Through My Eyes

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, feeling the pressure of the seat on my legs, knowing I should be listening to the lesson but the constant humming of the snack refrigerator in the corner pulls my attention. I hear the feet shuffling around me, whispers of kids not paying attention; a sniffle… a fly buzzing and bouncing off the window. I register the droning voice of the teacher somewhere amidst it all. I count the bounces of the fly… one… two… three… fo –

“Jean? Did you hear me ask you to turn to page 32?” The teacher snaps my attention by saying my name; that familiar painful jolt takes my attention away from all the noises in the room. I put my head down and flip the pages of my book while looking with my peripheral vision at the book on the desk next to me to peek at the page to turn to.

I suppress the urge to cry as the children’s laughter in the room resounds too loud in my ears. I feel an acute emotional response with the words of a classmate followed by a high pitched giggle ‘She’s so stupid’ and a tight knot grips my throat and even if I had to speak, I would not.

I could not.

The loud shrill bell startles me and continues in a high grating rattle signaling the start of the lunch hour. The children jump up happily with loud scraping noises of pieces of paper on desks, books slamming shut with resounding painful impact, talking in whirling voices around me. I catch snippets of voices “I’m first to the door!” “dodge ball!” “Mrs. Campbell!” “Lunch!”

I watch in confusion at the moving bodies of children waiting for them to filter out of the door, so I can be left in the quiet of the humming fridge and the comforting sound of the bouncing fly. Everything looks too big now, scary and looming. The walls blend with the windows, the windows with the doors. I look around wondering where to go.

Where is the cafeteria?

I peek around the door into the hallway, I see a child grabbing their lunch bag and spotting my chance so I hurry after her to make my way to the cafeteria behind her. I follow at a distance to make sure she won’t turn around and accuse me of following her. I felt an odd mix of guilt and fear for tailing after her, yet relieved not to be getting lost again on the way to lunch. When I enter the lunch room the roar of voices brings the fear bubbling to a new level.

The sea of faces and smells of food wash over me. The smell of the frozen mixed vegetables instantly makes me nauseous and dizzy. I feel my eyes opening too wide and my breathing too shallow. I try to move forward but my feet remain planted like they have grown roots into the black and white tile floor. Running children bang into me and a terror courses through my body, yet I still can’t move. I stumble forward and stop rigidly a few feet ahead of where I was before.

I feel someone take my hand and begin pulling me away. I look up blankly wondering who has my hand. The blank feeling left me even more scared and confused. Recognition sets in and I realize it is my teacher, Mrs. Campbell and she is pulling me towards the stack of ugly pink and green trays. She picks up a pink one and holds it out to me. I look at it blankly and notice the squares and rectangles on it. The smallest square has a recessed circle in it for a cup.

I don’t want it. It has a chip in it and I don’t want to touch it. It looks rough and sharp and I am scared it will cut me. Mrs. Campbell pushes the tray at my chest forcing me to grab it lest I let it drop. The fear of the noise it would make when hitting the floor over rides the fear of touching it. I grab the tray and a cold wet spot of water off the newly washed tray spreads over my fingers.

I want to cry. I’m dizzy, scared, overwhelmed and confused. Mrs. Campbell is pointing and my confusion grows. Where does she want me to go? She puts her hands on my shoulders and her hands feel like they are digging into my skin. She begins pushing me to a long line of writhing children. The children bump me and push me. I do my best to shrink myself smaller against the wall.

I hold the pink tray rigidly in front of me like food is already served on it. A girl jumps back towards me and her head hits the tray. She yells at the top of her voice “Jean hit me with her tray!” I feel emotions so big I want to run away. But I stand there, waiting for the teacher to get mad and yell at me. The line moves up and I remain in place. The boy behind me leans forward and yells in my ear “Go!” giving me a push and I stumble forward.

I reach the serving ladies and they are asking me questions about what I want to eat. There are too many things to choose from. I look at them but say nothing. I can’t say anything. I look at the mixed vegetables. Yuck. Please don’t give me those. There is an ugly brown stuff being spooned over bread. I have had that before I know it tastes good but feels gross. Please do not give me that. Tater tots my favorite. I don’t know what that other stuff is - but it stinks.

No, no, no.

A big pile of corn dogs sit in the last container. I like those. I watch as the serving lady takes a big spoon and dips it into the mixed veggies. She taps it down on my plate with a sharp painful tap. Squares and circles of green and orange roll and tumble about a square on my plate. I don’t like peas and carrots together when the carrots are cut into squares. It makes me feel strange... like I want to scream at them. I felt very upset seeing them against the ugly pink of the tray.

I feel my lips purse together and tug down as the urge to cry becomes stronger. I remember then that the girl had tattled on me and I felt the fear of getting into trouble again. Before my fear subsides another serving lady booms “Here honey” and I watch as she drops a corn dog from her gloved hand. As I feel the weight of the corn dog land on my plate, I feel the tray dip down.

It feels like the tray will tip and I over correct leveling it out and the peas and carrots roll into other compartments. Before I can panic about the rolling veggies I notice how her hand is wet inside the glove and the wetness pushes and ebbs against the clear plastic. Don’t drip, don’t drip, DON’T DRIP. I think in a panic.

She places a container of milk onto the circle within the square. Oh not milk! I watch it wobble about and feel like the milk will attack me. I slowly scan the room wondering where to sit. I see a small spot at the end of a table. I squeeze myself onto the end of the bench so I don’t have to step over because I am scared to spill my veggies again. It did not occur to me to set my tray down and then sit on the bench, instead choosing to squeeze where there wasn’t quite enough room.

The boy huffed and slid down a bit. I know when my brother makes this noise he is not happy with me so I look away wondering what I did wrong. I ignore the veggies and milk on my plate and pick up my corn dog. I am nervous to bite it with the kids watching me. So I hold it down by my leg and I start to stim (Self-stimulatory behavior). I am bobbing the corn dog enjoying the feel of the swaying, feeling the weight of it pull and tug on my hand. Calming the turbulent feelings and emotions washing over me.

I am lost in this feeling when I become aware that the boys at the table are snickering. Confused, I look around to see what they are laughing about. “Jean wants to be a boy!” One of the boys closest to me called out. After a roar of laughter another boy calls out… “Look how she plays with it!”

I am feeling horrified and even more confused and I can’t figure out what they are referring to. I begin to stim faster and they laugh even harder as the corndog bobs quickly in a graceful arc. I finally begin to cry. “Look at the big boy cry!”

Mrs. Campbell comes to my side telling the boys to quiet down. She takes the corn dog away from me and pulls me off the bench. I begin to cry harder because I know she has finally come to punish me for hitting the girl with my tray. “Stop crying, Jean. It’s ok” I stopped crying. I felt like I was floating. Everything was finally quiet.

I wasn’t scared anymore. I have escaped into my own little bubble.

I finally feel safe.