What She Wrote

Chapter One

I know what they say. You don't have to hide it. I'm weird, dangerous even; to you. I don't agree, but I understand. Why do you judge me so quickly? Why do you smirk and point? I don't deserve it.

I used to take balloons to school and tie them around my wrist. Kids used to intimidate me and my balloon with unearthed thumbtacks. Your friend's a bit fragile today... they used to taunt, running away in churlish fits of compelled laughter.

I never seemed to understand people. No one. I was a lost deaf cat in a faraway room submerged in language. Misconceived. Days would pass, like cars on a highway, drivers blind to the sidelines of the kerb. I would speak to no one. Not one person. Arrantly mute. It wasn't that I had nothing to say, believe me I did, I just had no one to talk to. Well, no one wanted to talk to me. Or go near me.

It was like I was in a dream world. Or underwater; not fully present. It was as if reality was transmitting, on a faulty line, back to my conscious mind. Although, sometimes it never seemed to reach me, as if the translator had broken down. And then I would. My mother always tried to help me, always full of commiseration. Sometimes she'd buy me gifts to make me feel better. I never understood why she did, but it did seem to gratify her so I accepted it. One day she bought me a bear. I named him George, George P. Macintosh. The next day I took him to school with me. He helped me with my schoolwork and shared my lunch. He got even worse reactions than my balloons... And I didn't understand why.