A story from childhood

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I have written a story, in hopes to give insight to some of my family members. I would like to post it here to see if any here can relate, add their feedback etc. I am a bit nervous posting as I don't make a new topic often. I hope my story doesn't offend anyone... this is a real story that took place in little more than a hours time in my life in the second grade. I am not eloquent enough to capture all the details... but I am hoping to have captured enough. I want to be able to present something palpable to my family. With the members help here I think I will be able to.

Thank you for taking the time to share and read this - it is a bit long.

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I shift uncomfortably in my chair, feeling the pressure of the seat on my legs, knowing I should be listening to the lesson but the
constant humming of the snack refrigerator in the corner pulls my attention. I hear the feet shuffling around me, whispers of kids
not paying attention; a sniffle… a fly buzzing and bouncing off the window. I register the droning voice of the teacher somewhere
amidst it all. I count the bounces of the fly… one… two… three… fo –“

“Jean? Did you hear me ask you to turn to page 32?” The teacher snaps my attention by saying my name; that familiar painful jolt
takes my attention away from all the noises in the room. I put my head down and flip the pages of my book while looking with my
peripheral vision at the book on the desk next to me to peek at the page to turn to. I suppress the urge to cry as the children’s
laughter in the room resounds too loud in my ears.

I feel an acute emotional response with the words of a classmate followed by a high pitched giggle ‘She’s so stupid’
A tight knot grips my throat and even if I had to speak, I would not. I could not.

The loud shrill bell startles me and continues in a high grating rattle signaling the start of the lunch hour. The children
jump up happily with loud scrapes of paper on desks, books slamming shut with resounding painful impact, talking in
whirling voices around me. I catch snippets of voices “I’m first to the door!” “dodge ball!” “Mrs. Campbell!” “Lunch!”

I watch in confusion at the moving bodies of children waiting for them to filter out of the door, so I can be left in the
quiet of the humming fridge and the comforting sound of the bouncing fly.

Everything looks too big now, scary and looming. The walls blend with the windows, the windows with the doors.
I look around wondering where to go. Where is the cafeteria?

I peak around the door into the hallway, I see a child grabbing their lunch bag and spotting my chance I hurry after her
to make my way to the cafeteria behind her. I follow at a distance to make sure she won’t turn around and accuse me
of following her. I felt an odd mix of guilt and fear for tailing after her, yet relieved not to be getting lost again on the way to lunch.

When I enter the lunch room the roar of voices brings the fear bubbling to a new level. The sea of faces and smells of
food wash over me. The smell of the frozen mixed vegetables instantly makes me nauseous and dizzy. I feel my eyes
opening too wide and my breathing too shallow. I try to move forward but my feet remain planted like they have grown
roots into the black and white tile floor.

Running children bang into me and a terror courses through my body, yet I still can’t move. I stumble forward and stop rigidly
a few feet ahead of where I was before. I feel someone take my hand and begin pulling me away. I look up blankly wondering
who has my hand. The blank feeling leaving me even more scared and confused.

Recognition sets in and I realize it is my teacher, Mrs. Campbell and she is pulling me towards the stack of ugly pink and green
trays. She picks up a pink one and holds it out to me. I look at it blankly and notice the squares and rectangles on it. The smallest
square has a recessed circle in it for a cup. I don’t want it. It has a chip in it and I don’t want to touch it. It looks rough and sharp
and I am scared it will cut me.

Mrs. Campbell pushes the tray at my chest forcing me to grab it lest I let it drop. The fear of the noise it would make when hitting
the floor over rides the fear of touching it. I grab the tray and a cold wet spot of water off the newly washed tray spreads over my
fingers. I want to cry.

I’m dizzy, scared, overwhelmed and confused. Mrs. Campbell is pointing and my confusion grows. Where does she want me to go?
She puts her hands on my shoulders and her hands feel like they are digging into my skin. She begins pushing me to a long line of
writhing children. The children bump me and push me. I do my best to shrink myself smaller against the wall.

I hold the pink tray rigidly in front of me like food is already served on it. A girl jumps back towards me and her head hits the tray. She
yells at the top of her voice “Jean hit me with her tray!” I feel emotions so big I want to run away. But I stand there, waiting for the teacher
to get mad and yell at me. The line moves up and I remain in place. The boy behind me leans forward and yells in my ear “Go!” giving me
a push and I stumble forward.

I reach the serving ladies and they are asking me questions about what I want to eat. There are too many things to choose from. I look at
them but say nothing. I can’t say anything.

I look at the mixed vegetables. Yuck. Please don’t give me those.

There is an ugly brown stuff being spooned over bread. I have had that before I know it tastes good but feels gross. Please not that.

Tater tots my favorite. I don’t know what that other stuff is but it stinks. No, no, no. A big pile of corn dogs sit in the last container. I like those.

I watch as the serving lady takes a big spoon and dips it into the mixed veggies. She taps it down on my plate with a sharp painful tap. Squares
and circles of green and orange roll and tumble about a square on my plate. I don’t like seeing them against the ugly pink of the tray. I feel my
lips purse together and tug down as the urge to cry becomes stronger. I remember then that the girl had tattled on me and I feel the fear of
getting into trouble again.

Before my fear subsides another serving lady booms “Here honey” and I watch as she drops a corn dog from her gloved hand. As I feel the
weight of the corn dog land on my plate, I feel the tray dip down. It feels like the tray will tip and I over correct leveling it out and the peas
and carrots roll into other compartments. Before I can panic about the rolling veggies I notice how her hand is wet inside the glove and the
wetness pushes and ebbs against the clear plastic. Don’t drip, don’t drip, DON’T DRIP. I think in a panic. She places a container of milk onto
the circle within the square. Oh not milk! I watch it wobble about and feel like the milk will attack me.

I slowly scan the room wondering where to sit. I see a small spot at the end of a table. I squeeze myself onto the end of the bench so I don’t
have to step over because I am scared to spill my veggies again. It did not occur to me to set my tray down and then sit on the bench, instead
choosing to squeeze where there wasn’t quite enough room. The boy huffed and slid down a bit. I know when my brother makes this noise he
is not happy with me so I look away wondering what I did wrong.

I ignore the veggies and milk on my plate and pick up my corn dog. I am nervous to bite it with the kids watching me. So I hold it down by my leg
and I start to stim. I am bobbing the corn dog enjoying the feel of the swaying, feeling the weight of it pull and tug on my hand. I am lost in this when
I become aware that the boys at the table are snickering. Confused I look around to see what they are laughing about.

“Jean wants to be a boy!” One of the boys closest to me called out. After a roar of laughter another boy calls out… “Look how she plays with it!”

I am feeling horrified at this point and can’t figure out what they are referring to. I begin to stim faster and they laugh even harder. I finally begin to cry.

“Look at the big boy cry!”

Mrs. Campbell comes to my side telling the boys to quiet down. She takes the corn dog away from me and pulls me off the bench. I begin to cry harder
because I know she has finally come to punish me for hitting the girl with my tray.

“Stop crying, Jean. It’s ok” I stopped crying. I felt like I was floating. Everything was finally quiet. I wasn’t scared anymore. I have escaped into my own
little bubble. I am finally safe.

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