Stranger

         I still remember. It was the day before spring break started. While the event itself is hazy, I can still feel the dizzying whirlwind of emotions and the combined assault of my peers crushing my fragile 4th grade psyche. Looking back, I ask myself if this was the last straw for a camel that refused to acknowledge the world as it was. It was time to return to Westgate Elementary School and find out exactly what qualities and prerequisites I failed to meet before they became painfully obvious.

         Westgate Elementary is located in the only possible part of town that could be considered the bad side. The wooden sign on the corner of the school that faced the intersection was old and dilapidated while the school’s blue coating somehow clung on through the years. Two evergreens hovered ominously over a worn out walkway that no one really traveled, probably because they were too intimidated. The playground for the primary grades had a chain link fence that separated it from the sidewalk and street. The fence was mangled, twisted, and even rusted in places. It didn’t really keep anything in or out, it just gave you something to look through before you could leave. The main field was covered with asphalt where kids played basketball with the slanted and bent up hoop, or kickball with a properly inflated red ball, which was the most sought after commodity during recess. The asphalt was surrounded on three sides by a border of woodchips that sprouted metal structures and tire swings. The side that held no woodchips was covered in a thin layer of sand, usually used as a miniature soccer field. On one side of this field was a chain link fence used as a goal. The goal on the other side was a small plank of wood that separated the woodchips from the sand. Another tall evergreen sat on the sidelines, refereeing the otherwise rule-less games that took place under it. The sky on any given day was a shade of gray that made you want it to rain so the clouds couldn’t surprise you when you were off guard.

         I entered my class in second grade. Word got around that I was from California, which caused the girls in the class to develop innocent crushes based on the fact that I might say dude or radical at any moment. I naturally had no idea what a Californian was supposed to do since I saw no difference between them and me. Looking back on it now, I was probably accepted as a foreigner from California, but still a foreigner. Eventually the novelty of the Californian wore off and I simply became different.

         That’s when things changed. I became the odd man out. I was the kid in your class who didn’t seem to get it. They gave me promises of friendship for the kickball, but ran away before I could ask if they could come over. They made a game where they touched me and threatened to touch someone else, whose options were to run away or let the chaser’s hand fall upon them. Naturally, they chose the former. I lost count of the names they gave me. I eventually got used to the jokes at my expense and even took pride in the fact that people took the time out of their day to give me names and labels. Third grade is mostly blocked out of my memory. The only thing I remember about it was how much I hated it and everything that came with it. That’s about when the first day of fourth grade came around.

         My fourth grade class was directly across from the miniature soccer field on the primary playground. I went through most of the year taking the same abuse I had taken before, believing things people I didn’t even know were telling me. Spring came and the weather was getting warmer. Summer break was so close. Three whole months without ridicule or criticism for things I didn’t even know I was being judged on. I was so close! My daydream was cut short when our teacher announced that we were going out to the soccer field to enjoy the newfound warmth. The game itself really wasn’t memorable. My team probably lost. When the game ended and we all started running back into the classroom, it happened.

         I was running back into the room until I heard a voice say, “Hurry and get in!” It definitely wasn’t the teacher, but I followed it anyway. I mean, how can you disobey a disembodied voice? I reached the inside of the room just before the door shut violently. I turned around in time to see a fellow classmate’s lips caught in the door. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was making an O shape. He slowly slid down with his lips still caught, reminding me of a cartoon character. I gave a slight chuckle and continued on my way. Suddenly, people started yelling at me. They were saying that I was the one who shut the door on his face when I clearly couldn’t have done it. Even he started to accuse me. I remember people yelling from around the room.

         “It was him! I saw him do it!”

         “There wasn’t anyone else around! It had to be him!”

         “Just admit it! You know you did it!”

         I was stunned. I had since figured out whose voice that had to be, but no one cared. The village had converged into a faceless mass, overpowering and muting me. I had no way out. That’s when the tears started to come. I was almost on my knees, apologizing to everyone for my sins. The teacher eventually calmed the class down and continued class.

         I was used to being the odd man out, but this was different. This wasn’t name-calling or a joke at my expense. These were accusations. I was guilty in the eyes of my peers. I was guilty. I left that day out the playground entrance and went up to the evergreen tree. With everything I had, I kicked it. The tree stood there, peering down at me, passing the same judgment my classmates had given me. This wasn’t fair at all. I stormed off that day and told myself the horrible truth I had spent my young life avoiding. I was different in the eyes of the village. I was a leper that the people cursed for his disease, yet never actually checked if I was a leper at all. That was the first time I had ever felt feelings of hate and spite.

         It’s been a long time since my "trial". The village has thinned out to the point where no one can enforce any verdict the class reached that day. I took my pardon and left that village as fast as I could. It wasn’t easy to do, but I was able to put it behind me. It’s even harder to look back on it, but I’m a Senior and that’s what Seniors do. I first started with the reason why they pounced on me on that particular day. Who was I kidding? I didn’t know why they did it then and I don’t know now. Maybe society needs to set aside a select few to hold the burden of their problems by raining their frustration and anger down like acid rain, wearing them down until they succumb to the downpour. Perhaps it could simply be a fear of the individual, showing them that there are other ways of thinking and dealing with the world outside of the group. Those, however, are just reasons to something I found no reason in. I guess I’ll just never be faceless enough to realize their state of minds. I did learn something, though. There will always be others. It isn’t a bad thing, it’s just the simple fact that people fear what they don’t fully understand and people are feared most of all. It doesn’t make a lot of sense until you’ve experienced it yourself. “Forget it,” I said aloud before making my exit past the leafless birch, readying itself for the big renewal in spring.