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A Silent Plea

They’re all around me. Every day I walk the halls. I brush past them and bump into them. I see them. They don’t see me.
You see I’m one of those people who are quiet. You know the ones in the middle of the class room. Hidden in plain sight. Not up front with the smart ones or the ones who talk. Not in the back with the mischievous ones, who will do anything to disrupt the class. I’m one of those who sit in the middle. Hidden in plain sight. My silence is there. Only speaking when occasionally called upon by a teacher. Only speaking when spoken to. But deep inside, in the very depths of my soul, there is a cry. The silence, in itself, is a plea. A silent wail for someone, anyone to see to me.
I’m certainly not one of the most beautiful girls in the school. But I’m not on the opposite end of the spectrum either. Walking through the crowded halls I see all around me girls. I push the door to the bathroom open and see a line of girls at the mirror. They’re all rubbing on powder, smoothing on lipstick, adding a pink ribbon to their already perfect hair. Me I wash my hands and splash my face with cool water. I wear no makeup. My hair tumbles down to my shoulders in its typical wave. I prefer myself. Why hide yourself under all that makeup? Then people don’t know who you truly are. It’s too conformed to what the world says is beautiful. They tell you how to look, like them. When the world cannot look at themselves and like what they see. What’s the point?
I don’t dress like them either. The overabundance of cleavage and curves sickens me. I wear jeans and a t-shirt. No unnecessary skin showing. Though the clothes may set me apart from the other girls it does not bring any attention to me. I blend in. I go unseen.
I’m not like any of the others. I’m in a sense a mystery. I look fairly ordinary. I don’t seem all that different. They dismiss me as just another person. And I feel the weight of the silence. It roars in my ears. When I walk by all those people, I see them talking. I see them laugh. I see them. But they don’t talk to me. They just carry on with their business. With their own agenda.
Then, when I am least expecting it. I look across the hallway. A pair of eyes meets mine. My eyes grow wide as I look them over. A smile appears. The first one I’ve seen aimed at me in a long time. The time seems to slow. The group with them who they’d been talking to and laughing with seems to grow blurry in my vision. My focus is consumed by the first who’d smiled at me since I’d come here. The first person. Let alone the first of their kind. The first boy.
I’m afraid if I let my gaze wander the spell will be broken. I look him over. He’s tall and well built. Muscular but yet in a way, soft. His mannerisms are smooth and calm. Around him is a sense of peace. As if nothing could tear away the sense of worth and of stillness that reaches into his soul.
I didn’t notice his approach until he was almost in front of me. I was so absorbed in figuring out where his confidence and dignity came from. All it took was one hello. One word. And I am no longer a stranger. No longer am I invisible. Though I spoke no words, someone had heard my silent cry.



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