The Gift of Seeing Beyond
“Are you lost, little girl?” an older boy – dark-haired and brown-eyed – taunted, sneering at me.
“What’s a kid like you doing here in our class?” a girl sniffed indignantly. She glanced at me over her raised nose with an air of haughtiness about her.
To be put simply, I was the youngest in my English class, and it was never such a benefit for me to be mousier and younger than others were. The moment I stepped into the room, it was as though a hell of name-calling was unleashed upon me.
While I was beyond delighted and proud of myself for earning a high score on my test, it wasn’t exactly a good thought to relish in when your classmates detested you because of numbers. Obtaining a teacher’s praise in front of class wasn’t toning down the whole assumption that I was a teacher’s pet, and it only made everything worse, to be honest.
As I was exiting the classroom, I felt my shoulders being gripped and then shoved harshly toward the floor. I barely caught myself. When I looked up, I saw a couple of other students glaring at me, brushing past me as if I was a piece of furniture.
“Don’t be such an insufferable know-it-all,” the same dark-haired boy – Shane – spat at me.
I lowered my gaze, clamped into silence. I was worth nothing; they’d made that clear.
“Mum,” I started during dinner on the day I received my test results. I picked at and stabbed my vegetables with a fork. “Why do my classmates hate me?”
I heard a soft clink as Mum set down her silver cutlery. I couldn’t afford to look at her in the eye; I had intolerance with eye contact. To me, when you gaze into someone else’s eyes, you’re entering an entire new universe and it could span infinitely, without end, and you just don’t know when you’ll stop. I was afraid of what I might find in them – hate? Rage? Envy?
“Why would you think that?” Mum asked softly, sitting across me.
“I – they push me around like I’m nothing, Mum. As if I’m not worth a penny.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re worth more than even a bucket of diamonds.”
“Yeah, because you’re my mother! Of course you’d feel that way.”
Mum sighed. “How do you know if they really do hate you?”
“Look at them in the eye. Discover the secrets their gazes may hold.”
“Perhaps they’re merely jealous of you, darling. Perhaps they want to be your friends, but they don’t know how.”
I breathed out a defeated sigh. “Maybe…”
A crumpled piece of paper bounced off my head. I looked up from my worksheet, glowering at Shane. “What do you want?” I seethed, which only seemed to give him a smirk of satisfaction.
“So easy to rile up,” the boy mocked.
“Shut up!” I said through gritted teeth. Not so quietly, perhaps.
The classroom looked up from their tasks and went, “SHH!”
I ducked my head, red creeping up my cheeks and glazing my eyes. Why, that little––
“Can you give me your pen?” he asked.
“Why should I?” I shot back.
“I’ve forgotten to bring mine,” he said it in such an easygoing, nonchalant manner and it made my blood boil. Literally.
My fists curled until my nails were molding crescent crevices into my palms. “Bloody hell, no!”
He appeared pleased with himself, smirking devilishly. “And why not, Bianca?”
“It’s your own fault you’ve forgotten to bring your pen!”
“SHHH!” my teacher hissed as her glare fixed on me.
I flushed redder than before, cowering into my seat deeper. When I heard him snort derisively, my glower snapped back into place – on him.
“Aw…” he cooed with a mocking tone. “Is the little dumb bunny in trouble? Teacher’s pet through and through.”
Pet, dumb bunny, know-it-all… The words pounded on my skull, trying to break through and haunt me.
Through the burning salt clouding my eyes, I could see a word on the tip of his tongue, but I escaped from the room before it could join my list of many other names.
“Talk to him. Kindness is the best offense, and it may heal old wounds,” Mum said to me. “Maybe he’s conflicted. A conflict in one’s life spurs one into desiring others to suffer the way one did.”
Shane was hunched over a game of ‘Plants versus Zombies’ on his tablet when I saw him next lesson. My finger, hovering over his unsuspecting shoulder, hesitated. I gathered what I’d learned from Mum, who was a psychology practitioner, last night, all night, begrudgingly compelled into helping by Mum’s inspirational speech at dinner, even if the people included rude bullies.
I pushed my aversion toward him aside and tapped his shoulder. He stiffened and twisted in his seat. But the moment his eyes landed on me, they were filled with thick loath – I braved myself to meet them, the stuttering blow it impacted on me, and glimpsed, though briefly, what was concealed behind that hatred – and his lips curled disdainfully.
“Hi,” I said, biting my lower lip and refraining from fidgeting as I kept my arms at my sides.
“What are you doing here, dumb bunny?”
I held the anger that was sparked by the insult. “I’m here to talk. And settle things like a mature, level-headed person.” In spite of the fact that I was easily eleven that time.
“All right.” I took a seat next to him on the sofa. “Why are you bullying me, Shane?”
Embarrassment and fury flashed in his eyes. “Why should I tell you?” A sign that he was avoiding something.
For once, I felt sorry for him. “I won’t judge,” I said softly.
“No one cares,” he said, his tone harsh. “So why should you?” He stood up, slung his bag’s strap over his shoulder and stormed out of the room.
I saw him two days later, slumping over his phone, in the lobby. During our classes, he had refused to meet my eyes or speak to me, even when the teacher threatened him to throw him outside for not being able to correspond to teamwork.
My car wasn’t here yet, so I took this chance to speak to him. I crept across from the armchair I had been sitting on. “Hi,” I started, playing with my fingers; a nervous tick I’d developed since I’d been a child.
Even though his body seemed to tense upon hearing me behind him, he didn’t say a word and returned to tabbing away on his gadget.
I grumbled. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I want everything to be on good terms between you and me.”
“Well,” he finally said, though his gaze never left the screen, “maybe that’s the problem about you. You’re too positive.” He laughed, the sound condescending and mocking. “Too freaking pure for your own good.”
Being a daughter of a psychologist, I recognised the manner he tried, and successfully, to avert the topic from him to me. The words he’d said didn’t strike a nerve – I was practically immune to them.
“Stop avoiding, would you?” I snapped at him. “I’m not going to judge.” I softened when his eyes turned distant, haunted almost. “I promise.”
He hesitated. “I was – I was never appreciated in my family…” He hung his head and his grip on his tablet loosened. “And I can’t help feeling like I want to make someone else go through what I had.”
I was lucky enough to have been born in a family where each other’s thoughts were heard and appreciated. I couldn’t believe I was such a selfish person to think it’d been all about me, that I hadn’t noticed these flaws of attempting to hide something using anger or hatred. Mum was right.
“Hey, Bianca,” Shane greeted me as he approached where I was studying.
I smiled. “Hi, Shane. How are you?”
“I’m great, thanks to you,” he said, sounding earnest and slightly breathless. “I opened up to my family, just like you suggested.”
“I’m happy.” I stood up to join him. “How’s it going?”
“Well, my brother’s starting to become closer to me, and my parents are trying their best to spare more of their time for me. So, it’s going good so far.”
There was a pause as they walked side by side through the corridors.
“You know,” Shane began, “I’m really sorry for what I did to you. It wasn’t nice of me.”
“Forgiven,” I assured him. “And I’m also sorry for judging you so quickly. I was too blind to see beyond certain things.”
He grinned. “Friends now?”
“Only unless you keep calling me ‘dumb bunny’.”
“You know what I meant to call you?”
I eyed him with playful curiosity. “What?”
His smile never faded, and neither did mine. “Clever girl.”
I couldn’t suppress the smile that was trying to break out. “You think I’m clever?”
Shane shrugged, as if he was stating facts. “Of course. I guess I was just jealous. And…” His eyes cast downward. “…I’m sorry about that.”
“I’ve forgiven you quite a while ago, Shane.” I leaned to sling one arm around his shoulders, only to struggle because of his height; I frowned in annoyance. “Though, maybe I haven’t forgiven you for being so tall.” He laughed, reaching his eyes, and slumped a little to spare me from standing on my tip toes.
Turned out, there was a gift in seeing beauty beyond one’s flaws. It may lead toward redemption, and then a truce of sorts. And perhaps, a beautiful friendship was waiting ahead of us.
