The Boy That stayed

I don't remember the first time someone laughed at me. I remember the feeling, though. That uncomfortable heat crawling up my neck. The way my stomach twisted. The way I suddenly became very aware of where my hands were, how I was standing, what I was wearing. I was five years old. I was already taller than most of the children in my class, and I didn't understand why that mattered, because my mom always told me I was special. One morning, I walked into my new classroom wearing a new dress Mum had bought me. I remember being excited about it. It was yellow. My favourite colour at the time. The teacher asked me to introduce myself and I still remember what I said, I said " hi, my name is Maya Sinclair and I am five years old and I hope we can be friends" I said as I looked at the class with hopeful eyes. After that the teacher pointed towards a seat and asked me to sit there, as I walked toward my seat, while smiling at my teacher. someone laughed. I stopped. A boy pointed at me. "Why are you so tall?" The other children looked. Someone said, "She's like a giant." They laughed. I looked at my teacher, hoping she would tell them to stop. She didn't. Maybe she didn't hear. Maybe she didn't think it was important. I didn't know. So I laughed too. It was easier. That was the first time I learned that if people laughed at you, you could pretend you were laughing with them. I didn't know yet that pretending wouldn't make it hurt less. As the years passed, my height became one of the first things people noticed about me. They would ask me how the weather was up there. Then came my weight. Then my hair. Then my voice. Then the way I walked. There was always something. If there wasn't, they'd find something. "You're so big." "Why are you eating again?" "Look at her." "She's taller than the boys." Sometimes I'd go home and stand in front of the mirror. I'd look at my body. I'd turn sideways. I'd pull at my clothes. I'd wonder what exactly was wrong with me. But I never found the answer. Then, slowly, I started hating myself. I stopped wearing clothes that showed too much of my body. I started hiding my arms. I would pull my shirts down whenever they felt too loose, and whenever I caught myself staring at my reflection for too long, I'd look away. I began wondering if there was something wrong with me that I couldn't see. Maybe everyone else could see it. Maybe that was why they laughed. After that day, something in me started to change. I stopped being as social as I used to be. Not that I had ever been the loudest person in the room, but I used to try. I used to walk up to people and ask if I could join them. I used to smile at people without wondering if they were smiling back because they liked me or because they were laughing at me. I stopped doing that. I started keeping to myself. During lunch, I'd find somewhere quiet and eat alone. During class, I'd keep my head down and pretend to be busy. If someone tried to talk to me, I'd answer, but I rarely continued the conversation. I was slowly learning the meaning of being alone. At first, it felt strange. Then it felt easier. There was no one to disappoint me. No one to laugh at me. No one to tell my secrets to. And no one to leave. I didn't know it then, but I was building the walls that would follow me for years