I am 5 years old. I walk down the street with my mother, happy, as kids are supposed to be. The hot summer sun melts the ice cream I’m eating and I unsuccessfully try to stop the drops from sliding down my hand. As I’m trying to wipe my dirty, sticky hands on my brand new shorts, I feel someone strongly pulling my arm, leading me towards the other side of the street. At first I feel confused and disoriented, but then I look up and realise that it is just my mother. I’m just about ready to forget about the whole situation and go back to eating my delicious ice cream before it melts when I start to wonder something. What on earth made my mother change sidewalks so suddenly? Was there some sort of danger awaiting us on the other side? To clear up my doubts, I look back to my initial position. However, what I see only confuses me further. There is only a happy-looking family of dark skinned people. Before I can find an answer to my questions, my attention is caught by a passing butterfly, and the issue is almost instantly erased from my mind.
I am 10 years old. I’m having a lovely dinner meal with my family, telling them all about my first day of fifth grade. When we’re finished, my mother tries to get up and go to the bathroom, but my father doesn’t let her. Just as she’s leaving he grabs her by the arm and starts shouting at her, telling her that she can’t go before she’s finished doing all the dishes. My mother weakly argues that she will come back in a moment, but my father isn’t having any of it. Taking us by surprise, he slaps my mother across the face, leaving her cheek burning red. He goes to his room and slams the door. My mother looks at me, fighting the tears that are threatening to fall from her watery eyes, and smiles. But I know something’s not entirely right as I see her walk into the kitchen and hear her start crying a few seconds later. Soon after that, she starts doing the dishes as my dad requested, and he comes back, sits down in front of the TV and puts on a football game. Is this supposed to happen everyday?
I am 15 years old. It’s the middle of the school year, grade 10. A new kid’s arriving today. This usually never happens, no one is allowed to start coming to class so late but, just this once, they made an exception. When the bell rings, signaling the beginning of the first period, we all walk into class and sit in our usual places. A few minutes later, the teacher arrives. She announces that there’s a new student, and asks him to get up and introduce himself. We all turn around to look for him, and when we finally find him, a few gasps are heard across the classroom. It takes me a second to get it, but I’m growing up, and I finally start to understand. The new boy is wearing a turban. As the boy is telling us about himself, I can notice a slight Arabic accent, and I assume my classmates do too since they start giggling. Some of them even say some out of place comments. But I don’t. I don’t laugh, I wonder. I wonder why this happens. I assume they’re going to keep bullying him all day, but I’m so wrong. What happens is so much worse. They completely ignore him and refuse to include him in their groups. At lunch, he sits by himself. And I think about going there and talking to him, I swear I do. Everything in me is telling me to do so, but something stops me. I look at all my friends. I’m safer here. He probably doesn’t even need me, he’ll get by. I stay put.
I am 20 years old. Today we have a Campus Pool Party. All me and my friends can think about is tonight’s event. Summer is finally here and I am definitely ready for it. We arrive and everyone is playing volleyball in the pool, dancing and drinking. After a couple of drinks, I see a girl arriving at the party. I’ve seen her before, she’s in one of my classes, but I don’t know her name. I notice that even though it’s a pool party she’s fully clothed and trying to cover herself, the group of girls approaching her must have noticed too. From where I’m standing, I can’t really hear what they’re saying, but what’s going on is crystal clear. I feel bad for her. The poor girl doesn’t want to take off her clothes and go into the pool because she doesn’t feel comfortable in a swimsuit, but the others have different plans. While they’re laughing, they push her around, rip her clothes off her against her will and mercilessly throw her into the pool and laugh at her as if she was some sort of circus attraction.
When they’re done, they simply walk away without a trace of remorse showing on their faces. Before I’m able to react, the girl swims out of the pool and runs inside the house. Without a second thought, I go after her. After looking through every room, I finally find her. She’s in a bathroom. I walk in to find her cuddled against the wall, crying uncontrollably. I sit by her side and try to calm her down. I hold her in my arms and squeeze her. I tell her that everything’s going to be ok, but I’m not even sure I believe that myself. As her weeping stops, I feel a silent tear of anger slowly rolling down my cheek.
I am 70 years old. I’ve had a good life. As I’m sitting on my favorite couch in my beautiful house I hear the phone ring. I pick up. It’s my daughter, telling me that I’m going to have a grandson. As she tells me I feel a rush of happiness run through my body. I am overjoyed. After I finish talking to her I sit back on my couch and wonder, once again. Have I been good in my life? I close my eyes and try to remember it all. I see my mom pulling my arm, the black family and the butterfly. I see my dad and my mom, and hear her crying. I can feel the confusion all over again but this time I seem to understand all these things I have seen all my life but never realized entirely they were wrong. I see the boy with the turban sitting across the school cafeteria. He definitely needed me. Finally, I see the girl at the party, hopeless and broken. A nauseating feeling sets in my gut as I realise that after all, I still don’t know her name. I should have done so much more.
V Frassa, S Kennedy, A Herrero, C Pérez
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