She just nodded while Sister
Katherine stared at her from across the room, on the other side of the school,
where nobody would accidently walk in and find them ‘talking’. It felt like a
lecture. She was in trouble for existing, and, on the worst day of her life.
“Brother Thomas is in talks with a priest at a school in Sydney who is dealing with the same problem there.” She delivered this as though it was meant to feel more like a comforting hug than the slap in the face it really was.
Who deals with teenagers, in any capacity, and has the temerity to refer to them as ‘the problem’?
She played the nun’s words through a second time in the ear splitting silence of the room, because the idea of entertaining thoughts of her own at that point was just too much.
…a priest at a school in Sydney…is dealing with the same [thing] there…
She turned this around because she had to. She needed something to hold onto that day. Through complete despair there seemed to be the smallest ounce of hope because somewhere, two States and several hours away by plane, there were two other girls like her.
When Sister Katherine let her leave the room the light outside stung her eyes, which were still sensitive from having cried all night and most of the day before. The bullying had ramped up again and her girlfriend was in hospital, having tried to kill herself for the second time, and her mother had insisted she go to school.
Walking from the dark, isolated space she headed to her art class feeling some sense of comfort in the fact that at least her art teacher was supportive. Really, she’d always thought she was and, mid lecture, Sister Katherine had told her to be grateful for teachers like Mrs Harrison, so she was.Wandering into the art room where everyone else was already at work and Amber’s station was empty, as it would be, she just wanted to cry. She tried to organise her supplies and find the piece she’d been working on before her world changed, earlier in the week, but she had nothing.Every time she looked to Amber’s corner, where her sculptures took up the entire space, she just wanted to walk out of the school and catch a bus to the hospital and sit beside her, where she knew she should be.When Mrs Harrison approached her, a smile would have been enough. A hug would have been the most support and affection any adult had shown her in months, and she needed that more than anything in that moment.
The reception she received was certainly unexpected.
“So is Amber ever going to be able to come back to this class now? To this school even, because of your…relationship?”
Mrs Harrison spat the last word at her and she just looked at her in disbelief. This was her one supportive adult. This was the person she was supposed to be showing gratitude towards.
“Amber is a very talented girl. She needs this class.” Mrs Harrison was her height and half her weight and probably survived on cigarettes and no food, but she’d always been her favourite teacher.
On the inside she was screaming at the older woman saying “Back the fuck off bitch, none of this is my fault.”
She wanted Mrs Harrison to know that she and Amber loved each other and that their relationship wasn’t the problem. She wanted her to know that it was the only decent thing in her life, but she had no words.
She stood looking at the woman for a long time. Mrs Harrison returned the stare, challenging her to say something back. She didn’t know what the woman wanted from her. She was already broken in every possible way. So her retort, her fuck you to the teacher, was to say nothing.
She looked her in the eye with none of the bravado and all of the hurt until the older woman decided to walk away.
“Brother Thomas is in talks with a priest at a school in Sydney who is dealing with the same problem there.” She delivered this as though it was meant to feel more like a comforting hug than the slap in the face it really was.
Who deals with teenagers, in any capacity, and has the temerity to refer to them as ‘the problem’?
She played the nun’s words through a second time in the ear splitting silence of the room, because the idea of entertaining thoughts of her own at that point was just too much.
…a priest at a school in Sydney…is dealing with the same [thing] there…
She turned this around because she had to. She needed something to hold onto that day. Through complete despair there seemed to be the smallest ounce of hope because somewhere, two States and several hours away by plane, there were two other girls like her.
When Sister Katherine let her leave the room the light outside stung her eyes, which were still sensitive from having cried all night and most of the day before. The bullying had ramped up again and her girlfriend was in hospital, having tried to kill herself for the second time, and her mother had insisted she go to school.
Walking from the dark, isolated space she headed to her art class feeling some sense of comfort in the fact that at least her art teacher was supportive. Really, she’d always thought she was and, mid lecture, Sister Katherine had told her to be grateful for teachers like Mrs Harrison, so she was.Wandering into the art room where everyone else was already at work and Amber’s station was empty, as it would be, she just wanted to cry. She tried to organise her supplies and find the piece she’d been working on before her world changed, earlier in the week, but she had nothing.Every time she looked to Amber’s corner, where her sculptures took up the entire space, she just wanted to walk out of the school and catch a bus to the hospital and sit beside her, where she knew she should be.When Mrs Harrison approached her, a smile would have been enough. A hug would have been the most support and affection any adult had shown her in months, and she needed that more than anything in that moment.
The reception she received was certainly unexpected.
“So is Amber ever going to be able to come back to this class now? To this school even, because of your…relationship?”
Mrs Harrison spat the last word at her and she just looked at her in disbelief. This was her one supportive adult. This was the person she was supposed to be showing gratitude towards.
“Amber is a very talented girl. She needs this class.” Mrs Harrison was her height and half her weight and probably survived on cigarettes and no food, but she’d always been her favourite teacher.
On the inside she was screaming at the older woman saying “Back the fuck off bitch, none of this is my fault.”
She wanted Mrs Harrison to know that she and Amber loved each other and that their relationship wasn’t the problem. She wanted her to know that it was the only decent thing in her life, but she had no words.
She stood looking at the woman for a long time. Mrs Harrison returned the stare, challenging her to say something back. She didn’t know what the woman wanted from her. She was already broken in every possible way. So her retort, her fuck you to the teacher, was to say nothing.
She looked her in the eye with none of the bravado and all of the hurt until the older woman decided to walk away.
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