(This was an assignment for creative writing a while ago, and I finally decided to put it here. I needed to get this off my chest. An open letter is a letter to someone or something that will never reply)
An open letter to MHS class of 2012,
Remember me? The girl who can't pronounce the word purple because R's are stubborn with my mouth? The girl who was a little more chubbier then every one else? The girl in the back of the room that never talked because she was scared of what you would say? The girl who never got asked to dance?
I'm the girl that smiles when she is broken. I'm the girl who cried when she didn't get into honors choir her senior year. I'm the girl who hates a teacher everyone loves, and loves a teacher everyone hates. I'm the girl that during the canoeing unit got put in a canoe with a girl and after wards I heard her say, “Ugh. I got stuck with Emily Holmes.” I'm the girl who gets teased for the music she listens too.
I have good ideas. My opinions are huge but trapped inside my scared little brain. Don't call me a teachers pet because I enjoy school and I always have my work in. What does that get me? A free period while you whine about having to do work. Yes, I love reading but I don't want to be in AP.
Do you really want to be cleaning up schools when you grow up? The fooling around in class is ridiculous. Sure, I'm not going to college right away but I know what I want to do in life. Don't treat me like I don't matter to the world. I'm a human being, I have feelings too. I'm not a lost cause. I'm Emily.
I've been friends with all of you in some point in my life. You might not remember it, but I do. Playing outback, pretending we were in the wizard of Oz. Picking pears from your tree. Making fruit cabobs for a project in 5th grade. My 11th birthday where all the ones who don't dare whisper my name now, attended. What did I ever do to you? My nice soul broke once you started to tear me down.
Growing up on a street with elderly women, saying I was an adorable child and having you whisper your slurs about my face and torso. Step in my shoes for a second. How do you feel? Someone making fun of your voice. Something you can't control. Someone saying: Don't look at me. You're gross. You're repulsive. You can't sing. You're a crybaby. You're a fat whale. Being called by your middle name. I'm Emily, not Amber.
I am smart despite what you think. I can't tell you how many nights I sat in my room and wondered: What went through your head when you looked at me and laughed? Did you learn nothing from elementary school? The golden rule: Treat others the way you would want to be treated. So it's okay for me to laugh and stare at you, and start rumors?
Ha, I'm a bigger person then that. I'm actually a 12th grader, not stuck teasing in 6th grade world. Just because my mom was a strict substitute 1st-5th, doesn't mean you need to be jerks 7 years later. She was doing her job, unlike others who let you do what you want. I am a Holmes, no not Sherlock.
Have you ever felt so unimportant that you don't feel people remember you're a senior? I'm one that won't come to your mind when you vote for Senior Superlatives. Will I come to my class reunion? I doubt it. I'm one who has never felt a part of your class. Your class, not mine.
But to the two people I talk to in the class of 2012, I love you. My Glinda and My Who. You've always been the ones who knew me for how I was. You saw the good in me and never once put me down.
Yes, I know I'm emotional. I keep things hidden, but that's how I raised myself. I never had that one true friend I could go too. That one true friend I could count on. So I cry, I keep things hidden till I explode. I'm a living time bomb.
-Emily (not Amber) Holmes
No comments:
Post a Comment