Even Wilder

Violet

First grade

Words do hurt.

They hurt bad.

"Stay away from her!" All the kids ran across the playground away from me.

I crossed my arms and headed for the swings. I had no words for bullies. I just wanted a friend to play dolls with and giggle about cartoons, simple girl things. That didn't seem so bad.

Wilder stepped in front of me, glaring at all of them. "Leave her alone, or you'll be sorry."

I didn't understand why people wanted to be so mean to me. But my feelings were hurt. And Christina knew that when she told me I couldn't like Wilder because I was black. She knew it, and she said it anyway.

I didn't feel different. Christina made me feel that way. I had a mom at home that wasn't black at all. And she was married to a man who didn't look "black" to me either. So, I didn't understand the issue.

I couldn't figure her out. Her skin wasn't any different than mine, but there she stood, telling me I was the one who didn't belong.

Wilder was the only person in first grade who was nice to me. He didn't make fun of my hair. And he always invited me to play.

"Christina just likes messing with you," Wilder told me. "She's stupid."

Stupid was a first graders comparison to an asshole. And she was an asshole. That was a sure thing.

I bounced the ball back to Wilder. "She's pretty stupid. But I like her hair." It was long and shiny—even straight.

Wilder shook his head. "I like your hair. It's brown and curly. Sort of puffy." He caught the ball and gave me a smirk.

I smirked back. And we spent the rest of recess playing ball.

Christina and her friends sat by the slides and stared the entire time, whispering and giggling.

"What did you do to your arm?" I asked him. I noticed the band-aid when he walked into class without a coat on. And it was fall he should have had a coat on. My mom bundled me tight before she walked with me down to the corner that morning.

Nobody walked Wilder.

"Ah. Just a scratch." He shrugged, acting as if it didn't matter, but I could see how sad his eyes got when he thought about it. I knew what sadness was because I lived in that world too.

"What did you do?" Maybe he tripped and gave himself a good scrape.

He stopped the ball from getting away with his worn-out sneaker and dropped down on the ground. "If I tell you, you have to promise never to say anything."

I nodded, taking the spot next to him. "I won't say anything."

We both stared straight ahead. And I waited for Wilder to speak.

When he did, my world felt a little less colorful and sadder.

"My mom's new boyfriend did it."

"Why?"

"Because he's not a good person." Wilder peeled back the band-aid. An oozing burn showed itself. And he quickly covered it back up.

Wilder had longish hair that he hid behind when he wasn't in a good mood. It shielded him from everything, and he liked it that way. I think it made him feel safe.

"You should probably wash that. It looks bad." I tried stopping the wind from blowing my hair all over the place. Some of it blew across Wilder's face, and he laughed.