What can YOU say in six sentences?
That year, I moved to yet another learning institution where I didn’t stand out in any way or fit in particularly well, I had not skills, beauty or wit.
She looked like Icabod Crane, tall, gangly, mousy brown hair that didn’t curl, but curdled around her shoulders, no apparent race, or nationality-- a phantom--no one spoke of her, and I honestly couldn’t have picked her out of five girls that looked similar.
She just- was- the most fascinating girl in my seventh grade class, because of a glass eye that she popped out into her hand, the skin around her left eye socket folding on itself like a falling curtain; it never occurred to me she was half-blind, because I had yet to surmise we could walk around less than whole.
In a dulcet tone, she said, her father was cutting the lawn with a scythe when she was four, he didn’t see her behind him, she said nothing more, and neither of us initiated friendship beyond that moment.
Sequestered in the cloakroom, staring at the eyeball that sat in her hand like a filmy pearl, I had no understanding of what I was seeing, it was unfathomable, so I peered into the darkness and felt alarming normalcy.
Then she disappeared, I asked one of our teachers about her; the fact that she didn’t know who I was talking about was not unusual, if our name was not on her roll sheet: we were invisible.