Young Writers Society

I stare at the playground, and can’t understand why I feel so pulled to it. Today, it is empty, its plastic slides bare, and I know if I slid down it its surface it would chill the exposed backs of my legs. A breeze quietly sways the old metal swings back and forth, and the gray sky overhead threatens rain, or maybe even snow. I look at the sky, and think of my childhood. I remember the playground.

I sit beneath the Big Toy, the only place where it is shady and quiet, fiddling with the mulch that covers the cement. I’m building a castle, just like the one I’ll live in someday. The sun filters down through the floor of Big Toy, making shadows on the ground that remind me of the ones cast by leaves in the forest behind my house. Distracted, I trace my hand over the bumps and around the shadows. The sound of the other children echoes in my ears, but means nothing to me. I am in my own world now.

Suddenly, a foot smashes through my castle, breaking me from my reverie. I look up, blinking as the sun that is still filtering through the Big Toy gets in my eyes, harsher than I remember.

“Hey queer,” says Rob with a sneer. He was back again. I look into his eyes for another moment, trying to discern what he wants, but seeing nothing with the sun cutting into my eyes. Quietly, I look back down at the ground, and start to fiddle with the pieces of my ruined castle. I’m doing what Mommy says. Ignore them and they’ll go away. Ignore them ignore them ignore them ignore them and they’ll go away ignore them ignore ignore ignore ig-

Again, the mulch castle I had been trying to repair is crushed, and I look up expectantly.

“Hey, we were talking to you,” says Tyler from his place next to Rob. “It’s rude not to look at people when they talk to you. Didn’t your mommies teach you that?” Maybe I should do what Meema says. She told me next time they bother me to punch one of them right in the gut. Or both of them, that would be better, she had said. Margaret! Mommy had yelled at her, with a little laugh that made me laugh. Is that how you want our son to behave? Mommy pulled me in tight for a hug, as if to protect me from Meema, which made us all laugh even harder. Then Meema came in too, to hug us both, and we were all just a giggling mess of happiness, and I could smell the curry from dinner on Meema and the perfume from work on Mommy, and it smelled like home.

“Didn’t you hear him? We’re TALKING to you!” Rob says, this time nudging me in the shin with his foot. I back up, and feel the hot metal of one of the Big Toy bars against my back, it’s hardness comforting. “Why are you so rude? Maybe we should teach her how to be nice,” Rob continues.

“I’m not a girl,” I respond, almost automatically. As soon as I say it, I’m sorry I spoke.

“What was that? You think you’re not a girl?” Tyler says, laughing. “If you’re not a girl, then why are you under here making castles?” Tyler kicks the mulch mound that I had been playing with so happily before they had interrupted.

“Yeah,” Rob says with a snigger, and his eyes light up with an idea. He glances over to Tyler for a second and then turns back to me, saying, “If you’re not a girl come prove it to us.”

“What?” I say, confused.

Tyler’s eyes light up now too. “Yeah, come show us what you’ve got, Paulina.” Tyler puts his fists up and starts jumping backwards and forwards. My stomach feels as if something has come alive inside it. They want to fight me. No. They know I can’t fight. They want to hurt me.

“No,” I say, and start to stand up. “I’ll tell-”

Tyler steps forward, blocking me, and pushes me back into the pole. It doesn’t hurt, but now it seems more dangerous than before. Like a weapon. “You’re not telling anyone,” he says, sneering again. “Boys don’t tell. They fight. Girls tell. Girls need help. Do you need help, Paulina?” Tyler is stepping towards me, and I’m pressed against the bar again now, nowhere to go. Rob stands beside Tyler, looking at him and I with as if he were watching his favorite episode of SpongeBob.

“I-I-I’m not…” I try to talk, but I can’t. My mouth isn’t working. How am I supposed to use my words if my mouth’s not working?

“Aw, look, she can’t even talk!” Rob says.

I look up at him again, and then back to Tyler. They smile, but not in a nice way. Not in the way smiles are supposed to be. “My name is Paul,” I whisper, and shut my eyes.

Then he punches me, right in the face, like I’d been afraid of since they had walked in. I feel each of his knuckles as he hits me in the mouth, and I think wow, I’ve never had a knuckle sandwich before, I’m not a fan, but it’s not funny, because it hurts. Then his fist is gone, and my mouth stings and aches at the same time, and with every beat of my heart it aches again, and it feels like when his fist left my mouth it took something with it. I stand with my eyes closed and wait for another punch, for more pain. I count to sixty, one-mississippi-two-mississippi-three, just the way they tell us to when we’re waiting our turn for the tire swing. But then I’m done counting, and there is no new pain, and I breathe for a minute, and then I open my eyes. I don’t look up, because I know that Tyler and Rob will be gone by now, laughing on the other side of the playground. I open my eyes and look down, and I see what I knew I’d see. Two little white dots amid the tan of the mulch. I crouch down, hugging my knees. The bell rings, and I know recess is over, but I don’t move. I let tears roll down my cheeks and soak the knees of my jeans, and I sob, so loudly I can almost drown out the pain, so loudly I can’t hear the shouts of the teachers telling me to come in. I cry, and I cry, and then a hand is on my shoulder, and an arm is around me, and I am taken inside.

I stare at the playground, and for a moment, I hate it, I hate it with every fiber of my being, I hate this town and all the people who ever lived in it, I hate the memory of the copper taste of blood, of teeth covered in dirt, of the raw feeling of the holes where they should have been. But then I look again at the playground. It is empty, and suddenly so am I, all the pain flooding out of me. I am not that anymore. I am not a sobbing little girl-boy, or a dreaming little kid. I am just me, and I am free. I don't have to be the toy of bullies anymore. I can stand up for myself. And I do. I turn away from the playground, and without looking back, I walk down the street.