Kindergarten by Mergina Anwari

I remember back when I was in kindergarten. I remember the magical blue circular carpet. I remember the naps, the milk and cookies, and the finger-paint. I remember all my friends who consisted of the whole class, including my teacher. I remember learning everything I needed for life and I remember learning how to live. My most cherished memory would probably have to be story time though. I loved it when Mrs. Freeland would open up a new crisp book and just read. We were all so into it that we didn't even need her expressions, our imaginations did it all. I loved it when she read about other countries and I loved when she read about princesses, but my all time favorite stories were about people overcoming obstacles. Yeah I know pretty impressive for a kindergartner, but that's just the way my class was, it was the best.

Then one day life took its toll and I had to leave that beautiful place called kindergarten. As much as I screamed and yelled and kicked I was still sent away to brand new place called first grade. I sat there grumpily on the first day but I lightened up a little when I saw some familiar faces, but I was still very anxious when I saw all the new ones. My new teacher was nice but she wasn't amazing or sweet like Mrs. Freeland. I didn't like her very much and she didn't even give me a Barbie sticker when I raised my hand and recited the ABC's and 123's. All she said was "good." I couldn't put "good" on the front of my backpack to show off. This was the beginning and the beginning was bad.

I soon realized that it was getting harder but I still managed. By the time I got to third grade I realized that no one cared if you knew your ABC's or 123's. It was all about do you know what this times this is or what that divided by that is? I didn't know then and probably still don't know now, I could've cared less though, which is why I despise math now. All I cared about was my own world, which consisted of nothing other than reading and writing. Throughout elementary school I got several young authors awards but I could never read them in front of the class, well strike that, I did once, in Mrs. Chapman's fifth grade class. It was a story about butterflies and how they possessed magical powers, whatever it was fifth grade. The first few minutes into the story the class burst out into loud menacing giggles and began mocking me. I was laughed at and ridiculed for using big words and actually reading fluently. Mrs. Chapman sent me back to my desk and ordered me, me, to put my head down. Wow. She was so stupid, is it my fault that you made me read, is it my fault that you can't control your stupid classroom, is it my fault that the rest of your students are illiterate? No, it's not, so why do I have to put my head down? And since I am me, I didn't. I just ran out of the classroom and into the girls bathroom where my mom and the principle found me half an hour later blowing my nose into my story. After I cried my eyes out I went home and wrote everything I hated out, and on the top of that list was writing. Too bad I couldn't stop doing it. With writing I let everything out, it felt like a burden was taken off my shoulders, it felt relaxing, it felt normal, with writing I felt like myself. But after that day no one ever saw my writing except for the occasional teacher who assigned writing assignments. I wouldn't even have my peers edit my paper. I hated elementary school, people say high school is bad but high school can't compare to the evils of the eleven-year-old twisted mind. I remember when I broke my leg and all the kids unanimously started laughing at me. Then when I got my crutches, asshole Alex had to pull the left one from right under my arm causing me to fall on the blacktop, bruising my face, and causing another hoard of laughter. I was a nerd granted, I would rather read the book than watch the movie, and I could give less of a shit if Alyssa thought I was cool or if the Mexican girls would let me hang out with them. Cruelty is still cruelty, which is why I just stopped. I stopped raising my hand I stopped giving in my papers I begged my mom to get me off that stupid program called gate. I hid all my tests so no one knew that I got A's, but I would let my math test occasionally be seen when I got a B or two but that wasn't often. I blamed my parents though and I strongly disliked them when they taught me something new or helped me in school. Although I sucked at math, my dad was an accountant and a really smart one at that, so therefore you see how that works.

Nonetheless, I hated school and I hated being an outcast. I never read my writing again, not after I was ridiculed and no matter how much my teachers asked and even if it depended on my grade I just wouldn't do it. This went on through junior high and most of high school. Junior high was fine even though most of the same people went there and kind of still called me a nerd but at least I could cope. I'm not going to lie though I was a pretty awkward looking kid, flat chested, pigeon-toed, frizzy haired, squinty eyed little kid, but I managed. Then came high school and for once there were so many people that no one had time to call me a nerd and teachers and sometimes students even praised me for doing well. I didn't hide my papers anymore and I took all the honors classes I desired. I felt normal for once in my life, yet I never read my writing out loud. Freshman year passed, then sophomore, then junior, and finally senior year was here, yeah! At orientation I finally got my schedule, everything seemed right except for fourth period creative writing, what the hell was that and why was it on my schedule? I didn't know or care I just wanted that stain off. I marched to the counselor's office and demanded a schedule change but Mrs. Campbell said to come in during the first day of school. So half an hour before school started I waited at the front office and when I finally spotted her I gave her my schedule and she looked at me amusingly and said that I had to wait at least two weeks before a schedule change could be done. What a bleep. I really hate it when adults tell you something and do another.  Now that I'm legally an adult I'm going to make sure that the tradition stays alive. When it finally came time for fourth period, I trudged there with a sullen face. Once in the classroom I looked around and the people seemed cool, mostly people I knew or have at least seen around, the teacher looked like she couldn't give any less of a crap. Yay, I also discovered that I didn't have to read until dumb Friday. Who put that stupid day in the calendar? Uh, wait but it was ok, it could be something someone else has written, yes I was clear until next Friday. From then on my mission was to get out of creative writing before Friday. When finally two long weeks passed I marched up to the attendance window with a big smile on my face. There I gave Mrs. Campbell my schedule quite politely and asked her if I could get another class for fourth period. She sent me to my counselor and I waited there a good ten minutes, when I finally got called in she snatched my schedule, looked at the computer screen and said, "Sorry no can do only level changes!" We both heard a big thud because my heart just hit the floor. Damn it what am I going to do now I thought to myself, guess I'll just suck it up and read and that's exactly what I did.

I read for the first time in a front of an audience in a long, long time. When I was done no one laughed and no one ridiculed instead they praised and commented. They were sincere, they were real, they critiqued, and they helped. I was no longer afraid to read anymore because for once people didn't judge. My fourth period creative writing class was the best class I've ever had. It gave me confidence and self-esteem. I felt like I was in kindergarten again. In kindergarten you don't think about what people do and you just do yourself and no one judges, in creative writing it's as simple as that. I don't know what else to say except that God put me in fourth period instead of fifth period for a reason. I wrote about everybody in the class but I lost it and I didn't write it again because I would end up with an essay for each person. But I love this class and I love Mrs.T and that should say everything that I'm missing. And for the record I still love butterflies and they do possess magical powers and in this class if I say that, it's ok because it's what I wrote and what I write matters, but nonetheless thank you for listening.

Rock

People said not to like him, but I did anyway. People said not to trust him, but I did anyway. People said not to be friends with him but I let my feelings take their toll. People said not to love him and that just dug deep, deep right into my soul.

The first time I saw him was at the park. I was jogging so quickly that I almost missed him, but just in the nick of time my peripheral vision glimpsed a figure sitting by the lake on an oversized rock. I would have normally just kept going except I noticed that he was crying. I took a couple of steps back ready to continue on with my jog but for some reason I couldn't move back, only forward, towards him. I stood beside him for a long minute before he noticed me. He was crying softly, silently, yet I could tell that he was in tremendous pain. My hand moved slowly towards his shoulder and when he felt my fingers lightly brush up against him, he jerked up. His face was so contorted that it was scary; I almost lost the beauty it contained, almost. I silently asked him what was wrong and he looked up at me almost confused for a second. Then I asked him again and then a third time. I didn't even realize that I was being so persistent and pushy but for some reason I just had to know what was causing his tremendous pain. He looked up at me astonished and muttered through tears, "Bozo died." "Ha, ha, ha," I stammered falling out of my trance. "Bozo died?" I repeated a little more than confused. I thought and thought and I guess we both thought for a while together. Then finally I said, "Well can't you just get a new dog." He looked at me in rage as if he wanted to hit me. "Bozo was my best friend," he spat out. I felt terrible, here there was this person in some unfathomable type of pain and I just told him to get another dog. I just looked at him and I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything at all. Instead I just sat down next to him and put my arms around him. I didn't know what came over me, this was a complete stranger, but I couldn't help myself. My brain wasn't functioning anymore and my body movements were taking instructions from I don't know where. It wasn't my heart that's for sure because I wasn't in love. I just wasn't.

We sat there for a while, no a long time. I don't know how long maybe a couple of hours. We sat in silence and then robotically he helped me up and led me to his car. He looked at me and like a machine I spat out the directions to my house. We rode silently and then there came my house, I got out of the car and got up onto my doorstep and when I turned around he was gone. I sat up in bed wondering, like I was lost in some sort of trance but at the same time I was found. I cursed myself for not getting his number but what was done was done. For the next few weeks I continued my jogging at the park on the other end of the city because I thought to myself that if I went back there I would just sit on that rock and wait for him and never move. It was foggy outside on another day of my daily jogs but I still went out anyway, but I did grab a jacket just in case. On the way to the park it started raining, heavily. I turned my car around and passed by the lake, "Oh what the heck," I thought. It was raining so it didn't matter if I sat on that rock all day. I grabbed my big black umbrella and zipped my jacket all the way up. I could see from a distance that there was another occupant residing on my rock. "Maybe he'll move once I get there and break his bubble." I hoped. I got there and he didn't move, he just kept on staring out into the water. He had a black jacket on and his hood covered most of his face and then suddenly I realized how empty the park was. I started to pace back slowly until I stepped, and caught, and twisted my leg in a large tree root. He suddenly looked up and ran to catch my fall. It was him.

He looked down at me as he held me then abruptly let go. "I've been waiting for you." Was all he said. "I've been coming here everyday since the last time I saw you." I didn't know what to say so as usual I didn't say anything. "I wanted to thank you for staying with me that day." He continued as he stared out into the water. "No problem." I managed. Then words were lost once again and we both just stared out into the water. Then finally he asked if I wanted to get some coffee. "Sure." I replied. I followed him to his black Cadillac once again and once again we drove silently. All the while millions of thoughts were rushing through my head, so many of them that I began to get a headache until I completely shut them out. The diner he took me too was dingy and poorly lit. Once we walked in pairs and pairs of hard beady eyes of rough looking men staring up at me seized me. I unconsciously grabbed his arm and he grabbed my waist and pulled me towards him. He smelled like cologne and peppermint gum. As I inhaled his smell I realized that he could just as well be one of those guys that were sitting at the end tables of the diner. He could be, but he wasn't, I just new he wasn't. He led me to a brighter lit secluded corner and sat down in front of me. He didn't say anything but for once he didn't look away instead he just stared as if he was reading some mystical map on my face. He kept staring until the waitress tapped the table. Only then did he look up with a little blush in his cheeks. It quickly faded as he ordered two mocha coffees with extra cream. I looked at him until he looked up. "Yes?" He stated. "Why did you order for me?" I asked questioningly. His answer was short and simple, " Because I figured you liked sweet things, not bitter." Although his answer was right I just couldn't help but wonder. We drank our coffee in silence and then I followed him to his car. It was dark and the alleyway in front of us was pitch black. He ordered me to walk in front of him and rested his hand on the small of my back. Once in the car he asked me if I wanted to go home. "No." I said. He looked up surprised and for once looked like he was uneasy. "Alright, then where would you like to go?" He said slowly. I couldn't help but giggle at his expression, which caused him to make an even more confused and cuter face. I laughed lightly as I said I wanted to go to the lake where I had left my car. He smirked and for a whole second smiled even and then we rode in silence once again. Once we got to my car I got out and began to open my door until I felt his hand on mine. "Wait." He said. "The moon is out," and he pointed out onto the lake. As I turned to look I caught my breath, it was beautiful, the moon shining so bright on the lake, the blue green water glittering against the twinkling stars. "It's gorgeous." I gasped. I suddenly felt his mouth on my open one and his hips push against mine. He kissed, and then kissed, and then stopped. "Sorry," he muttered breathlessly. "I don't know what came over me." "I do." I said with a smirk, "It was me." He looked at me and smiled a real genuine smile. He held my hand and asked me if I would stay a while with him and when I smiled at him he grabbed my hands and led me to the rock. We sat there for a while until my butt started to hurt and when I kept squirming around he slid off the rock and told me to wait a second. I heard him close the trunk of his car as he quickly came back. The rock was pretty high and pretty big but he managed to hold a big bundle in his left arm and pick me up off the rock with his right arm. When he put me down he unrolled the big bundle, which consisted of two big blankets and a pillow. He threw one of the blankets over the top of the rock and set the pillow on one side. He then turned to me and picked me up and set me up on the rock, butt under pillow. I pulled off my shoes and once he was beside me he did the same. He put the blanket around my shoulders and hugged me. I squirmed out and put the blanket around him and breathed into his neck. I guess that was too much for him because he suddenly grabbed my jaw and kissed me hard. I put my head on his shoulders and stared out into the lake. Somehow then, I guess I fell asleep.

Then I woke up from my dream. He was gone and all this really did happen, but I guess it was only to me. I don't really know what love is and yes I think our story was strange and unusual but it was also real. Love though, I guess I really never knew but I did know him for three months and we became closer than I think I've ever been with anyone and maybe he did love me at least that's what he wrote in the letter he left me before he just disappeared. My friends who witnessed him and his antisocial behavior told me and begged me to end it but I couldn't and honestly, just wouldn't. His name was Liam and I didn't know it for a long time because I never asked him because that's how strange everything was between us but he knew my name he never asked, but he just knew. He was like that with most things, very secretive. It was a good thing, what we had, but I guess all good things come to an end. Don't get me wrong I was devastated when he left me but a person learns and grows overtime and they realize things and I have come to understand that things happen, good or bad, they happen nonetheless. My story is strange and not a normal love story but like I said I don't know what love is because I don't know if I have experienced it or not but I do know a lot about reality and when you dream in a real world no matter what you are bound to wake up and once you do reality strikes, hard. I didn't know what to do and often I sat and still sit at that rock overlooking the lake, wondering, crying, and dreaming. Today I was looking straight ahead sitting at my usual place on my rock. I heard ducklings and when I looked down sure enough there they were about six or seven of them swimming clumsily behind their mother, their rock against the world. I started crying because I realized that the only rock I ever had in my life was the one that I was sitting on, it was the only one that stayed behind. The rest of my life was full of glass and unlike rock, glass breaks and shatters. As I was crying someone tapped me on my shoulder and when I looked up he asked me if I was ok, when I said I was fine, he held out his hand and said, " Hi, I'm Aiden." When I reached out to shake it, it felt like rock.