Different colored minds

What I think about math

PAMELA POV

when I'm sitting in the math classroom I feel safe. Instead of obsessing over what others think I'm protected by knowledge. It's air to my lungs and burns my curiosity. It makes my mind run away to where no one can hurt me.

"The teacher paired us again," says a bored voice to my right.
The blonde boy on the right's name is Joe. And Joe's assigned seat is still next to mine.

His eyes look like sea glass, The deep navy kind that rarely washes up on the shore and My heart skips a beat. His skin isn't as dark as the skin I'm used to. It's a different shade entirely. He has hair on his arms that is course and blonde. He's strong. Why is he talking to me again?

He moves his desk over and as he does, my eyes are met with red scabbed knuckles on his hand. I quickly shift my eyes away.
He glanced at me and then at his hand. I swear his lips crease in a knowing smile.
"How do you do number 2?"
I blink a few times before I find the number in the textbook.

My brother always has those marks on his hands. The blemishes of inner turmoil. The anger when you're told not to cry. The expression of helplessness in frustration. The unending feeling that somehow this has to come to an end one day. Yet We suffer with guessing How long the pain will continue. Is it worth it to run away when you'd be left homeless?

He clears his throat. I blink again. His eyelashes are long and golden like the sun. They must be the longest I've ever seen.
His eyes are still shifted onto the paper. I peek towards it. Numbers stare back at me. I smile. This is how it's supposed to be. I'm not made for human interaction. I'm made for this. For every educational interaction.
The concept that we're learning about is angles. Joe must have confused some stuff early on in math because the things that he struggles with are the basics, not the concepts. He understands what I'm doing. He just doesn't understand how to apply it. I feel that way a lot. For example in a new country when I say a word wrong and get made fun of or commit a cultural faux pas people will shame me for it. Then, I will never ask for advice until it is too late to save me. He must have been drowning a lot longer than this but no one took the time to save him. It's neglect, cold and hard. I know it because it's what's happening to me. I wasn't raised

The struggle between the devil's fingers interlaced in the heads of men, and the spirit of god that lingers in the in between wishing good despite the circumstance. Is if my own benevolence that keeps me from defending my brother? From being the one my dad attacks? Why do I let him suffer? Why can't I be stronger for him? For my mom? Why do I have to be so weak?

Joe runs his hands through his hair. I can tell he's getting frustrated. My pulse quickens.
"Hey joe, are you okay?" He looks at me.
"Why? Do I look that bad?"
"No, I'm not saying that. But usually there's more to frustration than meets the eye so I'm checking on you emotionally," he looks at me confused. I know I'm wording this wrong. It's because I'm nervous. If he's wondering if he looks that bad he's trying to hide something worse than what's on the outside.
"What?" He sounds ticked off now. So I was right. He's going through shit and he's not going to let me help. He'd never assume I deal with anything similar to what he deals with. It's laughable how stupid pride can make a person.
I laugh.
"Never mind. what other problems do you need help with?" I guess there's no point in trying to open him up. No one wants to talk about what's actually happening to them. He's hiding from his own trauma and kicking humanity out. He's doing life— alone.
He blinks.
"Okay," he looks at me like I'm a crazy, he's not wrong. But then again, isn't it true that everybody's a little crazy in the end Or else we wouldn't be able to change the world.
He looks through the problems again.
"I don't get proofs, and that's the next step to a lot of these."
I don't usually get proofs either. The way that they're set up is a set number of steps in logic someone needs to think through to get to a result. The problem is there is not only one way to get to the right answer. So why should there be only one way to do the steps? That doesn't make sense to me. If they understand that brains work differently doesn't that also mean that they should understand that it is feasible to come up with a different outlook on the problem and therefore the solution.
I tell him what society would tell him, there's one way to do this proof, but I know there's many ways to come up with the solution. It's quite odd. I wonder if I'll ever feel comfortable actually telling people I believe that. I don't really think they'd know what to do with that information. Much worse. I don't know what they would do to me if I told them what's actually going on behind the scenes in my life. Maybe it's better that they're just left in the dark. Maybe Joe is doing the right thing. Maybe it's better to do it all on my own. Maybe it's better to not let people in far enough to hurt me so deeply. Maybe I should be punching walls instead of trying to love them anyway. But that can't be right. Hiding behind myself. My own comfort. The things that make me happy. How is the world going to change? If I hide and say everything is fine im a coward. Every time I don't step up. That's what this is about. I don't want to hide anymore but I have to. It's not like being homeless is an option. This is why I have to get good grades. I have to succeed. I have to hide and take the coward's way out until I can get out from under this financial yoke. This pressure to not be a freeloader. I don't think there's any other option. I have to be cold and calculated if the world is going to respect me. Im crazy, the world will never respect me if I can't prove I can cope with being crazy.