LJ 101BW: Week 1 Revision

Usually, I am not one to be afraid of in class writing prompts, but when Professor Burke gave us this one I was pretty intimidated. I was sitting in a room full of the best writers at UCI, all who probably have had a LOT more experience, and she was making us do an in class creative writing exercise. I'm not too shabby when it comes to writing on the spot, but seeing everyone furiously scribbling something all around me was so distracting. The prompt was quite simple, but those are the ones that scare me the most. We had three choices and the one I chose was: Write about an experience during your childhood where you felt awkward or embarrassed. I panicked because I can barely remember middle school. It was all a flash of plaid, crosses, and mean girls scaring me into the submissive person I am today. Catholic school is basically hell on earth but that is an entry for another time.
As soon as the school bells rang, a flurry of plaid scuttled out of the buildings and onto the black top before the church. The mass of plaid gathered around a plastic basket full of play equipment fighting over a red dodgeball, orange kickball, and two basketballs. I had been playing basketball since second grade, and in my class of 30 people, I was the only girl who played it on a regular basis. While the boys fought over play equipment, the girls would fight over a tiny green bench next to the basketball court so they could cheer their crushes on.
We ran the girls off the court, each of them screaming and throwing their hands dramatically in the air as they looked behind them to see if anyone was looking at their display. The ball is passed to Mauricio and no one is guarding him so I run over to him frustrated. He spins towards me and he knocks me over. I slide on the asphalt on my back. I lie there, not trying to compose myself, but wondering if we now had gained possession with my charge. While I’m lying there I can hear the ball bouncing and the play still continuing on the other end.
I finally look up and see Chris A. staring at me. He points at me lying on the ground and gives me a hearty, “HAH-HAH!” similar to the one that Nelson on the Simpson’s does. I tell him to shut up and ask him what exactly is so funny. This was not the first time I had been knocked over by one of them.
“Your skirt!”
I don’t even have to look down and feel something on my chest: the bottom hem of my skirt. I can feel my face getting super hot with embarrassment. I quickly pull it down, and try to laugh it off. I sit up and only now do I notice my bloody knees and forearms. All I could remember was sliding to a stop on my back. They all crowd around me laughing and start teasing Mauricio who was born and raised in El Salvador. English was also his second language. We all called him Fez because his accent reminded us of Wilmer Valderrama’s character on That 70’s Show.
“In America Mauricio, we don’t knock over girls!”
“Yeah but Kristen doesn’t count!”
“Dude you guys she got knocked over SO hard her skirt flew up you should have seen it!” Chris chimed in.
“At least you wear shorts under yours. Remember when Kendall didn’t last week and we pulled up her skirt. That was SO gross!”
I punch Chris in his leg. As they’re joking around with each other I help myself up and make my way over to the nurse’s office for the second time in two weeks. She shakes her head at me and instinctively reaches for the first aid kit under her desk.
I tell her what had happened and she tells me that I shouldn’t be playing with boys because they are too rough. I smile and tell her that I’ll stop playing with them once the girls in our class start playing sports instead of swooning over boys. I had a total of six today. I look like a mummy with all the bandages.
She always puts the bandages on too tight, making it hard to walk up the stairs. Mrs. Story, our Jewish science teacher, has already started teaching. I walk in unnoticed by everyone but Mauricio who exclaims in his broken English, “I em so sorry,” he rolls his r’s, “I deed these to you?”
“I’m fine. Seriously don’t worry about it, it happens.” The whole class has now turned to look at me, causing me to slump further in my chair, making my bandages even tighter.


-Kristen Viray April 12, 2010