Fencing For Life
by
Mary -BrytEyz- Ball
(Age: 38)
copyright 08-15-2001 Contest Winner
Age Rating: 10 to 127
After checking to make sure my hair was in place and I wasn't clutching my purse to my chest like some scared school-girl does her books, I walk into the lounge and search for the familiar faces. Funny how as an adult I still feel like a child inside. I always wondered if everything I was going thru was merely practice for some future test in time. If so, when do we stop foiling and actually fight? When does the practice stop? Mom told me we never stop learning, so I guess we are constantly preparing for some battle or other.
I remember walking into a new school, eyes peeled for a friendly face, and feeling so afraid. Even then, I tried not to clutch my books to my chest. I strained to breathe normal and look calm. If they saw fear on my face, I was done for. If they could sense insecurity, I'd be the new class piñata with everyone taking their turn at stabbing and jabbing me while they are blindfolded. Sometimes their verbal swings would miss, and at others they'd really cut deep and open wounds spilling out my insides that they covetously and gleefully devoured. If they disliked me in any way, I was now the scapegoat for any and all of their problems and troubles.
Chicago was a rough place to be and even a tougher place to be the new kid in school. It seemed I was ALWAYS the new kid. I knew each time I entered a school for the first time I had to be dressed in my fencing gear. The white jacket and pants of tightly woven and durable material that protects the fencer is similar to the air of pride and self assurance I dressed myself with. The steel mesh of the mask I wore was really a pasted on smile to save face. My sheath was packed with vocabulary and pre-meditated arguments ready to withdraw at a moment's notice. I had this act down pat.
I smiled like I owned the world, I walked straight and tall, and I looked them right in the eye but only for a moment. If you looked too long, you'd be invading their space and it would challenge them and have an effect much like looking some animals in the eye. It can be disastrous. If I didn't look at them in the eye at all, it would show I was timid or ashamed of myself. Therefore I intentionally reeked of self-confidence instead. My intent was that anyone who spoke to me would walk away feeling fortunate to have done so. I was civil, although politely rude would be a more accurate term. I emitted an aura of wealth if you will, not of money, but of something intangible yet coveted within. I wanted to make these new kids like me, and in time love me.
Would it work this time, I wondered as I strolled down the hallway pretending to know exactly where my next class was. I forged through the crowded hallway refusing to turn around once I'd realized I had passed my class; I'd rather walk all the way around the school again and be late than let anyone see me stop in my tracks, check my paper held tight in my sweaty palm, and back track to the correct room. As I entered the room for the first time, a new student and all eyes focused upon me, I smiled at no one in particular and handed the pink piece of paper to the teacher. "Mary, Mary Ball," I stated firmly. (Yes, this was WAY before I ever heard the name James Bond.) "Welcome to our school," the teacher smiled back warmly. I think teachers were the only ones that could see right thru my artificial confidence. Why is that? Is it because they are adults?
I didn't have time to ponder that thought much further before the familiar sight of many hands being raised in the air to interrogate me slapped me in the face once more. Sigh, who would I be THIS time? Think quickly! "Yes Miss Wealthy?" The teacher called on a young blonde in the front row. "Where did you move from?" the snobby ten year old quipped. "From ALL over," I responded as if it was a tiresome question, "Most recently from Glenview. And you? Have you lived HERE all your life?" So touché and épée THAT! "Hmm, yes I have," came the barely audible response from a now inquisitive girl instead of an arrogant heiress. Half the hands went down. Yessss! I've won the first round. A few more names called on and a few more answers quickly and carefully contrived, then I was sitting in my seat.
The smell of smoke sucked me back to the present. I glance quickly to see if anyone saw me standing there, daydreaming. A sigh of relief escapes my forced smile as I realize memories play much more quickly in our minds than the actual sequence takes to pan out. I see an empty table with four black barstools around it and take a seat. I feel eyes upon me but don't look as I glance at my watch. 9:30pm, they will arrive shortly. I sit straight and tall, cross my legs and watch as the DJ waves and winks at me while introducing the first karaoke singer of the night. Ahhh, one familiar face. I wave a finger at Warren, "The Spin Doctor" and D.J. for the evening, and grin back at him.
The waitress approaches, "A pitcher with lemon on the side?" she asks. I smile and nod in agreement. "Thanks Diane!" I say as I relax some and feel a bit more at ease. I slide my mental sword with sharp words back in it's sheath still holding it in case I need to withdraw it swiftly. As the familiar crowd files in one by one and takes a seat near me I think, "What was I so nervous for?" I loosen my grip from around the hilt of the word-sword and shake out the tenseness from my fingers. I don't think I'll need to be verbally fencing with anyone tonight. As they pull up more tables and chairs to join mine and make the usual chain for the karaoke clan to gather around, I giggle to myself that after all these years I still feel like that lost little girl inside. It's strange how some things never change.
Still, as an adult, I walk into a room emotionally dressed in the familiar white fencing uniform, the mask to save face, and a foil. A foil is a practice sword 35 inches long, made of high quality steel, very flexible, and completely blunt. I am verbally prepared to defend myself, but would never want to hurt others. Tonight I spend the rest of my time singing, applauding, and watching. What is there to watch? Why, people of course! People intrigue me to no end. When I get home at two, three, or four in the morning I'm hardly tired. I'm so invigorated from watching everyone and trying to guess what goes on in their heads and their lives. I often take pen in hand and try to put myself in the fascinating scenes I envision. I'm sure what I see in my mind's eye is much more exciting and interesting than their real lives, but, what's an imagination for if we aren't to use it from time to time?
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Thank you, Lyle. I'm glad you could identify with it, and the fact that the connection was made is one of the greatest compliments I could receive from you... I done good, huh? (Grin). Your words mean a lot to me... as do you. Thank you again, Lyle!
As an Airforce brat, I was in 12 schools before I graduated - practically always the new kid who became increasingly adept at fencing and trying to parry and survive the thrusts of sharper, more sinister, often cruel rapiers. Barbs or jibes, I was always afraid - and continue to be so even now, in unfamiliar territory. Whether alone driving down the highway trying to find a new place, or in a roomful of strange people - I am frequently insecure in my world. This poem spoke to me of those feelings - you depicted so wonderfully the self-consciousness you (and I and many) have felt, with your well chosen words and phrases. This was great, Mary.
Heh... imgaine THAT!?!? Five years later and it's still getting read and comments are being left. How cool is THAT!?!?! Way so cool if you ask me!
Thanks, Aunt BJ, and yes... small world... Glenview... :-) They could be so snobbish there... I'm glad I WASN'T rich and spoiled... I see how unhappy they are in life now.
I always felt like I could connect with Angie at any moment... but it just never happened. What I mean by "connect" is become close friends, the kind you ache inside to tell something to everytime something cool or exciting happens in your life. I always liked making her smile, and her laugh was a "feel good" medicine that made a person all warm inside.
I always thought maybe someday we'd become close and start sharing things... everything... with each other. I love her a great deal, and love hearing/reading you speak of her. Her children are SO ADORABLE, and she still has the awesome smile.
Who knows... maybe someday will still come, eh? Until then, I am relishing in the opportunities presented to know both you, LeAnna, and Ruthie more. You three have been keeping in touch either via emails, 360, or inviting me to visit when I'm in town (even Aunt Ruthie did... cool, huh?). So, one by one, I will tackle the past that separated us and I am determined to become closer to each of my family if I have to do it one by one. Family is SO important.
Oh.. and speaking of family... Mom called me this morning and I've JUST GOT TO WRITE ABOUT IT... it's not really exciting or anything... what she said... just that she's able to talk to me and I to her when so recently we could have lost her... I'm just so grateful.
Anyway... Love you and can't wait to read what you were inspired to write after reading this. Hugs and thank YOU for reading my work and commenting on it.
Hmmm...I guess that gives me some insight on what my daughter, Angie, went through. We also moved a lot until she was in 7th grade in (of all places) Glenview. She completed school there. She also has a confidence about her. I was going to write a long comment here, but I think I just might save it for a story of my own. I loved reading this piece. Thanks for the inspiration, Mary! ;)
Wow, very amazing job on decribing your life, how you "fought", and wanted so much to gain respect of others. I love the metaphors that you use when comparing fencing to having to deal with wanting to make it well in the world/class.
*grin* Yes, I agree... we are much the same person. Perhaps that's why I like your work so well... as well. :-)
How about we write about something at the same time? For instance, pick something from the past that you'd like to write about, email me the topic, and within one week... we'll post a poem about the same topic.
Up to the challenge? (And YOU even get to pick the topic!) Let me know what you think.
Oh, and thank you for reading, rating, and but most of all commenting. :-)
My father was a travling salesman and we moved all the time. I don't remember being in the same school more than one year. Once I even started in one school, moved to another and before the year ended, it was off to another school. We finally setteled in Texas when I was in junior high. I got to go to the same school for all four years of high school. This is a great story and I can see each new school and face that stared at you( and I )it was a trying time, but now I can walk up and talk to anyone anytime, without fear. Thanks for your story, now I know why I like your work so much. Except that we are different sexes,we have a lot of the same memories. Thanks, Anthony
Well, sounds kinda like my life growing up. I was an army brat and lived that life everytime we moved. I had to make new friends and fight off all the "already settled in" ones. I guess thats where my anger comes from some times. You just learn, live, and pass on the knowledge.
Very well written. I love the swing from memories of childhood to the present situation and how you tied it all together. I can also relate to your story as I often have to walk and sit alone in bars while my friends play in the band. Sometimes others join me, sometimes I have to keep my shield up to avoid them **g** Still, as you found, its definitely worth it in the end!
I am new to the story side too, just realized I could be missing something very entertaining. Yes, we wonder, when will we be free to just be ourselves and relax. I told my sister when she turned 30 that now she was entitled to be eccentric, (I said much more, but have forgotten the helpful words) and she gives "my talk" to everyone. She says it helped immeasurably.
Welcome !
Contest Winner
