School days were long. They were even longer that there were almost two hours allocated to the lunch break. Children had to remain outside the whole time, even when the weather was bad. I had a delicate health, my parents weren’t living far, so it was decided that I would go home for lunch.
I would say that one of the issues was that I didn’t belong to that the group of children eating at school. They never really accepted me, I was the outsider. I would also add that this is probably why I survived.
A new boy had arrived at school. I was very much interested into him. His parents had been working in Africa. He had never seen the snow. This made me want to take him into my arms and hug him. I wanted to tell him that it was ok, that I would help him see the snow. I was a bit surprised, for someone who had lived in sunny countries, he had quite a pale skin. He also had curly hair. His arms were thin and looked slightly longer than the ones from the other boys around. His eyes had a nice dark brown shade and were always sparkling. He really looked like a nice charming boy that would grow into a fine young man.
It didn’t take long before the toxicity of the school got him, and he started tormenting me.
At first, it was worms. He would grab worms, run after me, and try to splat them on my face or down my throat. At times he would do it, but had nothing in his hands, so if I were to complain, he would say that I was making it up. A times it was dirt with bird poop, or whatever he could find on the ground of the schoolyard.
I came to think that he was doing that because he probably liked me. That’s a boy thing, you know, be nasty to the girl you like. That’s their way to show that they care. I even thought at some point that it was weird, disgusting, but maybe not that mean. Except that I was misevaluating. These were the signs of something worse to come.
One day, the teacher decided to change the seating plan, and the new boy ended up sitting next to me, on a shared desk with unmovable seats. We were not allowed to talk, but during the next lesson, he started whispering to me, I have a mechanical pencil, look. I waited for the teacher to start writing on the blackboard before cautiously looking at the boy’s hands. I saw the nice propelling pencil, it was blue, quite thick. I looked away and started writing again. I saw his hand move swiftly, and then felt an excruciating pain.
The teacher turned around, asked what was wrong, I said the boy had stung me with his pencil. The teacher replied that there was nothing like a stinging pencil, told me to shut up and go back to work.
For the next few weeks, that boy would regularly stab my thighs in the classroom. I would yell, my eyes full of tears. The teacher would tell me off.
Until I confronted the teacher. I told him to look at the pencil. He looked and said that there was nothing more than a regular pencil lead, and that I should be ashamed of accusing that boy.
I was so desperate. I really felt helpless.
A few days went by, the boy was stabbing me again. I grabbed his mechanical pencil before he could hide it again. I called the teacher, in front of everyone in the classroom. I said, with a scared voice, look there is a huge needle in that pencil.
The teacher looked at me. I couldn’t interpret his face. I just didn’t know what it meant. He took the propelling pencil away.
However, he didn’t punish the boy.