Stories and Articles

The Girl in the Corner

by Beckie

ecca who?” he called over his shoulder, already halfway to the basketball courts and not slowing down a bit. That was how people reacted when Becca’s name was mentioned. It was as if she did not exist. Yes, she sat in the corner of our class, tucked away towards the wall every day. Like a bird in a nest, a book rested in her left hand, usually opened, and she always stared at it intently. We noticed her long hair, too—pulled back and hardly ever brushed, it was stringy from lack of proper care. Her clothes rarely matched, and she wore the same shoes every week for the last six months. That was what I saw when I looked over at her, the girl in the corner.

It was March. The first week that it had not rained in months, and when the recess bell rang, kids poured out of the classrooms and rushed to the courts. Handball, tether ball, four square, basketball—there was everything to do on those magical courts. We were young and restless. Our free spirits were longing for fresh air and that familiar feeling of sweat and laughter. That was all that mattered. No thoughts wondered about the girl in the corner. No kids considered if the girl was left behind. And yet, every week, she made her way outside. She followed, slowly—the mass of bodies—always trailing behind. She never ran. She walked, her arms tucked into her pockets with her bag over her shoulder, probably her book secured inside. She always looked at the ground as if she was ashamed to look at our faces. Not one of us stopped to ask her what was wrong. Not one of us inquired if she cared to join in the fun.

There we were, all of us standing on the courts. With laughter ringing in the air and fresh wind blowing our hair in different directions, it was a picture-perfect scene. Everything was in place, every last detail— every last detail except for Becca. I found myself getting frustrated every week. Why wouldn’t she join in on the fun? Why did she have to single herself out every week? Was it just to make everyone pity her? What was so wrong with her that she could not laugh, that she could not smile? Why, why, why?

It finally happened on the small patch of grass by the courts. A basketball rolled a couple of feet away from her. She made no indication of even noticing it. Then, a boy called over, “Hey you! Wanna pass the ball?” Becca lifted her head. Her face was pale, as though she had not been in the sun her entire life, and her eyes were clear as glass. When I looked straight at her, there was fear in her eyes. But the next thing she does is stand up. After she walked to the ball, she reached down and tried to pick it up. With her right arm clutched to her side, she looked awkward only using her left hand. She struggled with the ball for a second, trying to roll it up her leg while everyone watched in silence.

Finally, she looked up one last time. A last desperate call for help—but none of us knew what the matter was. We kept watching, dumbfounded. And then she reached down with her right hand. Although nobody gasped, a wave of shock spread over the playground. I am not very good at reading people, but I felt the momentum of the students shift backwards, away from the girl, as though they were repulsed. I looked again, but nothing seemed wrong. Then closer, I strained, and this time I saw. The fingers on her right hand were completely disfigured—mangled and hardly recognizable, there were only four. I cringed at first. I had never seen something like that.

Although I reacted, I don’t think my mind truly registered what I saw. It looked odd, even strange, but her birth defect was not a malfunction or a hindrance in my opinion. “So what,” I thought. She may not be able to play basketball, but she can still hang out with us. I think I felt more relief than anything else at finally knowing what was holding her back. I knew from the way that she looked up at her unsuspecting audience when she revealed her arm. We had been seeing her every week for months, and only now we knew.

I wished I could have read her mind at that moment. What was going on in there? Was there anything? A million thoughts rushed through my head; what could possibly be going on in her mind? When I looked at her face, I saw relief, too. I would like to think she knew a burden lifted off her shoulders, but she could have been thinking something totally different. She could have only heard her heart beating while she glanced around for an escape route. She could have been trying to lock eyes with anyone who dared oppose her. She could have been trying a million things. I will never know exactly what she was thinking that day, but I do know what happened.

A boy called out to her from the courts—the boy whose heavy voice was only heard during basketball games, never in the classroom. She was still frozen, just like everybody else, and she was slightly hunched over trying to manage the ball with her one good hand. The boy made an excellent decision. It was brave but simple, and I will forever admire him for it. He stood up tall; his shirt was halfway tucked in, and his left shoe was untied. He walked over to her, his stance so confident that the grass seemed to soften under his steps. He plainly said, “No worries, Becca. I was tired of basketball anyways. Wanna go get something to eat?” And just like that, everybody went back to what they were doing, seemingly as though nothing had happened at all.

But something did happen. That moment changed who I was forever. I jogged after Becca and Mark. I was expecting the conversation to be a little awkward. Alright, I was expecting it to be extremely awkward. But they casually said “Hey.” That was that. We headed over to the snack bar, never running out of things to say.

There’s no more Sunday school now. We all graduated after having our bar and bat mitzvahs. And all of those “great friends” I spent hours playing tether ball and passing notes with, we fell out of touch. It was tough. We emailed, we called each other, but we did not have “that bond.” I still talk to Becca and Mark, at the very least every week. As hard as we try and will try, it does not scare me to think if we fall out of touch, because, I already know that I will remember them forever.

Beckie: author and water polo player