a year alone

a year alone

I was in ninth grade that year.  A new school- freshmen were in the high school.  The county I lived in was poor.  I went to public schools. I was a minority.  Blacks complain about how whites treat them.  We’re supposed to feel badly that they had to go through so much history.  No one cares about how I was treated by blacks though.  After all, I’m a white, and therefore I deserve it. 

I was the only white in my freshman science class.  It started off with about five whites, including the teacher.  Then down to me until the end of the school year when they found another teacher to teach the class. 

Until then, and even after the new teacher, I was an outcast.  I was solely responsible for all that ailed everyone in that class.  Some one made an F on a test, it was my fault.  Don’t ask me how.  It’s not like I could study for them and dump all my knowledge in to their head.  The whole year, I got to hear them complain about me and “my ancestors” (even though I tried to explain to them that most of my family wasn’t over here until after the Civil War). 

There were several gang members in that class.  One of the guys took a liking to me for some reason.  The people in the class would make a circle around me, standing up, blocking the view of the teacher.  He would run his hand up my legs, in my shorts, in …  The only hope I had was he skip class. 

I never told anyone at that school.  I was too afraid to.  Too ashamed. 

It still hurts so badly.  I can hear them yelling at me.  I can feel him …  I live it every day. 

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