Without A Voice (Based On A True Story)

A Way Out

The next week felt like any other day. I was hated and shunned from my classmates. They avoided me like I emitted the worlds deadliest toxin with every breath. I still struggled with accepting my fate, but I managed to survive each day.

I refused to step outside with the others. Ms. Anderson wasn't able to stay in class with me, so I spent my recesses with Mr. Kent. He welcomed my company, but I knew deep down he wanted me to be with the other kids. I was selfish putting my problems before general interests. After running the simulations in my head, I unfortunately had other option. I hoped he understood.

Thursday rolled around, and Ms. Anderson had an announcement for the entire class. We weren't expecting any news; there weren't any new students, new books, nothing. She gathered our attention. There were the usual comments from my "hilarious" classmates.

"Hey Deaf-Kid!" one kid shouted while slapping my desk. I was already facing Ms. Anderson, what could they want? "The...teacher...is...talking!" The other burst into laughter at my expense. I didn't want to cause any problems, so I kept quiet and resumed participating in Ms. Anderson's announcement. She looked at me sadly, then mouthed I know. She gestured by pointing her index finger to her head. I replied by placing my bent hand to my temple; this is the actual sign for know. She smiled, instantly understanding anf copying me.

"Hey, that's not nice." She scolded my new classmates, "James didn't do anything to you. Apologize now." The instigator, a boy named James too, started writing on a piece of paper. He handed it to me and started smirking. His friends started chuckling. Ms. Anderson intercepted the message and read the note aloud. "Sorry you can't hear like normal people?!" The class erupted in laughted again. I rose my hand. Suddenly, the attention was on me. A single tear fell on my desk.

"May I be excused?" I asked, sniffling. Ms. Anderson nodded and escorted me out the door. I ran into the restroom and locked myself in a stall. I cried my eyes out, wondering why people treat me the way they did. I couldn't escape from the hatred, the criticism. Suddenly, I feel knocks on the stall door. I wiped the tears away then open the door.

It was Mr. Kent. Ms. Anderson probably sent him to check on me. I was overcome with the pain and started crying harder than before. He then hugged me tight. My lungs burned from my broken, ragid breathing.

"Why?" I asked, breathlessly. He broke his embrace and stared at me. I stared at the ground, too ashamed to show my face. He handed me a paper towel from the dispenser to dry my face. My vision was blurry, but I was able to make out what he said.

"Because they don't understand."

"I want it to stop."

"What do you mean?" I sensed the seriousness in his tone. He sounded scared.

"I want it all to stop. I just want to be left alone. Is that too much to ask?!" I was at a breaking point. He could see that I was extremely frustrated.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked. I thought about what he said and realized the truth of the matter.

"There's nothing anyone can do." I said solemnly. "I am hated by everyone. That is my life." I couldn't escape the reality that everyone would hate me for the rest of my life. I looked at my only friend in this world, and saw the hopelessness in his eyes. I wiped the last tear from my eye and regained my composure. "Can you please take me back?"

He was shocked at first, but the agreed and lead me back to my personal hell. What was I doing? Why was I going back? I could have just gone home for the day, but chose to go back to those delinquents. When that last tear left my body, I knew things weren't going to change. They will still hate me. They will still treat me like a lesser being. I finally accepted who I was in this cruel life.

I returned to Ms. Anderson finishing up her announcement. She smiled at me and continued. I sat down, looking down at my desk to avoid the comments. I just grabbed a homework worksheet from my desk and started working. I wanted to listen and know what she was sharing, but I had to fight my instincts to look up. Nothing good happened when I did, and the same would occur this time too. I felt awful for disrespecting Ms. Anderson, but what could I do?

Minutes later, she tapped me on the shoulder. She asked me to meet her at her desk. I stood up, not looking at anyone and made my way. I could feel the stares burning into my soul. Out felt like everyone was shooting laserbeams into the back of my head. Each step only intensified the awkward sensation.

She pulled out a chair from underneath her desk for me to sit. The staring stopped.

"Are you okay?" I didn't respond. My blank expression gave her a good impression on how I felt. "Very well," she continued, "I told the class about a new homework-tracking system we're starting in the spring. It's called a "Privilege-Discipline card", or "P-D card" for short. When you don't turn in an assignment, it'll be written on your card. It can be ctossed off when you turn in the assignment. If there is anything on your P-D card, you cannot go to recess."

My eyes widened, and an idea popped into my head. There was no way it could be that easy. Ms. Anderson gave me the opportunity to make excuses for not going to recess. It was like she handed me a Get Out of Jail Free card.
But there are consequences with every decision.

"Every week, you'll have to take your card home and have your mom sign it." And there was the catch. I could miss assignments and avoid recess legitimately, but at the cost of Mother's disappointment. How could I pull it off? "Do you have any questions?" she asked. I shook my head. "Great. Here, show this to your mom." She handed me a letter regarding the new system. I thanked her and returned to my seat.

The rest of the day, I couldn't focus on class. I was preoccupied with planning my next moves. How could I get away with this and not upset Mother? She already had enough problems with me; she didn't need my academics to be an issue too. I needed to be very calculated with my actions. I felt like a master military strategist, planning for the most amount of damage with the least amount of casualties. I had until January to strategize. I couldn't give up this opportunity.