Did I waver on the tennis court that day? Cruelty came so easily after a week of feeling trapped, Betsy & I the only “normal” ones in our cabin, feeling like misfits ourselves, then forced into close proximity with a fat girl with a lisp, and a slow girl — a six-year-old in a 13-year-old’s body.

When you’re 13, and low on the totem pole, you grasp at anything to feel less powerless. Even when that means betraying your cabinmate, leading her, like a lamb to slaughter, into the mocking gaze of the boys.

Being cool felt more important than being kind.
[scs_alt]

PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!

I used to own the most beautiful, handcrafted, boar bristle brush. I haven’t much use for hairbrushes these days, my pixie cut requiring no more than some swishing with the fingers, but all through my childhood and into my teens my long, red locks were my crowning glory. Worth even the pain of having the tangles mercilessly ripped out by my mom after each bath — like knife stabs on my tender scalp. The brush never yanked and ripped like that — only the evil comb. I’d cry and cry, and yet it never occurred to either of us that snarls could be removed in any other manner, teased out [gently] instead of torn.

[scs_alt]

PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!

“Always for others” was the rhythm playing through the hidden speakers in the film of her life. Self equaled selfish, & everyone knew where that led — a one-way ticket to Hell, with fire, brimstone, & sharp pitchforks in the hands of those with nothing pleasant on their minds. “Always for others,” the chant went, unheard but understood. “Always for others.” The answer to every question she asked. Others, others, others. Never herself. Always — and only — for others.

[scs_alt]

PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!

I always wished, as a child, that I were left-handed, or better yet, ambidextrous. Aside from the obvious benefits of amidexterity — never having to worry about your hand getting tired, fewer chiropractor bills, the ability to impress people at parties — it just seemed that I’d be specialer somehow, and life revolved around being special, you know.

Besides, impressing people at parties — the ability to do so on a moment’s notice — that, alone, would have made me specialer. And being yet another regular, old, right-hander, just didn’t.

[scs_alt]

PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!