Chipped

 

By Emily Robinson, 8th grade

 

Middle school sucks. Let’s be honest, no matter what age, or grade, it 100% totally and completely sucks. I’ve always been the weird one, the awkward one. 

 

“Oh, it’s just Emily,” they say. 

 

Simple name, “Emily Robinson.” Just a name fading into the background of the crowd. But never quite invisible enough.

 

****

Walking down the school hallway I try to avoid all of those eyes watching, staring, judging. I clutch my books close to my chest, hoping that if I squeeze them close enough that I might actually disappear. I slither between people, trying to get by without making physical contact. Then come the stairs. I take them two at a time, tracing one finger along the deep blue rail, which is damp from so many sweaty hands. A few paint chips gently fall to the ground as I run my finger along, revealing the rusted metal underneath. 

 

At the top of the stairs there is a door leading to the 6th grade hallway. That dreaded door. I quicken my pace to reach it before my classmates, because I know that I’ll be too scared to say, “Excuse me,” and will end up getting through last. But someone else has the same idea and runs for it. We bump into each other, squeezing through the door. “Sorry” I breathe, a whisper so quiet that I can’t even hear it.

 

I’m through the doors and into the hallway when I feel a force smash my body  into the lockers, my head slamming against the cold metal. I just sit there on the floor, my brain pulsing along with my heartbeat. My body tells me to run, run far away. But I’m stuck inside my mind, like my brain is searching through files that just aren’t there. I now refer to this event as The 6th Grade Locker Incident. If I called it what it really was, no one would ever look at me the same again.

 

I am now on the floor, sitting, head throbbing. I reach for my things, expecting to get up, when the first wave hits. Binders crash into the side of my head, knocking me over. Shocked, I look up, and see the next wave coming quickly. I flip onto my hands and knees scrambling to get away, but for me time is in slow motion, and  I’m hit again and again as I crawl away. I slide into a corner, hiding under a table at the end of the hall.

 

I am a gazelle hiding in the lion’s den. But I guess I forgot that people follow. 

Books and binders crash into me again from under the table, but this time I have a plan. I’m going to run. Pushing myself up, I try to escape, but my shoes don’t grip the floor , and I slip, crashing into the jagged corner of the table. A sharp pain shoots through my head, and I surrender.

 

****

 

The truth is that you can’t control anything in life. You can’t hide under tables, and you certainly can’t run away. Anything you think you have power over is an illusion. Things happen the way it was set out to way before mankind even came to this world, and I guess that this was just a part of my life that was meant to happen. You see, bad things happen. They have to. They have to so that good things can prevail like they always do. Bad things are just experience that we need. You can’t have joy without a little pain, and this was my pain. So I let it happen.

 

As this event came to an end, I just sat there, those couple minutes stretched out until they felt like a million years had passed. I just stared at the wall. The wall that needed a new paint job years ago. Staring at that stupid, dull, painted brick wall, that I hated seeing every day. Some of my faith in humanity was lost that day. 1,000 knights in shining armor, but not one with a sword. 1,000 heroes to be, but not a single one starting their journey.

 

So now here I am, two years later. Still plain, still in the background, like the white, chipping paint of an old house. That’s me. Plain, chipped. But then again, I suppose that’s everyone. Everyone is at least a little chipped. But just because you’re chipped, doesn’t mean that you’re broken, just—experienced.

 

Over time, we all chip a little, but don’t pick up the chips. Never. Just let them fall. It’s okay, because you can get a new coat, a new coat that refreshes you and gives you hope. And with every chip that falls, some of you goes with it. But it leaves more room for another part of you to grow, or be discovered. That day, I picked myself up, picked up my things and kept going.