It took a short while, but the rocks stopped coming. I figured it was because the girls realized it was me that they were hitting, for the most part. The ammo, fell to the ground as did, a few of the girls. From my vantage point, it seemed that one girl covered her face with her hands, and started to cry. The frenzy abated. Sounds of crying and moaning sounded from above, probably from shock and shame. I started to shake. I felt so angry, so very angry, with everyone and at the same time, I held a deep rage towards Rags. This was all her fault! I thought. Then, I realized, no . . . no, it wasn’t her fault, at all. My frustration in trying to make sense of things, made me cry even harder. But, I looked at the little girl, and realized that I was stunned by her course of action. There was no preparation for this sort of thing. There was so little past experience, to borrow from. I just sat sobbing. It was a fine fettle, an entire party crying, each, for our own reasons. I put my arms around Rags and just held her until our tears died down.
I had been too lax, in trying to get Rags accepted into the social scheme . . . where, in fact she would never, ever, have been accepted. Mostly, I was angry with myself and so very ashamed that I had let this happen to her.
“Are you O.K.?” I asked.
Rages nodded with a sniffle, as she wiped off her face.
“C'mon, let's go. Can you walk? This was a horrible day.” I said. We got up and walked away from the party, heading down the hill in silence. After a few blocks, I finally spoke. "You know something?”
She looked up at me in confusion.
“You’re better’en all of us." We walked a ways more, just looking at the sidewalk.”
She looked up at me again.
“I mean that.” I said.
I got her cleaned up and we never told any parents. To this day, I can't remember her real name and she left our school soon after. I don’t know why she left. She just wasn’t there one morning to walk with me to school, and when I got home later, I went to her house and no one answered the door. She just left. I never knew why, nor did anyone else.I will never forget that little girl. She taught me the meaning of inner strength and honesty, a simple honesty that wasn't just for show, or accolades or brownie buttons. Pathetic as she seemed, somewhere under her unimpressive surface, was a pool of great courage and strength that was stalwart under persecution; and at so young an age. I was forced to question myself and search the depths of my twelve year old, being. Would I ever be that brave? I realized that Rags and I represented two different ends, to a means of survival.
During the moments of the stoning, she stood proud, void of confusion, whereas, I felt, off-balance and afraid. Being ridiculed, and despised for no other reason than bad circumstances, was something that I feared, for I was a borderline, “flip a coin,” case, in actuality. But, who paid the finer price for their appointed place. Was it me, who was nothing but a slave to my popularity, or was it Rags, scorned by all, but ultimately free?
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This is such a moving story! Made me cry too...
ReplyDeleteIn my younger years, I was much like Rags ...starting after I became so painfully shy during 1st grade, from getting beaten up all year long, by a 4th grade boy...something I was going to write about on my blog, but I've kind of put writing on hold for now...may resume that at some point, since I have a whole big write-up in my Microsoft Word, about my life-changing first-grade year.
In hindsight, I wish I had someone like you back then, to kind of stand by me....
Excellent writing once again!
~Vicky
Thank you Vicky! very much, It surely is not easy being shy, it's better to get over it and not to be afraid to make a fool of oneself! Ha!
ReplyDeleteFor sure. :-)
ReplyDeleteI'm not as shy as I used to be, thank goodness. I grew out of it. At some point, I'll do more writing over on my blog...at some point.