The Boy, (Short Short Story)

     The Boy

Short Story By: James M.

He sits there. Silent. Unconcerned. The boy. He stands out to me.......

     

...On the first day of the new school year, I woke up bright and early. I'd always loved school, always will. Saw it as a chance to grow- intellectually, spiritually even- with the help of my friends and teachers. A chance, to expand my second family, I'd always loved to meet new people. Strengthening and creating bonds with others was encouraging, especially if those people were "popular" or "cool." But, that didn't really matter, did it?

 What is "popularity," but just another label. Does it carry any value? Does it exist? Questions buried by naivety. 

    As I entered the new classroom, familiar smell of freshly cleaned desks, I take a seat and survey my new classmates. Familiar face. Cool guy. Kind of weird. Had a crush on her. Can't wait to get to know her. Despite these weightless facts I could not wait to spend the next nine months with my classmates, with new friends and old faces. My observations resume until I notice a boy. 

     Not his size, not his unbalanced posture, it wasn't his silence that lodged his image into my brain. The boy was sitting, a world to himself. Isolated. Separated. Obviously the boy was not sociable, but I spent a moment contemplating whether I should bother him...I decided not to.

Was I contemplating whether I should bother him, or whether I should bother to meet him?

    
      The year dragged on and I found myself finding more and more about the boy. He was born with autism. At recess, he walked the school yard alone. Unaware. Innocent. I'd wasted my recesses making light and useless conversation with my friends. Time to time, the corner of my eye caught his distinct figure. Alone. Unaware. Innocent. 

     I didn't just learn more about the boy. I learned more about my "second family." Especially the "cool" ones. One day I passed by a group who began talking about the boy. They weren't bothering me, so I passed by them to reach my destination, the trash can. As I returned to my seat I overheard words of their dialogue. Stupid. Weirdo. Retard. The boy's name. I began to eavesdrop, but left as soon as the cackling began. Enraged. Disappointed. What did the boy ever do?

What did I ever do? I left, but how useful was that?

     It got worse. In the hallways, I'd see friends parodies the boy's actions. Mimicking is everyday habits. I walked with these friends. Laughing along. Pretending I didn't care. A hopeful mind contributing to the darkening of the world, rotting by attitudes which reeked of hate, prejudice, and ignorance.

I, was rotting of hate, prejudice, and ignorance. My worst flaw? Weakness.

     The big overnight trip to Montreal was to be big. Excitement rose, anticipation grew when roommates began being assembled. Formation of groups chosen by students themselves reinforced the sense of where a student belonged with their classmates. The so-called popular people would stick together, the same who would mock the boy. Then again, I wasn't any better than them. 

     I put off finding a group to belong to for the last minute. Too caught up in disappointment at the "friends" I once looked up to. Caught in thought, my teacher called out to me. Asked me if it would be okay to pair up with the boy, who did not have any roommates either. BAM! 

     Put on the spot. Eyes on me. Beads of sweat filled with insecurity dripped down my face. What was I going to answer? Could I be considered "cool" if I roomed with him? Would I be bothering him? How will this be useful for him, I'm pretty sure I could find other people to room with. What was I going to say?

     Sitting in the cold metal chair, in one of the rows on graduation day, paying no heed to the valedictorian speech, I reflect on my decisions in the past year. Sitting here, alone and silent, and unconcerned. The guilt has poisoned me, I'm isolated, separated from a class that despises me. Do I standout to anyone? Does anybody feel empathy towards me?

A Word From the Author:

     So, why the random story? I find that a story is something we could all relate to, and that giving an example of the negative attitudes towards mentally retarded individuals, is an affective method in which the reader may understand this tough topic, easier. It would be even more affective to tell you that most of the events in this story were based on real events I've experienced, and on a real boy I knew.
     As I read through Of Mice and Men, I was constantly reminded of this boy and the attitudes towards him. The character, Lennie Small, is very much alike this boy. Both minded their own business, yet both were rudely ridiculed. The boy's actions were made fun of, similar to how Lennie was labelled stupid. Both experienced limitations to their lives as a result of social discrimination. This can be noted especially through alienation and isolation. The boy and Lennie were both constantly separated from the community.
     In my next, and final few posts, I will explaining one more limitation set on those with a mental disability, as well as finishing with an in depth look at Lennie's character. Please stay tuned (: