Ruby Red Scar

Eyes pierce through my flesh everytime I walk through a door. When I’m just trying to buy groceries, pump gas into my car, walk into the bank, I can feel it. I can feel their gaze fixated on me. Their eyes, it feels like a stab in my heart. Everytime. Everytime I walk through a door. It never gets better. They always stare. They always judge. They always talk. I mean everyone likes to be the center of attention sometimes, but not me. At least not in this way. I can hear their whispers. I can feel their eyes, and I force myself to look down so I don’t have to look at the disgust on their faces. I try to hide it, but that's never enough. I can always feel it.

I am a normal person. Or at least I try to tell myself I am. My morning routine is the same as everyone else's. I wake up at 6am to get ready for work. I take a shower, I get dressed, I brush my teeth, I eat breakfast. Except I can’t stand to look at myself. Mirrors are my worst fear. I can’t even take a glance at myself in a reflection. I disgust myself. I never thought something like this could cost my life, my career, my dream. I just want to live a happy, normal life. Do I not deserve that? I’m forced to work on a farm because no one else will accept me. Because, now everything is based on beauty. You have to look perfect to even be considered for a job. I didn’t even ask for much, I’d enjoy just being a waiter at a small restaurant, or a manager of a grocery store. Any small thing can make me happy after my life was ruined.

I just wanted to be an actor. It was my dream but not after what happened. Agencies won’t accept me. They all think I’m ugly just because of what they see on the surface. They just don’t know the real me. Everyday I live with regret. Everyday I wonder what the point of living even is, if I can’t be happy. Everyday I wonder, what would my life be like if I had a different childhood. If things didn’t happen as they did, would I be normal?

The one time I thought I actually had friends. I was born in Taiwan. I never remembered anything about my life there, but maybe it would be better if I go back. I moved to the United States at the age of four. I started kindergarten with all the other children except I didn’t know how to speak english. These were the worst days of my life. Even at a young age I was an outcast. I never had anyone to play with. They all spat at me, called me names, threw papers at me. Even my teacher. She had no patience with me, all she did was yell at me for not understanding. They bullied me, but this would be nothing compared to what they would do to me later.

We constantly moved. Over and over and over. I had many chances to make friends. Everytime we moved I was excited to escape and start somewhere new. I dreamed about having people that actually talked to me. After moving to Hyland, I found a place where I belonged. The middle school there was beat up and ran down, moldy spots on the ceilings where it would drip when it rained, holes in the walls, doors, and lockers, words written in sharpie all over the bathroom stalls, desks with layers of old gum stuck to the bottom of the seats. This was hell, but it was my oasis. I finally found people who would actually talk to me. I guess they just all wanted to meet the new kid. I will never be able to forget this year at this school.

I will never forget. It was my birthday. I was turning 13 and my parents planned this amazing birthday party at the park. My favorite park. There was a river in that park. A long windy river. One with not so much of a strong current. It’s shallow and we used to throw things into it all the time. I invited my whole 7th grade class expecting they would show up, but only my 3 friends came. My best friends. The people I could trust and rely on. It was amazing. My parents brought pizza and cookies and chips and snacks. It honestly could’ve been the best day of my life. They sang me happy birthday. We ate the cake and then went off to play. We were playing by that river like we always did. We threw weirdly shaped rocks and sticks and random trash we found on the bank of the river back into the winding waters and watched as the current took it away. I was squatting at the edge of the river. I feel two hands on my back and then I don’t remember anything after that. I’m surprised I even remembered that much.

I suddenly woke up. I woke up in a strange place. It smelled like rubbing alcohol like how a doctor’s office smells like. Then I realize where I am. I look around for my parents, my friends, anyone that can provide me comfort. And my dad’s asleep in the corner of the room in a little chair. I start crying, wailing, screaming for help but I can’t move. I’m physically weak. My face is covered with gauze. I still don’t know what happened that day, but I can imagine.

I was told I fell into that river. By my parents, my friends, my friends’ parents. I fell? How could I have fallen? I knew that wasn’t right. I felt something. I felt someone right before I couldn't remember anymore. I knew I didn’t fall. I was pushed. Someone pushed me into that river. But, they won’t tell me that I was pushed? My friend's parents must have been trying to cover up for their own children. That day I remember so vividly because that day is what makes me, me. My friends pushed me into that river and I woke up lost with a horrific scar running across my face. But that's not even the worst part. I remember that day because that was the day I lost the people who I thought actually loved me. Who actually cared about me. My friends and my parents, how could they lie to me? Tell me it was my fault for falling into the river when I know that wasn’t the truth, and now I have to live with the consequences of trusting people.