The Hard Way

Shadia

Shadia rinsed her face off and patted it with the a paper towel. She checked herself in the mirror. Her mascara had stayed in place (what did they ever do before waterproof?), but her bright red lipstick was almost non-existent. She didn't feel like putting it on. She had to, though. She looked almost deathly ill without it, and that was the last thing she needed. Plus, no one had seen her without her signature makeup since she started high school. It wasn't going to happen now.

Back in the auditorium, the door shut soundlessly behind her. All heads turned in her direction anyways. It wasn't just the interruption, she knew. She was beautiful. Waist length dark hair on her thin frame and round, dark eyes accented by her mascara, with her red, red lips. Shadia knew what she was. She also knew what the other kids saw. Sometimes, they were right; sometimes, she was.

At exactly the same time as she settled back into her place on the bleachers, a hall monitor came in and made her way to one of the English teachers. They spoke for a minute, then finally the monitor made her way up the bleachers. When Shadia glanced in her direction, the monitor motioned for her to come to her. Shadia, her face almost as red as her lipstick, made her way down to the monitor.

"Follow me", whispered Ms. Gray, the monitor. Then she turned and made her way down the rest of the bleachers and towards the double doors. Shadia followed. She wondered self-consciously what the other kids must be thinking, what with her having just come back from the bathroom and now being escorted out of the assembly. The other kids probably thought she was suspected of smoking or puking or graffiti...please let them think it was graffiti, she thought.

Once in the hallway, Ms. Gray turned towards Shadia.

"Your mother has called in an early dismissal for you, Shadia. She said she will be here to pick you up in just a few moments." Shadia began to turn towards the office when Ms. Gray spoke again, halting her. "Personally, I think it's a shame. I'd like for you to be here for this presentation." She paused, waiting for some sort of reaction from Shadia. When there was none, she finally asked, "Would you like to know why?"

Shadia, normally quiet even with friends, just shrugged her shoulders and looked down. But her curiosity was piqued. It wasn't like this was a teacher or something. Ms. Gray was just a hall monitor in the school, and sometimes an aide for art class, but Shadia didn't think she did because she cared or wanted to make a difference in the students' lives. She figured Ms. Gray worked here for the money. Isn't that what adults did everything for?

"Because the man speaking today is a friend of mine. I've known him since grade school and what he has to say is important for someone like you to hear."

Shadia looked up at Ms. Gray's face. Her eyes shone, like the threat of tears. She grabbed Shadia's arm and turned it palm up. She exposed Shadia's wrist, with it's still pink scar from a previous carving.

"Because I know about your cutting, Shadia." Ms. Gray paused to search Shadia's eyes. "Despite what you may think, I'm not just here for a paycheck. I work here because I care. Because I remember what high school was like, its struggles and hardships; the insecurities. You're not alone, Shadia. You're never alone. Everyone has their own tough situations; their own story. It's just hard to tell because, like you, everyone puts on a smile- or in this school, their tough face- and tries to seem like the world can't hurt them."

Ms. Gray paused. Shadia shifted. The only sound in the hallway were Shadia's fingernails tapping against the wall in an uneven rhythm. She wasn't going to say anything. She didn't know what to say anyways, especially given the situation as it was now.

"Shadia, I'm not here to lecture you. But I think what John has to say is really important, for a lot of the kids here, and not just the ones who cut themselves-"

"-I'M NOT A CUtter," Shadia interrupted. Her voice came out strong, irritated, but by the end of the short sentence, it was nearly hushed again. "I'm not a cutter, it's an art."

Ms. Gray was startled by Shadia's voice, though she did well not to show it. Even Shadia seemed surprised at her own interjection.

"Ok, Shadia. Whatever it-"

Shadia cut her off again, her voice evenly quiet, but audible in the empty hall.

"-I carve. And not just random angry slashes, but designs. Like temporary tattoos. Things of beauty; with no commitment, no lasting damage. Carve it out, enjoy the rawness of the dark red scab, or the pinkness of the scar, cover it up, move on."

Shadia was speaking quickly now.

"In a month, maybe two, tops- no one even knows what was there. It won't be a problem if later in life I decide to do something like model, or whatever, because it won't be there anymore. I know what I'm doing. I've been doing this for a while now. It's harmless. I'm not hurting anybody, not even me, really."

Ms. Gray shook her head.

"Thanks, but I'm fine, Ms. Gray."

She ended the conversation abruptly by turning and walking away.