Picking Up The Pieces: School
I failed. I didn’t hold onto the sands of time firm enough. Yep, tomorrow has come and has become a today. As I got up, I headed towards the bathroom. After I handled my business, I stared into the mirror as I washed my hands.
“Today is going to be another day of hell,” I said to my reflection.
I didn’t stare at myself too long because it only reminds me of how chubby and unattractive I am. It is so not fair. I am in the 6th grade and still no one has ever had a crush on me. Come on, I’m smart, I’m funny (sometimes), I can cook, and I play piano; what more can a girl want? I know I’m still young, but the fact that greasy haired, dumb , trouble making guys have had a girlfriend before makes me a bit sad. I always thought that having a good personality would be enough to win over a girl. I will never understand girls.
As I head to my closet, I could hear the sound of my parents fighting downstairs. I didn’t know what they were fighting about, but they have been at it for days. I never thought that parents fought. I always thought that marriages were happy and joyful, like what you see in Disney movies. I guess everyone fights every now and then.
Paying no attention to the war going on under me, I searched through my closet for something to wear. I searched carefully and thoroughly, as I do when I make sure that I ate every grain of rice in my bowl.
I could not find much in my closet. It’s practically full of clothes that I have had since the 4th grade. My family isn’t big on buying new clothes, minus my mom. I swear why does one person need so many clothes? Honestly, clothes are just for show and eventually will get dirty and tattered. If I ruled the world, I’d be fine wearing a potato sack, and the whole world would have to do the same.
In the end, I grabbed a random long sleeve shirt and wore my school’s uniform, collared shirt over it, along with a regular pair of jeans.
As I headed down to the battlefield, the two commanders seized fire and pretended as if the “Battle of My Kitchen” never happened. My dad then grabs his car keys and briefcase and tries to hug my mom. My mom refused to put her arms skinny, delicate arms around the huge 6 foot 2 behemoth of a man and stayed stiff, with no eye contact. As my dad heads for the door, he sees me and pats my head. I just smiled at him, hoping to make him feel better. He was off to work.
I really respect my dad. He works so hard for the family and managed to put up with the screaming banshee for 13 years. I hope that I could be like him someday (I can do without the banshee).
“Mom, I don’t like it when you and appa(dad in Korean) fight.” Said a soft voice as it broke the awkward silence that had shrouded the kitchen.
It was my younger sister, Denise. She is last person I wanted to have seen our parents fight. She’s just so innocent.
“Eat your breakfast Vincent,” said my mom in an unusually quiet tone, as she folded her arms and stared at the floor. I can tell she was thinking hard about something because she was biting her lips (a habit that I also picked up).
I didn’t say anything and just ate my usual breakfast of spam, eggs, and rice.
“Denise, you should eat your breakfast too.” I said.
“I don’t want to,” she said, in her naturally soft voice.
“Denise just eat. I know you’re in third grade, but you’re awfully tiny for a third grader.
“So what? I want to grow up to a be a pretty petite girl like those models on TV!” She exclaimed, as she put her hands on her hips.
I can’t believe she just said that. She was supposed to be my last hope for mankind! She was supposed to grow up to a woman who doesn’t value looks, money, or fame! Darn you media!
“Fine, just go grab your backpack because I’m almost done with my food.”
Usually, my mom would would be nagging at me for eating so fast, but she’s just so out of it right now to even look at me.
“Bye mom! Denise and I are off to school now!”
My mom normally tells us to be careful and to make sure I keep an eye on Denise, but again, she was silent. Denise seemed worried and confused.
I’m sorry there’s not more I can do.
Lunch Time
As the bell rang to signal the students that it is time for lunch and recess, the sound of books closing and back packs zipping echoed throughout my classroom. As I walk out the door, students lined up to get ready to head to the cafeteria. It’s interesting how the flock of students naturally gravitate towards their friends when standing in line. As always, the popular kids are always standing in the back, the normal kids in the middle, and then there’s me, all the way in the front. Why? Because I have no friends to gravitate towards. The only thing that excites me about getting in line for lunch is, well, lunch. They say it sucks to not have friends, but I don’t mind, at least I will be able to eat my food without being disrupted by conversation.
As we march towards the cafeteria like a group of soldiers going out to battle, if you take out all the giggling and shrieking of the females talking about gossip, I heard two guys whispering behind me. I swear one of them said my name.
I turn my head slightly towards them. “What are you guys whis-” Instantly, before I was able to finish my sentence, I felt a kick behind my foot and tripped. One of them had tripped me. I crash landed onto the ground like a malfunctioning airplane. The hard concrete hit me in the side of my face and scraped the skin on my knees, hands, and face. My wounds stung (my pride shattered). From the looks of it, both the guys decided that it would be fun to trip me.I wanted to fight back so badly. I clenched my fists so tight that not even bacteria could fit into the gaps. My small, almond shaped eyes glared at them with the same stare that my mom would give me before she blasts me with her words.
Just as I was about to stand up and fight back, I saw my teacher running to my side. Her fine, golden blond hair blew in the air as she ran. Her face glowed with radiance as the winter sunlight shined on her.
“Vince, are you okay? Do you need a doctor?” She exclaimed frantically as she examined all my wounds. Her soft, tender fingers felt like silk as she gently brushed them against the side of my face to make sure I was okay.
I swear she’s an angel. She is pretty much the only female contact I get outside of my family. I’m surprised she’s 33 and still not married. What kind of man wouldn’t want that? I remember I used to imagine myself marrying her and having adventures all across the world with her. Only if I was born even 10 years earlier.
As I was about to tell her about the culprits that caused my wounds, I saw the eyes of the popular kids in the back saying to me,” If you want to be popular and treated better, you won’t be a tattle tale.” I decided to keep my mouth shut.
“All right guys, I will be taking Vince to the school nurse, so go to lunch with Ms. Hayes’s class instead.”
She then grabbed my arm, dusted off my battle scars, and accompanied me into the nurse’s office.
I will never forget her name… Ms. Goodwell.
First Friend: April, 2003
“Good morning class.”
“Good morning Ms. Goodwell,” responded the class in unison.
“Today we will have a new student join us.”
A new student? It’s pretty late to have a new student join us. The year is almost over, is there even a point to transferring? Either way, new or old I know that it wouldn’t matter to me because he or she would never talk to me.
Ms. Goodwell funneled her hands in front of her mouth like a mega phone and yelled, “Angelo, you can come in now!”
I swear, Ms. Goodwell really loves to surprise her students. I’m pretty in normal classrooms, the new students are already in the classroom before being introduced. However, Ms. Goodwell really loves to ensure that new students get some kind of fancy entrance like the ones you see on wrestling shows.
A figure walked slowly into the classroom shyly as if the floor was booby trapped. Everyone stared at him as he made his as way to the front of the classroom; as if being the new kid alone wasn’t embarrassing enough. He was pretty tall, taller than all of the guys in the classroom from the looks of it, his hair was very curly, as if his head was adorned with dark brown rings, and wore a red button-up shirt by a brand called Lacoste, according to the logo.
“He must be rich”, whispered a girl’s voice from behind, as she showed obvious excitement.
“Rich and handsome!” replied back girl, in a whisper that almost sounded like shouting.
Personally, I don’t know much about brand name clothing nor do I care about clothes, but apparently the brand that Angelo is sporting on his slim body, is some high end brand. I don’t get it. Why are there shirts that cost more than a game system? Paying $300 for a shirt with some logo on it, doesn’t seem at all logical to me.
As Angelo stood in front of the whole class, he seemed stiff and did not make any eye contact, but rather, kept staring at the floor as if he was being hypnotized by the carpet. Girl stared at him with admiration, the guys stared at him with murderous intent. I for one, did not care.
“Angelo why don’t you tell the class something interesting about yourself?” asked the teacher as Angelo struggled to make eye contact with the class.
“Umm..” Angelo seemed as though he was struggling to even say a simple word. All the girls in the classroom seemed constipated because they anxiously wanted to hear what he would say. “I…like to watch cartoons?” He struggled just to say those few words.
“It’s okay if you’re shy. Just go have a seat next to Vincent over there,” comforted the teacher as she pointed towards my direction.
Ugh.. Why do I have to sit next to this snob.
As he walked towards the seat next to me, I tried to stare at him as mean as possible so that I could assert my dominance. Without even paying attention to my intense glare, he pulled out the navy blue, plastic chair and sat down.
Freaking snob…
As Ms. Goodwell continued to lecture, my level of boredom continued to rise. As usual, I began to doodle. If anyone ever saw my notes, they would think that I go to some fancy art school: it is nothing but sketches and random words that I vaguely remember her saying. As I drew my life away I felt as if someone was watching me. It was “Mr. Fancypants”. I had forgotten that he sat next to me now. With every stroke of my pencil, he stared more and more intensely at my masterpiece. I tried to ignore his staring.
“What do you want?” I whispered with assertion.
“Uh…” I heard the snob utter.
“Well?” I whispered again with the sting of my eyes piercing his very soul, or I was hoping.
“You draw good,” he grunted, like some caveman.
That was the first time anyone has ever told me that, excluding my family of course. I didn’t know how to respond to such a compliment.
“Uh, thank you compliment nice.” Now I sounded like a caveman.
A shroud of awkwardness covered the two of us along with silence.
“If you want, I can show you my other drawings during lunch,” I whispered.
His usually blank looking face lit up.
“That would be cool.”
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