When I was 10

By Arya Bhargava

When I was 10, I couldn’t see. 

My vision is blurry to the point where I am unable to see where the tiles in front of me are divided. The bench next to me seems like nothing more than a linen circle. There is no one else in sight. The small dent in the wall near the classroom is where I am safe. There is no one to tell me what to do, or how to behave. The tear fell from my eyes onto my knees, which were already soaked. They feel incredibly wet. My knees itch slightly, but I don’t care. I sat on the ground counting each and every tile in my sight, watching for footsteps as I did so. Tears fall once again.

I sit at my desk, filling out another math assignment for the 4th grade class. It is easy to complete. It bores me, but I don’t mind. It reminds me of memorizing multiplication. Repetitive, but enjoyable. I finish completing the 5th question on the sheet before I feel a finger tap twice on my shoulder. I turn around and see my best friend standing next to my desk, arms crossed.

“I don’t think we should be friends anymore.” They admit. I sigh. This is the fourth, maybe fifth time they asked to break off our friendship in the 2 years we were friends. I notice something odd. The air is chilly. Too chilly. The hair on my arms begin to stand up, and my ribs begin to softly hurt. I feel the cold air flow through my sweaty palms, cooling them as the air sweeps through. Suddenly, I am more aware of the environment I am in. The noise of the air conditioner grew louder, the screeching of chairs being dragged across the tiled classroom floor hurting my ears. 

“Okay.” I respond quietly.

“You’re just.. different now. You act differently.” They continue to talk. The blame seemed to move onto me the more they speak. I did not understand why. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“How so?” I ask, genuinely curious, hoping that I would receive an answer that could fix everything. An answer that could fix what was wrong with me.

“I don’t know.” They shrug. “You’re just different.”  There it was. The same reason I did everything wrong. It was never an answer. It left a placeholder, something they used to hold off deciding why they were angry at me. I receive no explanation and no solution. I nod quietly. My body seems to disobey my mind.  We don’t say a word to each other as the space between us grows. I turn back around in my chair to face my desk. Nothing feels different. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath. A soft sigh escapes my lips as I pick up my pencil and continue my worksheet. Suddenly, chills flow up and down my back as I study the equation on the paper. I turn my head around and catch them staring at me. Their eyes widened, then narrowed shortly after as they looked away. Their glare stayed in my mind as I turned back around. It cut through my stomach, sending shockwaves of unsettling thoughts into my head. A few whispers are picked up by my ears, causing me to turn around and slowly get a glimpse again. Not surprised. They are whispering into a classmate’s ear, whose name I did not know. The glances they throw at me show me all I needed to see. I turn back around for a second time, tears welling up in my eyes before being wiped away quickly.

The tiles seem to be awfully dirty. How much dirt can 5th graders hold in their shoes? I laugh quietly thinking about the bottoms of each and every shoe that stepped onto the floor. My laugh causes me to choke, tears returning to my eyes as my vision does not allow me to see the dirt on the tiles any longer. I do not notice the footsteps as I wipe my eyes, my sleeve now as damp as my knees.

“Arya?” Someone calls. I jump. Who found me?

“Yeah?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t look up.

“Arya, why are..” The person I now recognize as my fifth grade teacher kneels down next to me. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Why are you out here all by yourself?”

I still refuse to look up. My body shifts away from my teacher, the scratching of the carpet against my body echoing in my ears.

“I..” My voice cracks. I turn to face my teacher. His face is covered in a frown, his eyebrows slightly raised. “I don’t know.” I finish, choking back my spit.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He places his hand on my shoulder. A violent shiver courses through my body. I shake my head slowly.

“I.. I don’t..”

“Listen, Arya.” He interrupts me. My eyes dart to his voice. He sits down beside me, keeping a small amount of distance between us. Not too much, but not too little. He sighs quietly, staring at the cubbies in front of us before talking once more. 

“I don’t want to make assumptions, but I’ve noticed that you haven’t been getting along with your good friend. Is that why you’re upset right now?” He turns to face me, my eyes blurring once again. My head stays still, my lips refusing to part.

“Tell you what,” he stands up. “I’m going to get them. Maybe you could talk it out.” I watched as he slowly left the room. I desperately tried to object, but my voice was gone. My palms now had red half-moon calluses as my tears vanished and my facial expression contorted. He returns quickly with the classmate, who seems confused as to why I’m out here. I want to glare at her, but my body is not registering my responses.

“Why don’t you two talk? Once you’re done, join us back in the classroom.” My teacher says before exiting the hallway. I take a deep breath and so does my friend. We sit down on the bench nearby. I decide to be the first to talk.

“I know you remem-”

“Wanna go back inside? Behind the whiteboard?” They interrupt, startling me. I stare at them for a few seconds, words struggling to form in my throat. Just like that, the cycle was going to repeat. It’s only a matter of time before they ‘forget’ everything that happened just now and go back to hating me for no valid reason. I stand up. For 2 years, I’ve been in this cycle. My body tenses, my hands grabbing the sides of my shirt as I squeeze hard. My friends looks at me with confusion before rolling their eyes and standing up.

“Are we going?” They ask. Their arms cross and the glare returns to their eyes. The chills are sent up my body into my throat, silencing me. The cycle. The cycle. The cycle. That phrase echoes in my head, tuning out every squeak and rustle of others.

Before I even know it, I am yelling.