The first time I went to the St. Hemling School for the Deaf and Blind was September of the dreaded second grade. There were multiple things that I didn't like about St. Hemling; and it wasn't just because I didn't like school or work in general. For starters, it was a good hour and a half drive away from my bungalow which meant that I had to rise at unimaginably early hours in the morning. The entrance smelt like manure eternally and the uniforms had an itchy pant tag that gave me rashes. When I walked in through the heavy oak wood doors there was a compilation of a million nylon sleeves swishing together - those were for the deaf, they communicated through swishing and hand movements of some sort. And then, my mom directed me into the corner where all the other blind and prepubescent children were waiting, talking, and laughing.
"Be good Finn. Today is orientation so I'll be back in a good hour or so. Remember to be..."
"...respectful, joyful, and not a BIG FAT HANDFUL!" I screamed with all my might. The blind ones quieted down but the deaf kept swishing.
"Now, that is what happens when you become a big fat handful, Finnegan. Okay. Love you." She kissed the top of my head and ruffled my hair. I had really long hair, so the tips tickled my eyes and I had to swipe them away.
It occurred to me later on that my parents' motivation to send me to St. Hemling was to get me out of the house and fitting in with the other kids. Maybe, they thought, maybe if Finnegan hung out with people like himself, then he would feel better. He wouldn't stay inside and listen to the T.V anymore or sit on the porch and break twigs. The result was quite on the contrary, it didn't make me feel better, it made me feel worse even. Because I was a puzzle piece that didn't fit in any kind of puzzle, everyone else had their jutted out side and caving in sides but I stood there like a perfectly non-harmed square. A square.
"Hello. My name is Marybeth." A little voice peeped over at me, and I turned towards it.
"The names were so nice that she had to name it twice," I mumbled, but then inhaled sharply in shock of what I had just said.
"What?" Marybeth asked me, confused.
"I'm sorry, I didn't think. My name's Finnegan."
"Are you new?"
"Um, yes," I answered gingerly.
"I'm not new."
"Why?"
"Because I was here last year."
"Do they have ice-cream here?"
"You have to buy it. With your own money!" She exclaimed like it was the most shocking thing. Tidbits of her spit flew onto my cheek and I wiped it off.
"I have twenty-five dollars and fifteen cents."
"I have twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents." Marybeth had topped me again.
What I learned from St. Hemling in the first week I spent was that sometimes people remember the bad things but toss away the good like a sack of rotten potatoes. There was a possibility that people were just downright pessimistic and negative, and never grateful either. For example I remember all the times people have walked away from me with their dragging feet more clearly than I remember people laughing and complimenting me on my cane-walking skills (which I admit, I suck at more than anything). Truly, the good things have to be good. Obviously there's good things that happen in life, like when you get a truckload of presents for your birthday, or when everything goes accordingly. Or even when someone finally accepts you for who you are and it's kind of like a huge chunk of useless 'you' has been ripped off in a non-violent fashion, and you're lighter and maybe even more yourself.
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Yellow (editing)
Teen Fiction❝She was a sunflower, and even though she never faced the sun, she was still beautiful.❞ When Finnegan Annson reunites with his anything-but-boring, garden-scented childhood friend Orenda May Castellano on a cold winter day, it's no secret that his...
