The Other

From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was different. Not the way she looked, not the way she talked, maybe not even the way she looked about each room upon entering it, as if she had accidentally stumbled into a secret treasure trove. It was deeper than that, some underlying, subtle acceptance of the world around her, that none of us had. Maybe she was born with some kind of unnatural ability to perceive things in a certain way, or maybe she just didn’t care enough about anything to let it bother her.
I was jealous at first. Looked at her perfect hair, shiny white teeth, and the way she had every boy from here, to who-knows-where wrapped around her little finger. I Spent hours and hours looking at myself in the mirror, watching other girls as they passed me in the hallway and wondering to myself, what is it, that makes her different from me and every girl that I’ve met so far, why does it even matter. Beauty? Charm? these things that really aren’t that hard to come by? She reminded me of one of those beautiful people off TV with designer clothes and a killer smile. One of those people who could charm the socks off of anybody, only to their advantage of course, and only when a person or obstacle, however you wish to imagine them, happened to be in the way of what they wanted. She never seemed to want anything.
First week of high school, her house burns down, a freak accident, the mother is cooking supper, leaves to check on little sister, while the cat knocks a can of bug spray on open fire. She tries to calm the fire, but it’s too late. Smoke alarms are busted. Mother and sister get out, there is no dad, she herself isn’t even home, out playing soccer with friends. The cat lives.
My mom hears about the accident and rushes down to see what she can do to help, “ It’s our turn to help another family out” she says. Dad starts calling all his buddies to round up some extra stuff for the family and I’m sitting in the living room with three of my girlfriends eating popcorn and watching “Veronica Mars”.
Everything is silent. “I hope that hideous pink skirt is in ashes” says one, Ashley. We all laugh, we know Ashley loves that skirt. Envy. I’m still sitting on my couch hoping ALL of her clothing is in ashes, so she can just enjoy wearing what NORMAL everyday girls like US have to wear everyday. That would take her down a peg.
I was eating my late night snack, peanut butter and Oreos, when Mom walked in with HER closely behind. What was she doing in my kitchen? “She’s staying with us for a while” mom says “their’s not enough room anywhere for all three of them.” The mother and little sister stay with separate families, and I end up getting a new roommate.
She’s in the living room with my mother, I can see through the entryway, she can’t see me though. I take note of her soccer shorts and cleats, she’s going to be wearing those for a while. Mom says later that the house was completely totalled. I should be feeling bad, I’m not. My friends CANNOT find out that SHE is staying with me.
The next morning we have school. I wake up with a plan hatched in my mind. She asks all nice, if she can borrow something to wear to school. I say yes and come back with an old pair of jeans, a hole in both knees, dirt stains on the bottom, a tee shirt that I’ve had since grade five, lime green, with sweat stains under the arms, and some ancient grey socks that I’m positive are my dads. I wait in the next room, expect to hear her screeching about how she couldn’t possibly wear something that disgusting. Instead I hear laughter and go to the doorway to investigate. She’s in front of the mirror, head in hands, doubled over laughing. “Maybe I’ll start a trend, how do I look?” she says, still laughing, and walks out. I’m stunned.
At school me and my friends sit around the lunch table eating peanut butter and jam sandwiches. Since I’m led to believe, for my own benefit, that she’s way too stuck-up to even consider associating with me or my friends in public, I’m surprised when she comes and sits down at our table. She says hello, and everybody snickers. They give her a look as if to say “Why are YOU here?”. I can’t have her around my friends like this, she just isn’t like us.
She smiles and try’s to make conversation, even with my friends acting like total “you-know-whats” . I get up, clear my throat and say “I’m not that hungry anymore, let’s go”. My friends all get up and leave her sitting by herself. I look back and she waves. A big smile all over her face.
The next day she comes over to our table again, and the next two days after that. My friends still aren’t warming up to her, her old friends won’t even be seen with her because of the way she is dressed these days. I feel bad for her, but only a little bit.
One night I say to her “If your going to hang out with me and MY friends, their’s a few things you’ll need to change.” I tell her the first thing she has to do is cut her hair, it’s way to long, none of US have hair that long. My mother kept telling her how beautiful her hair was, she never said that to me. I told her she could only hang out with us, that none of her other friends should matter anymore. I told her other things too, but they never mattered because I knew that none of the things I was telling her to change, were what really set her apart from us. I can remember her sighing and then smiling right after. It was a sympathetic smile, she didn’t seem disappointed, angry or sad, she just looked sympathetic. Sympathetic towards me. She told me that it wouldn’t matter if she cut her hair, it didn’t matter what clothes she wore, or who she hung out with, that if my friends didn’t like her the way she is now, than they wouldn’t like her any other way either.
The next day she sat by herself. I can remember looking over at her while she ate her lunch, peanut butter and jam, just like me. She was wearing my mothers floral blouse, and a pair of my old levi jeans. She looks over, I expect her to look away, but like always she smiles, and continues to eat lunch and hum a little tune to herself.
It was than that it dawned on me. Some people are singled out because they have a different skin colour, maybe a different culture or beliefs, and some people are just different because they choose to be. While she was surrounded by people busying themselves with complaints about their’ life, she was satisfied. One can only wonder why it’s human nature to pick apart even the most treasured aspect of life. Happiness.
I turned my head with a brand new set of eyes, but when I looked over she wasn’t there.
I got up and walked away.