By Annie Kenny. Brisbane, Queensland, Australia
It was a sunny Sunday in late Spring 1976. My cousin Susan was visiting us. She lived in a big city, and I lived in a small town in the country. I was fourteen and she was thirteen. We were playing a board game in my bedroom. I believed we were having a reasonably fun time, but she seemed a bit bored since it was just the two of us. You see, when it was my turn to visit her in the city, she would be surrounded by friends from her neighbourhood. Unlike me, she was very popular in school. I didn’t have any friends but was too embarrassed to tell her that. I didn’t want her to think there was something wrong with me, as for the life of me, I couldn’t understand it myself. I tried very hard — maybe too hard — to make friends.
My school was an all-girls convent run by nuns. The girls in my class were simply nasty, plain and simple. As we packed away the board game, Susan suggested I should ring some of my friends and get them to come over. We could all go into the town and hang out, grab some fish and chips at the only fast-food place in my rural town. I came up with some excuses, like I always did — all my friends were sick, away on holiday, visiting grandmas, busy doing god knows what. I panicked. What on earth would we do next for entertainment?
I found myself thinking of my recent visits to Susan’s house. During the last visit, a group of seven of us took the bus into the heart of the city and had coffee. Gosh, we felt so grown-up, brimming with confidence and a sense of superiority. Previously, my cousin and her friends decided a beauty day would be such a cool idea. We could paint each other’s nails, put on makeup, and then hang out at the soccer field down the road where the lads from St. Fintan’s boys school practiced most afternoons. I was terrified of boys. Despite that, I went along with whatever new and exciting adventures Susan & Co. thought up. Even if it meant my anxiety levels soared, I was thankful. I was included. No one was mean to me. Sometimes they forgot I was even there, but it didn’t matter to me. I was there, involved in their escapades, experiencing teenage exploits and ordeals.
As if saved by the bell, the phone in our hallway trilled and my mother answered it. She called out to me, informing me that Anna Broderick was on the phone asking for me. One of my classmates. I ran to the hallway, with a now hopeful Susan trailing behind me. My mind was racing. Anna Broderick, one of the cool girls. She never rang me. What could she want? Susan sat on a chair at one end of the hallway while I sat on another chair at the far end. I hesitated, glaring at the cumbersome receiver on the hall table — it had become my adversary.
“Tell her to come over,” my cousin whispered.
“Hello?” I said cautiously.
Anna Broderick scared me. As it turned out, I was intimidated by everyone in my class. Due to my timid nature, I was often on the receiving end of relentless teasing, sarcasm, and humiliation.
“Can I borrow your bike?” Anna said abruptly.
No Hello, no niceties. Just a demand. She needed it so she and her friends could cycle to the all boys boarding school and hang out. I wasn’t invited. No surprise there. My heart sank. I wasn’t allowed to lend my bike to anyone. Bicycles were expensive. My Dad had worked hard to get me that bike and it was my only form of transport getting to and from school.
I really wanted to say to Anna, “Sure, you can borrow it.” Perhaps she would be kinder to me, but I couldn’t trust her. If I took the risk, I would spend the rest of the day petrified. It was quite possible Anna could abandon the bike in a ditch somewhere, carelessly leave it unlocked or just never return it to me and besides, my dad would have had a conniption.
She was waiting for an answer.
“Well, no, I’m afraid it’s got a puncture …”
I didn’t get past the word ‘I’m’. She hung up on me. I glanced over at my cousin, still perched on her chair, eagerly waiting to hear about the exciting new adventures that awaited us. I couldn’t gauge from Susan’s expression whether she realized my classmate had so rudely ended the call, leaving me to fake a laugh and carry on a conversation with no one. However, she must have inferred from my downcast look and slumped shoulders that something was amiss.
My mother appeared on the scene.
“Let’s all walk into town and get an ice cream,’’ she said cheerfully. She knew.
Susan’s face brightened and off we went, skipping and linking arms as we strolled down the road, acting as though the phone call had never taken place.
My cousin turned to me and said, “When you come and visit me next, we can go to the Strand or the Zoo, whatever we feel like, my friends really like you.”
This was a pivotal moment for me. I concluded, from here, that the treatment I received from my classmates didn’t define me. Bad apples in a barrel make other apples sad. I decided to get out of the barrel. I moved to the big city, enjoyed university life, travelled, and made many friends. Since the day I left school, my life has been filled with good friends. Life is constantly changing for everyone. What truly matters are the constants we hold dear. For me, it’s surrounding myself with family and compassionate friends.
I’m thankful I have both.
