week3

Homework

Week 3

I have always found it the hardest part, that first day. Walking through the gates of yet another school, trying hard to blend in, not standing out as I try and make my way around the maze of monotone corridors. The sounds of the others, laughing, shouting and going about their lives, suddenly going quiet as their eyes see me for the first time. Then the hushed whispers as I pass by, friends huddled together, pointing at me.
I stand in the doorway of yet another classroom, vulnerable in front of the people who are staring once again. The teachers are always polite and show me where to sit, they try and conduct their lessons as if I was just like any other student, however there are only so many sideways glances that you can take.
I dress like them, turning my back on my culture just to fit in, however I cannot change my physical appearance, and it is this that always gives me away. I try and straighten my hair, dye it black to try and change its colour. I use flesh toned make up to try and make my skin look healthier, I where skin tight clothing to prove I have nothing to hide. But it's my feet, they are always there, fixed, I cannot change them, they will always be long and large, and of course people always stare at my nose.
My mum says that I am special, and that people are always afraid of the things they do not understand, but that does not help much when the world is staring. My previous schools did not last that long, at one point my parents discussed home schooling, but then Dad changed, he became very quiet, he would sit all day long staring out the window, down the garden and to the park beyond. His eyes would glaze over and occasionally a faint sad smile would crack on his lips as if he was recalling something pleasant. He used to be so funny, he could make even the saddest person smile.
I remember going to his work and watching him in action, he was so natural at what he did, he could hold the audience in the palm of his hand, and then the hall would lift with peals of laughter. Yet recently he seems to be elsewhere, not here with us anymore.
Mum on the other hand spends her days sorting through the old photos, smiling at the memories they bring of a time before it changed. Long before we were cast out, vilified, depicted as evil on popular media. My mum smiles at me trying to reassure me that one day we will be accepted once more and people will once again find clowns funny.