Chapter 2

The beginning of my academia began when I was around 4 years old. I wanted to go to school so badly because it was the next step to growing up. Do you remember always wanting to grow up and be like the adults when you were little? I definitely do, but school for me was a challenge. Academically, I did more than okay. Unfortunately, my take on socially acceptable behaviors, fun subject matter for discussions, and misunderstanding of social ques was very quickly realized young.

It was strange, really. On one hand, people would see an outgoing little girl with a head for leadership. On the other, I was entirely awkward and had difficulty making friends that went deeper than the skin which I craved with everything I was. I found myself alone most of the time. Other kids would try to have a conversation with me and I would either talk their ears off, take the lead on a task, or you'd find me completely shutting down. For the most part, I just tried to understand my peers and failed time after time. I couldn't understand why they were so upset with little things that, to me, didn't matter. On top of that, they were upset but wouldn't talk about it or even admit it! It was obvious to me, though. I was sensitive. As sensitive as you could imagine. Loud noises, meaningless chatter, and teasing affected me like bullets to the chest or a beating upon my skull. It was immensely uncomfortable and yet, I loved going to school! Why?

Academics.

I loved diving into books, numbers, drawing, writing, and puzzles. Especially the puzzles. For me, everything was a puzzle to be solved and I felt good when I accomplished something. Perhaps I clung to this more than the social constructs of child-play because on some level of conscious, or subconsciousness, I knew I was different. I just didn't understand how I was different.

Why could I feel things they couldn't? How could I know things others didn't? For example, I had a teacher that on the outside you would think she was completely okay. Somehow, I knew she wasn't okay; that it was a mask she had to wear to shelter us children from the full and real spectrum of human emotion. I only knew I was right when I had hung back from the rest of the kids running out for a play break and overheard her tell another teacher about a problem she was having. Her boyfriend had broken up with her and she had no idea how she was going to get through the rest of the day she was so depressed. I absorbed that and went to play by myself on the far end of the field, closest to the fence that kept us unruly ones from escaping.

Just beyond this fence I resented was my favorite thing in the whole world: Nature. Long stalks of tall, tan-green grass swayed in the breeze. I saw bunnies, little birds, gophers, and grasshoppers. It was my favorite place to be on the play ground and I would stand there for hours making up little stories for all the animals I'd see. Then one day, something else caught my eye. In the shadows of the grass, the stalks broke around the shape of another kind of animal. It took one step forward and the sun cast golden light through the fur of a dark gray, yet ethereal, wolf.

Now, if you know anything about the southern California coastline, you would know that wolves do not live here. Coyotes, sure. Shepherds that might look like wolves, sure. Huskies and Malamutes, sure. Here was the problem, I had been studying dog breeds since I learned to form words. I knew what each of these looked like and what stood before me, some 25 yards away, was no dog or coyote. It was a wolf but not one from this exact plane of existence. It was almost see through, with bright green-yellow eyes, staring right at me. It seemed to huff once, lowering its head in a sort of respectful bow, and disappeared. I felt like it was still there, watching, but the grass didn't break around its form anymore. All proof of its reality erased except from my memory. But after I saw it, I felt safe and protected in away I'd never felt before.

Afterwards, on other days, I would only catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, its watchful presence a balm on my nervous little soul. Once, it just sat in the grass, watching the kids play. I took the opportunity to try and tell a friend about it.

"Timmy! Come see this!"

He jogged over, ice-blue eyes glassy and merry, "What's up?"

"There's a wolf out there!" I exclaimed, pointing past the fence to where he sat.

"Pff, no way! Wolves don't live here," he tried to reason.

"Yeah, well I'm seeing one now and I'm not making it up. See for yourself!"

He walked up to the fence and pressed against it, one hand reaching up to grab the wire of the fence. Bless his heart, he really did try to look. He didn't see it, but he pretended he did to save my feelings. I knew this like I knew the teacher had been sad without showing it. Then he said, "Oh yea, I see it. Wow, that's cool! Um, I'm gonna go back over there though, k? Have fun with the - uh - wolf."

I watched him half jog, half skip back to his group of friends. I didn't even know any of their names even though we shared the same classroom. I glanced back at the wolf and he was gone. Looking down at the ground, I scuffed my shoe on the dirt and watched the dust billow up, float away, and resettle on a lifted mound of dirt.

That's when I found the dinosaur skeleton.

No, not a real one, dang it; but it was fun to play pretend anyway.

This mound of dirt was raised higher than the surrounding land and the patterns in the dirt looked like it could be the skeletal remains of a small dinosaur. I had a wild imagination and a love for discovering things. So, with the enthusiasm that only a small child can have for things like strangely packed earth, I ran back to the classroom and begged for paint brushes. I was given them grudgingly before I ran back to the dark, tan, dusty remains. I had watched some kind of show at the time about excavating dinosaurs (yeah, I was that kid) and set to with gusto. Brush, brush, brush away the dust.

Eventually, some of my peers wandered over to see what I was up to.

Timmy being the bravest of the bunch and the one who knew me best approached first.

"Ah, Amber, what are you doing?"

Without breaking stride or losing eye contact with my project I answered like any other proper 5 year old professor of dinosaur excavation, "Don't you see this is an undiscovered find. I believe it may be the head of a T-Rex! See, look at the hole there for the eye! And the edge of the top of the skull, here, see?!"

"This is pretend?" Timmy asked skeptically after some friends snickered behind their hands. Like I didn't know the difference between a real thing and pretend...who did he think I was anyway?

That's when I looked up. Blue-green eyes met ice and I nodded, "Of course it's pretend. But what if it really is a dinosaur. Only one way to find out, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he responded with more enthusiasm, "Come on guys, lets see about this dinosaur!" The other kids ran back to the classroom for their own paint brushes and we began our excavation as a team. Some of the kids would ask me questions about dinosaurs or about some section they were working on. This was when I shined the most. I answered their questions and when they seemed excited by the answer it was like my heart would grow, fit to bursting.

As the days went on, less and less kids came to work on the dinosaur. By the end of a week, I was alone again, but I didn't mind. That was until I uncovered concrete the first time. Turns out, it was simply an old model toy train's foundation before it had been moved closer to the school house. That was the last day I worked on that dinosaur excavation and deemed it a success anyway. We still solved the mystery of what it was, didn't we?

Pre-school was a place of many firsts and I remember them fondly, mostly. Pre-school was the first time I'd been exposed to gymnastics. I felt like a monkey swinging from bar to bar fearlessly. Pulling myself up to do a flip across the long, chalky bar. I even would plan for gymnastic days and dress in clothes just so my movement wouldn't be hindered after a spill I took when my long, loose shirt got caught once. I got a dollar from the tooth fairy that time, so no big deal.

My mom then tried to put me in gymnastics at the local civic center and was very quickly told that I was not, and never would be, limber enough to bother with lessons. Apparently, the gym teacher told my mother not to waste her money. To this day, my mother will tell you how offended she was on my behalf. The story I received that young, was the woman was rude and not worth the money and that's why I didn't continue gymnastics. My mother didn't tell me the truth until I was little older, but I didn't mind because...well...it is true after all. Instead, I continued to have fun with the lessons I could at the pre-school simply because I felt free and strong.

Pre-school was also where I received my first kiss and glimpse at romance.

It wasn't long after the dinosaur episode. Although the other kids thought I was a complete weirdo for continuing to dig at it as long as I did, Timmy never seemed to judge me. He let me join his crew and I finally learned how to play with other kids in a less awkward way. We led the group like King and Queen, only checking in with each other as to which game to we should all play next.

Then one day he came to school with a small, long box. I was resting under the shade of the giant oak, listening to its slow thoughts as I leaned against its cool bark. I heard some kind of scuffle against the ground and opened my eyes to see Timmy cautiously coming towards me, that long box in a death grip between his small hands. His frock of golden hair seemed to quiver with nerves and I couldn't place what I was feeling from him for the first time.

When he got within a few feet from me, he thrust the box out in my direction.

"This is for you," he squeaked. I took the box and opened it. Inside held a golden necklace and it was one of the pretties pieces of jewelry I'd ever seen.

"Oh my gosh! Timmy, where did you get this?"

"My dad bought it for me so I could give it to you. I...I like you. My dad, he kisses a girl when he gives them a gift and she kisses him back. It's..a thank you...I guess," he suddenly stopped and blushed, taking a step back.

I just stared at him. What? A kiss like Snow White or Cinderella? But, but, but...my mind started to run. My silence gave him a moment to regain his courage.

"So, I was thinking...do you want to kiss me?" he asked, his voice growing in strength with each word.

Kiss him?! I wanted to be him! How did he not know that?! But I was stuck. I didn't know how to say no when the only thing I could pick up from him was this need - it was so overwhelming.

"Um, ok," I answered. He sat down, crossing his legs in front of him, then leaned in slowly and gave me a soft, sweet, chaste kiss. I received it and didn't know how to feel. Leaning back, he smiled his cocky little grin I'd seen when he felt confident.

"How was that?"

"Ok, I guess. Thank you for the necklace, Timmy," I said in reply.

"Don't mention it. Wear it, will you? I'll, um, see you later," he said bouncing up from his seat and running off to join his pack. He tried on and off for weeks after that to get me back into position for another kiss. I avoided him and everyone I had learned to call friend after that. The truth was, I didn't like it. The attention was nice, but the actual act of kissing a boy I was not that much a fan of.

My mother on the other hand was thrilled. I think she might have taken it as a sign I really was just a tom-boy and I'd grow out of it. Ha ha! Not! But that's a story for a later date.

I continued my pre-school days learning all I could while struggling with all of the noise, mild bullying, and the barrage of emotion from my peers. The biggest problem at the time was that I didn't know how to articulate any of these experiences. As it turns out, that's not an unusual problem for highly sensitive children.

I want to take a moment to define a 'highly sensitive' child. This is not to say that we get our feelings hurt easily and we are soft. In fact, it's exactly the opposite. We are strong because we deal with more than our own emotions. We deal with everyone else's, too. I didn't know this until I was much older, but everything I experienced as a young child and the way I saw and understood the world was because I was an empath and hyper sensitive to the magnetic fields and energies that make up every piece of our world.

But, when you're five years old and experiencing this, you have no clue what is actually happening. The alienation for me wasn't a problem, it was a relief. I didn't feel lonely or isolated. I felt safe and perfectly happy to be on my own with no one else's thoughts, expectations, and social rules to hinder my creative mind. That may be why I was so focused on academics, especially writing and drawing.

It was when I had to socialize that I had problems. I wanted to be social! I wanted to be like everyone else in a group, but didn't know how. I could relate better to the adults in my life at the dinner parties and corporate gatherings my mother would bring me to than I could children my own age. I remember a distinct conversation with an adult at one of these parties when I was six years old.

"Wow, you're like no other six year old I've ever met. You seem much older," he said to me, sipping his wine while leaned back comfortably on a frumpy, cream couch.

Sitting a little taller and delighted with the praise, I responded, "Kids my age and I don't get along, well. They're immature and joke about things I don't understand. I prefer talking to grown-ups like you and focusing on becoming a veterinarian one day."

He guffawed and laughed, "Well, you'll definitely be a good one someday, little one."

I never became a veterinarian, just fyi. As much as I have a brain for factual knowledge, chemistry and I have never really gotten along.

Pre-school was filled with little lessons and wisdoms. I knew who I was in a social group by the time I left. I knew there were certain things one shouldn't discuss. Playing pretend was okay if you were completely alone or with a group that agreed to play the same game. Separating myself would help me calm down or feel better around strong emotion before returning to play. Teasing was also acceptable as long as it didn't turn mean. Sharing was definitely a skill I needed to work on (#onlychildproblems). And, I was just going to have to get over the loudness of everyone else when I was trying to concentrate (which I never really did, even to this day).

More was to come, though. Much more than I could have ever fathomed. My life was only just beginning and the things I was about to go through would slowly change my direction in life in the most drastic of ways...

A Word from the Author: This set of works is based on a true story. Names and certain specifics have been removed or changed out of respect for those discussed. If you're enjoying the story so far, please help support me in continuing to add to this book by leaving a gift (or tip) below. Thank you so much for reading this excerpt my beautiful friends. Look for Chapter 3's release March 17, 2020.