He was different. He knew it. His mother knew. Everyone knew it. Yet it was a covered truth. His mother refused to let people think her son may be different. She held Tupperware parties and drank merlot accompanied with camembert with ladies who lunch. She did not have a disabled child.
She disguised his inability to learn and adsorb like the others as just being a typical boy. Just a boy, going through a phase, rebelling. He knew something made him different. Even when he tried he couldn’t understand what was being taught to him. The limit on his ability crushed him and led him to face ridicule. He knew he had done something to deserve this. His mother looked at him with such distaste that he knew he had hurt her, he just couldn’t remember how. He made people embarrassed and awkward. He hated how upset he made people but he knew it was his fault. He had been bad his mother said. This is what happens to bad little boys.
The doctor mentioned intellectually disabled. He needed a different facility to learn. Perhaps a special school. She cried. He stared. What was it about this place that made her so upset, so ashamed that she couldn’t look him in the eye? He hated the idea, hated what it was doing to his mother, and hated who he was.
The sleek black Audi comes to a defined stop. It does not belong here but he does. He’s here. Collten State Special School, the termite-infested block says. It wasn’t a new name to him; all the kids at school told him here was where he would “fit in,” which they always followed with a laugh that erupted like a burst tyre. School was never fun for him, not a day would go by without the words retard, spastic or freak being spat at him. He waves to his mother whilst he steps out of the car and slithers to the gate. The white picket fence seems innocent enough but behind it masks a more fearful encounter. The gate creaks when touched and makes an ear-pitching screech when opened to its full potential. As he enters sweat begins to perspire and fall like pellets from his brow. His cheap shirt begins to stick to his back; he can feel the material shrinking with every drop of fluid it absorbs. His breath is sharp and hollow, the repetitions unable to be controlled.
He’s late. He quickly picks up his legs. His feet begin to scruff the ground; tarnishing the new black polish his mother applied that morning. He feels the gum on his soles stick to the ground. It was a joke amongst all his peers to put it there, one he never saw the humour in. His thoughts begin to digress on as he follows the ramp painted in bright, fluorescent colours, in an attempt he assumes to hide the dark realities of the children’s future. He continues to follow its path in a hope of finding the woman. Eventually, he finds her lair. The door reads “Principal May,” surrounded by A3 drawings of intended objects that instead appear to just be swirls of colour. He cautiously opens the door and is faced with a mid-forties, plump woman, who reminds him of the lady on the front of the Sara-Lee choc-chip cookies. Her smile is warm, with loose caramel curls flowing like a slow water feature down the side of her chubby face. He instantly hates her.
He follows the plump woman. Watching her behind click up and down with the rise and fall of her weight. She continues to ramble on whilst her Kmart, short sleeved, floral dress sways like the tide. He doesn’t want to go on. He can feel his body freeze up. His muscles commence to cramp making even the thought of walking unbearable. He face begins to emit the fear that his body is erupting in. The women turns, sympathy flows from her eyes as she takes his hand.
Suddenly the woman slows to stop. He tries to look ahead but her smiling, fleshy face is masking his view. She steps away leaving him naked of all protection. They are all unaware of his presence. They continue to sit there tamely, laughing and smiling with each other. He wants to run. Suddenly, like the onset of a sneeze they all turn to face him. Eyes beaming right at him. With each second they begin to grow wider and wider. He’s cemented to his position, nowhere to go.
He stares at their altered faces. Each having the same features as any human, yet they all appear fractured and disjointed. His eyes are becoming blurred as someone is taking his hand. It’s the plump woman. She is smiling that fleshy smile at him. He is vulnerable, and alone in front of these things, with only the stupid plump woman’s hand for support.
He stiffens. They are up, each individual coming towards him. He can feel the force of their inertia coming closer and closer to him, decreasing the tolerable distance he once held. He can see their mouths moving and hear the noises but everything is muted. He feels numb. Hands, which appear sticky and moist, reach out towards him. He needs to run but he is swarmed. They’re grasping his stiff body. He is left immobile as each grubby finger seizes the control of his body. He waits for pain. He knows it’s coming, it happens everyday, why would today be any different? He continues to wait but nothing happens. The grasp on him has become soft and gentle. Warmth entraps his body. Smiles begin to flow towards him. Innocent flooded eyes comfortably linger on his face. The woman starts to say something, but he is unable to hear due to the continuous welcomes from the class. He doesn’t want to hear her, for once in this unusual bowl of mutant variation he is happy, accepted. He is free.
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