Ummm... this is the first time I have told my story on the internet. And this story is the exact reason I hate people like WJ for such outrageous comments. I am also considering making a thread on this, if you guys believe it'd be acceptable enough and if we don't already have a "Tell your story" type thread.
It was the end of the eighth grade school year. I had multiple friends, a "girlfriend", and what seemed like an endless supply of "nice acquaintances" as I have continued to consider those people you don't know a lot about, but who remain friendly with you.
As the summer progressed, my two best friends and I hung out quite often and I came to realize a slight difference between the three of us. One of us had a voice that was changing dramatically over the three month period. Another was growing at least an inch or more every month, not to mention he was quickly developing upper body strength. And the last of us remained the chubby, squeaky boy he had been since fifth grade. That boy was I.
High School, a term placed on an event or even a physical dwelling in rare cases, was a word we knew to symbolize the growing up mentally that our bodies had been working on physically. That is, except for me.
You see, I was quite the opposite of my friends. Yes, my genital area was progressing well as my doctor called it, yet all other physical traits lacked a more manly quality. And yes, I was merely turning thirteen at the beginning of the school year, but my mind had been, and continued to, excel far beyond the capacity of my closer friends and even my girlfriend. (I actually broke up with her not long into the freshman year, due to what I considered a lack of maturity.) While my friends joked about the physiques of most of the girls in the mall our own age, I fantasized about become an author, or a famous veterinarian, aspirations you generally hear from young adults, not preteens.
The first day of school approached, but I honestly did not factor the quality of my voice or my stature and shape in the mirror before I left when the day arrived. I cared more about my recently dyed blond hair, which, for my area, was quite popular in the middle school.(But then again, our school district was a regional school, and there were two more towns that would be in the high school than middle school. Middle school combined the five local elementary schools.) I rode the bus that day with anxieties, but told myself that this was to be expected of a new environment.
I entered the building with no clue of where, or how and when, classes started. My first class was French 2. By the room number, I knew that it was upstairs, and had slight difficulty finding the designated room. And it didn't help that there were nearly 900 bustling bodies in my way, the entire way. However, upon entrance, I could tell most of these students were of my age, and to not worry for this reason. Besides, the teacher was also very nice. We went over the rules, the basic requirements of the course, etcetera, until the end of the block.
At this time, I had a study hall. Something that did not exist in the middle school. All I knew of it was the rumors rife about the school, of mean teachers, spit balls whizzing past your head and the unaccounted for demand of silence and studying. By looking at my schedule, sent through the mail to me, I noticed study hall was in the cafeteria, an area I had not yet made an effort to visit.
The cafeteria was off to the side of a hallway, so it was fairly easy to find. However, I quickly came to the conclusion that finding a friend would not be quite so simplistic. I saw a group of nice looking older girls, and asked if it would be any trouble if I joined them at their table. Somehow, probably by pure coincidence, one of the two girls recognized me as a family friend. I had no recollection of this, but she remembered me all the same and interviewed me on my parents' well-doing and other meaningless subjects.
I soon realized out of the corner of my eye, that there was, in fact, a girl I knew from middle and elementary school. As "Joan", the girl that recognized me, and her friend "Crystal" left the table to speak to guidance counselors, as they were seniors, I wished them farewell and a good day. I moved my items and myself nearer to my acquaintance, and asked if it was all right to sit with her. Answering affirmatively, I sat down.
We became engrossed in another meaningless conversation for me, and I soon became preoccupied surveying a table of two boys directly behind by recent companion, who appeared to be making a discussion about me, and consistently making gestures about me and to me. This was odd, mostly because I scarcely knew either one of them, but one of them soon approached me with one of the most awkward questions I had received up until that point in my life.
"Do want this pencil?" he asked, snickering.
The pencil was new, a number two, and still had an eraser at the end. But something was wrong by the way in which he asked the question and the pencil's physical appearance I have yet to describe. Not only did he ask the question with what might seem like a comical nasally voice, but appeared to be trying to seduce me. I took a glance at the pencil again and instantly put two and two together. The pencil was rainbow colored. I was unsure of the importance of this until later, but I had my suscipions.
"No thanks," I frankly replied.
"Take it then," he persisted.
He left the table with the pencil on it. The girl sitting across from me began to chortle the laugh I have dubbed "The freshman giggle", an action by most freshman girls of high decibel and pitch.
I walked over to the table, furious with his stubbornness. I set the pencil down next to him.
"Thanks anyway," I stated with as much politeness for his defiance as I could gather.
I quickly returned to the table and tried to look busy by drawing pictures, telling myself I couldn't be bothered if I was involved with something.
He returned about two minutes later. His action as of late were an annoyance, but his next action would make me so uncomfortable and humiliated to my core.
"It's okay. I understand," He blurted, rubbing the side of my arm. I understood. He believed I was a homosexual.
I was astounded at his assumption. I still am to this day. My voice, my lack of development in general, and possibly my attitude were the only things he needed in order to mainpulate my pride and self-worth.
Homophobia is a very big part of my school, and this is why I decided to share my story.
I had far more in store to tell you guys-this is merely a scratch, I mean, it's truly about a half hour of a semester (or even year-long) occurrence. If anyone's interested in hearing more, I'd love to continue for you. I actually find this rather soothing.
Live and Let Live. Love and Let Love.
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First time I've been recognized, I'm so new... haha.
