A Happy Ending?

There is a stigmatization about being too “different” that forever plagues the people who are unable to conform to society’s stereotypical image of perfection. Aria was among these unlucky few, and had always been told that she was “……special.” Perhaps in another world, this wouldn’t have mattered, but even her ten-year-old self could see in the pained eyes of her parents and the multitude of degrading beauty commercials that “special” was not something to be desired. She knew the whispers of contempt that persisted as though people thought she couldn’t hear them. “Weird,” “ugly,” and the worst one of all: “retard.” Aria would have loved to say that the gossip didn’t bother her, but ignoring the ridicule that taunted her conscience and prodded at the back of her mind was much harder to do in a world that based her worth on how others perceived her.

Perhaps that was why her heart beat with a worrying ferocity, and why her stomach had turned over so many times that losing her breakfast the hard way was a legitimate concern as she stared down the looming door to her new classroom.

Aria was born with a nerve disorder that resulted in the paralysis of the left side of her face. At her old school, this engendered relentless bullying; the kind that of mockery that constantly clouded her vision and made the last stall of the girls’ bathroom her home away from home. It became such a problem that she switched schools in hopes of a fresh start.

So here she was. Aria reached forward with clammy, trembling hands and tugged at the door handle to her fifth-grade classroom. The sweat caused her fingers to slip, and it took her three tries to finally get the door open and step onto the carpeted floor. A stooped, elderly man mumbled out a lecture at the front of the classroom, facing the whiteboard as he wrote, and the few students who were paying attention had to crane their necks to see the writing that he was blocking.

The teacher’s back was still turned. Maybe she could sit down without being noticed by too many people--

“Ah, you must be...Aria.”

Aria could have sworn that her heart froze in her chest as twenty pairs of eyes, each accompanied by raised eyebrows, turned to stare at her.

“Say hi to your new classmate,” the old man croaked. His weary mannerisms seemed to have rubbed off on the students, who responded in an equally listless monotone. An uncomfortable silence ensued.

Just stay calm. Breathe in. Out. In….screw it.

Under the judgemental eyes of these strangers, Aria felt more self conscious than ever of her unsymmetrical, drooping face. To add to the effect, she was sure that she had turned a bright, crimson hue to match her childish pink dress.

Her teacher cleared his throat vigorously before croaking, “Looks like we only have one open seat, so you’ll be sitting at the table in the back.” Having fulfilled his obligatory greeting, he paused to catch his breath, then turned around to continue his lesson.

Aria gingerly sat down at her desk, cringing as her backpack thudded to the floor. She just had to get through the day. Just get through the day. Just get through the-- her thoughts were evaporated by a taunting whisper.

“Hey. Hey you.”

Aria’s shoulders concaved, her stomach dropped, and her breathing tightened.

Nonononono this can’t be happening. Not here! Not already!

“New girl!” The whisper was now a menacing hiss, so Aria glanced up with dread turning her muscles to knots. Across from her was a girl with straightener-fried hair, bright red lipstick, and a smirk that projected snobby superiority.

“What’s wrong with your face? What, are you some sort of retard?”

Aria was frozen. Hours later in her room she would have an excess of courage and the perfect witty comeback, but in that moment she had never felt more powerless. She looked desperately at the others at her table, but they were all avoiding eye contact; pretending to be listening to the lecture.

“Hey!” the girl was still at it. “Listen to me when I’m talking to you!”

Her tormenter continued to spew out insults, yet no one responded. Aria’s eyes began to well up with fiery tears.

This is just going to go on, isn’t it. I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE WHY CAN’T IT STOP?!?!?”

A small, shaky voice emerged:

“Alison, just drop it already.”

The tears dried with shock. Had someone heard her silent pleas?

Alison looked equally stunned, but managed to retaliate; addressing blushing girl that had spoken up.

“Zoe, stay out of this,” Alison snapped. The matching friendship bracelets the two wore were not lost to Aria, and she fully expected Zoe to back down as sparks of tension flew between the two friends. But Zoe persisted, with undertones of defiance overpowering her once-trembling voice.

“I mean it. Mind your own business for once. You’re always so quick to judge.”

Alison was shocked into silence. Wordlessly, she made a show of taking out her scissors and cutting off the multi-colored threads of her and Zoe’s friendship. She did this as slowly as possible, waiting for Zoe to interject. But Zoe was silent, and gave Aria a small, subtle nod. Aria turned her attention to her oblivious teacher. Exhaling shakily, she attempted to take notes.

 
The day didn’t exactly have a stereotypical fairy tale conclusion.  The death glares sent from the other side of the table ensured that Aria’s problems were far from over, and the only other time 

anyone spoke to her that day was to ask for a pencil. Was it a happy ending? Not exactly. But it was 

tolerable. And for the time being, that was good enough.