I'm Sorry

Paige Newman

World Lit H, p.5

Bennett

I’m Sorry

I witnessed them after school, laughing at the small girl. She was curled like an armadillo, deflecting what she could with her books and back. She had long, sandy hair that was pulled into a loose ponytail. Her eyes were almost angelic, their creamy cocoa color made my heart melt a little. She had the face of the refined, someone unwanted by the already sullied children that surrounded her. We knew we were all stained, that she was too good for any of us. Some still didn’t like it, so she was hit often. She seemed almost used to it, the pain the other children inflicted so carelessly. Her eyes gave no hint of suffering, no matter what they did. Her assailants--two boys, nearly the same age, hit and sneered relentlessly. They beat her until her pale skin turned red and blue in violent splashes. Her beautiful face had been ground into the asphalt. I was sure she wouldn’t be able to bare it but she sat, motionless, as they laughed and poked and prodded away at her.

She noticed me and stared, waiting for something. “I’m sorry” I mouthed. If I could have done anything I might have, but I didn’t know her, I had no obligation to her. I knew she was assaulted nearly every day, so why should I do anything about it? Was it so wrong to save myself from her pain? A sort of longing filled her eyes. She seemed to be asking me to do something, anything, to stop them. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. What if they turned on me and beat us both? Then I’d have to spend the rest of my life like her, an outcast. I had no right to touch her anyway, she was rich and perfect while I was poor and dirty. They beat her mercilessly, kicking open wounds and spitting on the gashes they created. It looked like she wanted to scream, but she never bothered to. After a moment of staring, it became clear to her I would do nothing. At first, she just seemed disappointed in me but, all too quickly for me she was angry, like a fire was burning frivolously in her lungs. It was like she was choking on her own rage, the smoke and fire filled her lungs with a violent courage; she stood. This rapid motion, one she hadn’t thought through, pulled her straight into her attackers. Once they were face to face the boys could see the damage they’d done. They saw the splotchy skin, the cut lip, and the bloody shins they’d accomplished. A model of endurance she stood tall and immaculate. Her hair floated carelessly in the wind, long since pulled from the ponytail she had worn it in. I noticed that the bruising had reached even the freckles on her shoulders, disgustingly perfect. The fire was bigger now, it had set ablaze her heart and she began to shout louder than she ever had before. She breathed the fire that had been set in her body, spitting words at the kids like bullets. She pierced them with these words, stinging them just as they had stung her. She cut them deeply, edging into their very fibers and sticking to their souls like parasites. In their minds her image grew, a maiden of fear. Sparks flew from her and set them alight. She showed them everything they didn’t want to see; all of their doubts and insecurities.

They flew away from her, running as fast as they could. I watched as their figures became obscured with distance. They’d never talk to her again. The girl took deep, heavy breaths. She turned to me and looked at me with a burning passion highlighted by her ravishing chestnut eyes. She bore into me with them, tearing into my weak soul. We stood there, locked in a battle I knew she would win. “Thanks a lot.” she said in a quiet hiss. Her tone terrified me; it was dripping with sarcasm and profound disappointment. It was venomous, poisoning me with regret. She began to walk, slowly at first. I watched her figure fading just as I had watched the other children. She went carelessly, swaying in the late-spring breeze. She was going faster now, sort of jogging. Her hair bobbed with her soft bounces. I could still see the lovely maroon patches that covered her arms when she began to run. By the time I moved she was long out of reach. I was lonelier than I had ever been before, standing in an empty schoolyard, staring at the girl who would never look at me again. I was a coward.