Little Left-Handed Rebel

a young girl in school…

I donā€™t like school anymore.

I used to.

But not anymore.

Sister Margaret says Iā€™m a trouble-making nonconformist. My mom says Iā€™m just left-handed. Sister Margaret swats my hand whenever she catches me switching my pencil back to my left hand. I draw pictures of Sister Margaret getting shot out of a canon. Then I draw Xā€™s on her eyes, but then I get creative and make them into swastikas.

I honestly donā€™t mean to be a troublemaker. Maybe itā€™s just that my pencil wants to be in my left hand instead of my right. Sister Margaret can stuff it! I think God made me this way for a reason. I canā€™t just change because Sister Margaret says so. But her ruler is a little more convincing. If Iā€™m gonna write with my right hand then God Himself is gonna have to tell me.

I use a red crayon to portray the blood coming out of Sister Margaretā€™s head wounds.

Sister Margaret says I had better shape up. She says Iā€™m the only one in the class who writes with my left hand. She says she doesnā€™t like to look up and see all of the other good little children writing in perfect unison with their rights only to have her lovely ballet of scratching right pencils disrupted by the chaotic scribblings of a rebellious spirit. She says.

She also isnā€™t fond of my doodles.

Maybe I like being different. Maybe itā€™s good that we donā€™t all do the same thingā€¦but I would feel a little more comfortable if at least one other kid would write with their left. I look around the room. Maria, Susie, Amy, Kiersten, Christin, Khristin, Christina, the other Amy, Alicia, Mayukoā€¦theyā€™re all writing with their right hands. I know theyā€™re not looking at me now. They always turn and look when Sister Margaret scolds me.

Theyā€™re just looking at their papers and writing. They canā€™t see me.

They donā€™t care.

But what if they do notice my lefty writing? What if they donā€™t like it? What if they wouldnā€™t be my friend? Up until now no one has said anything. How much longer will it last? High school? College? Oh no!—what comes after college?!

ā€œCalm down. Itā€™s no big deal. You wonā€™t lose friends over a silly thing like this.ā€

Thanks, Mortimer, my imaginary friendā€¦who is also a walrus. Youā€™re right. Itā€™s no big dealā€¦but then, if it really is no big dealā€¦

…..

I see now the error of my ways. Everything is fine and as it should be. I writeā€¦right. Nobody swats my hand with a ruler. Nobody judges me. And, according to Sister Maragaret, Baby Jesus doesnā€™t weep over my stenographic ineptitude anymore. Everything is normal. Nobody notices.
Sister Margaret doesnā€™t scold me anymore. Sister Margaret doesnā€™t even look at me anymore.

Sister Margaretā€™s perfect right-handed writing ballet is all in order.

I blend in.

I am normal.

Nobody can see me.

Beep beep boop beep.

 

J. Burrello