52 Caitline Blinder Looking back now, I never understood why I was scared of Mrs. Hawks. I get that I was 13, but I . . . I don’t know. I just didn’t think that she was going to play a key role in my life. She also used to always say that she has eyes like a hawk, and she did. She was my 7th-grade Language Arts teacher at Simmons Middle School. In 2007, I was 13 years old and she had us write a creative writing piece by the end of class. I was excited to write something instead of looking at her at the front of the room. Even though we were asked to look at her, I couldn’t. I kept my head down most of the time. The main reason was because I was scared of her. I always covered my hands in her class for fear of being exposed. I was a shy and lonely kid with few friends. I wore this oversized, gray hoodie all the time and it always smelled like cigarettes and Skittles. A somber yet loving aroma that reminds me of back then. I only showed my hands whenever we had to write something. I got out my notebook and my #2 pencil and tried thinking and writing with the lack of support of a left-handed desk. I was never bothered by it, and although it’s annoying now, I didn’t mind when I got lead that covered the side of my left hand. I regularly see pen smears and lines on both my hands now. I still can’t quite remember what I wrote exactly, but I remember writing about some scenery from a video game that was a home for me. It was Harvest Moon: AWonderful Life. I played it so much back then. I played it instead of doing my homework and studying. I always got bad grades, but I can’t say I ever did when I was in the art and English classes; I liked creating and expressing myself. In my notebook, I wrote about the game’s scenery. I wrote about the cherry blossoms, the streams with fish in them, and the tall blades of grass. And the blue skies, and the warmth of the sun beating down on me. I want to think that what I wrote sounded good, but afterward, I thought it was crap and I didn’t knowwhy I wrote it. Yet, I think I wrote that because it was a warmmemory that I could talk about. Still, because I was lonely, I thought I was only talking to myself. And then the bell raaaaannnggg. I was a slow learner too, so I always took longer to complete assignments. All my other classmates were done before me like always. I also felt rushed since we only got a fewminutes to get to each class. So, I ripped my paper out, trying to fix the frayed edges to make up for my illegible handwriting. I looked up at her, and she was looking at me. I hated eye contact, and I still get nervous when I do look at people. I thought I could ignore her eye contact if I kept staring at the pile of papers on her desk–but she didn’t stop looking at me. I was the nervous writer looking at the piercing eyes of the hawk. I gave her an awkward smile and I rushed to my next class, knowing I was going to be late. That was from being 13. writer, hawks, and meaningl ess, crappy words
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy NzkyNTY=