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. It seems insignificant, I know. In many ways it should be -- one book, why does it matter? I read plenty before that and I read many after. Twilight, The Hunger Games, City of Bones, all were quick to follow Harry. Stories of how Bella gave everything despite being only human, how Katniss defied everyone and everything to save her sister, how Clary became so much more than a girl from Brooklyn, all of them saved me from days spent alone at lunch. Rescued me from nights where tears were ready to fall.

I didn't fit in much as a kid -- I barely fit in now. I was a tomboy amidst a sea of ballerinas in ballet class, a weirdo amongst an ocean of kids at school. I had friends, don't get me wrong, but they never lasted very long, one school year at most before they drifted away from me. I had my brothers and my little sister and I knew they would always be there for me, but it was never the same as having a friend I wasn't obliged to love.

I grew up with my mom and she loved to read. I can hardly remember when she didn't have a book on her person, mostly epic tales of adventure and romance, or quiet tales about humanity. I wanted to be just like her, so I read. And read. And read. And read some more. When my classmates were celebrating the end of a quarter by talking amongst themselves, I was enthralled by how Hermione Granger managed to save Harry Potter again. While my classmates noisily ate lunch, I would read as many books as I could. Junie B. Jones was the best friend I ever had -- she sat with me nearly every day at school!

Elementary, middle, and even some of high school was spent locked away in myself. I felt ugly, alone, and like no one cared about me. But Bella, Katniss, Clary? They cared. They never left me alone if someone more interesting come along, understood that just having a conversation with someone was the hardest thing I faced every day. They knew just because I wasn't so good with words didn't mean I didn't care. And most of all, they never took one look at me and said: "weirdo" or "stay away".

I was a girl. A little girl that was shy and liked to get dirty and just wanted to be treated like everyone else. And guess that made her a freak. I see kids like her all the time. Sitting in carpool line, bows and ponytails in the air as the head they belong too buried in books. Looking out the window of a car, of a bus, of their room, imagining what it would be like if Hagrid came to get you and you could ride the Hogwarts Express. Instead, they are waving through a window, hoping for someone to see.

I tried, dear God, I tried to make friends. Showing off notebooks embossed with awesome characters, making jokes to get people's attention. And when that didn't work, I decided to beat them. Be smarter, read the most books, get all the answers. If I couldn't be their friend, I would make them see me. Maybe they wouldn't make them say "stay away".
It sounds like I'm making a big deal out of nothing. People had it much worse than me. I was reading books while others were homeless. I was passing math while others didn't have enough to eat. And yet it still hurt to be alone like that. Harry Potter, Katniss, even Junie B. Jones and Amelia Bedelia made that a little easier.

They were waving back at me.