A Gift or a Curse?

Everybody has felt different to others, at least once in their lives.

We have all had that feeling when we like something that everybody else hates, or we have come from a place nobody else has heard of. Or we believe certain things that others don't, or have worn clothes people laughed at. But no matter what that situation is or how uncomfortable it makes you feel, it will be over eventually and you will forget about it.

That's not how it is for me.

I have been different my whole life. I have cried and hidden away because of it. People have hated and feared me because of it. I had to leave schools because of it. I had to spend my life away from others because of it.

I sigh deeply as I sit down on a bench. I look around and see children happily playing in a park. I see some boys skateboarding past me. I see a group of girls the same age as me carrying shopping bags and giggling. I see hundreds of people carrying on with their daily lives, totally ignorant of their luck. Complaining and frowning when they really have nothing to be upset about.

I have never understood why people take all the amazing things in their lives for granted. I see a woman shouting onto her cellphone, not paying any attention to her little son, who is clinging onto her hand. I see people hugging each other. I see people shaking hands. I wonder why they never stop for a moment and appreciate how lucky they are to be able to touch each other. I havent touched anyone for eight years. Not even my parents. If I did, then somebody will get hurt, or even die.

A man speaking on his phone interrupts my thoughts. It's not his loud voice that distracts me, but what he is saying. He is arranging an appointment for his son. A doctor's appointment.

Those words suddenly grab hold of my mind and before I know it, I am reliving yesterday's events. 

It was a Saturday morning, and the weather was hot and sunny without a breath of wind. I would have been in a good mood, however, it was the day when I would be visiting yet another doctor. I really shouldn't have been surprised when my parents told me about the appointment they had made. They had been sending me to doctors all over the country ever since I was six years old. When I started my... strange behaviour.

I couldn't even feel angry or frustrated with them anymore. I knew that they tried their best to help me, even if they didnt always know what I really wanted. And more than that, I think that finding out what was wrong with me had become a sort of goal for them; something that they could focus on instead of the fact that I was getting worse each day.

When we arrived at the doctor he surprised me by asking to speak with me alone. No blood tests, no x-rays. He just wanted to talk to me. Like I was a normal human being. There was something about this request that made me feel comfortable sitting across from him in the organized room that would otherwise have been quite intimidating.  

He asked me to tell him about my "gifts", as he called them, and his smile was so caring and kind that I couldn't stop myself from telling him everything.

I told him about when I was six years old and all of my classmates were standing in a circle around me and teasing me. One of them had grabbed my arm and they immediately recoiled, screaming in pain. Later that week, I had handed a piece of paper to my teacher. As our skin made contact, she gasped and pulled her hand away as if she had been shocked.

A year went by without anything strange happening again, and then one day, I had fallen down the stairs and hurt my arm really badly. My arm was already healed by the time we had arrived at the hospital. There wasn't a single cut or bruise to be seen. More of these incidents regularly occurred from that day on:

I had walked past a cold fireplace and the ashes had burst into flames. A vase had suddenly cracked while I was standing near it. I had given my mother a nasty red burn after hugging her. I was never sick and injuries healed within hours - if not, then minutes. I was sent to every doctor my parents could find. I got expelled from multiple schools because I was "a danger to the other students". No matter how hard I had tried, I couldn't get rid of the abilities that had destroyed my life.

I nervously looked up at the doctor, holding back tears. I didn't know why I had told him so much. He isn't any different from the other doctors. I thought. He will just tell me I'm crazy like everyone else has.

But as I looked into his eyes, I saw the same kindness in them that I had seen before. I was even more shocked when he told me that he had met someone like me before. He still hadn't discovered why we were this way. He told me that I was special and that if I practised, I could learn to control my abilities so they didnt come at such... inconvenient times. He said that I could use my gifts to help other people. 

I thought about his words the whole time while driving home. I didn't share my parents' joy when they heard the news. I desperately wanted to try and help people, but I knew it wouldn't work. My abilities could only break things; they couldn't do anything good for the world. The little hope that I had after speaking to the doctor slowly disapeared until it seemed that it had never been there before.

Once again, I am pulled out of my thoughts by people in the street. I notice a young girl trip and fall on the ground. Her mother helps her up and she brushes the dirt off her clothes.

This sparks a sudden, vivid memory that I didn't even know I had.

I was about twelve years old and it was my first day at a new school. This was the last school that would accept me so I knew that I had to try extra hard to be good. We were all playing outside during break time and one of the girls a few years younger than me tripped on her untied shoelace and grazed her knee on the cement. I automatically rushed over to offer her my hand. It was only when I was holding her hand to help her up did I realize my mistake. I waited for her to shout or cry or fall back down. But instead of being hurt more, the graze quickly shrank until it looked a few weeks old.

Her eyes growing wide, the girl looked at her knee, then at my hand and then at her knee again. Then she smiled and said, "You have magic fingers!"

I laugh, for what must be the first time in years. All this time, I had been ignoring that memory. The one good thing that my hands had done.

As I think harder I realize what this actually means. I healed someone else! I know I can do it again, and not just for somebody with a little graze. I can heal people who are dying. I stand up, suddenly motivated. Where should I start? As if to answer my question, there is a sudden gust of wind that blows a poster onto my feet. I pick it up and read the heading:

"Donate to the Children's Cancer Fund. You can save a life today."

My smile grows even wider. I sure can.