you stood up for yourself like that. And if it makes you feel better, you can punch me, too.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “I’m not going to punch you,” I finally managed to stammer. “I – I’m not some violent nutcase who goes around attacking everyone, you know.” I wondered if that was the conclusion he’d drawn after hearing about the incident with his two high school buddies…and whether other people thought that about me as well. I hoped not.
Eric smiled , looking as handsome as ever. “Okay,” he said agreeably. “I’m not going to lie: I’m a little relieved. But at least let me buy your cheesecake, alright?”
I didn’t protest. After everything Eric and his friends had done to me to make my life a living hell, I figured I was entitled to some free cheesecake. Food has a way of tasting better when it’s free, doesn’t it?
Eri c called the server over, ordered himself a plate of cheesecake and that’s when I realized he had no intention of leaving anytime soon. I didn’t know what to make of it.
Somewhat begrudgingly, I sat there and finished my slice of Raspberry Chocolate Swirl. I didn’t try to make conversation. I didn’t care if Eric thought I was being impolite. Making small talk with him so he’d feel at ease wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities.
As we ate, Eric looked at me from across the table. For once I felt like he was actually looking at me and not just my birthmark. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Look, I’m sorry if this is too forward but…that thing on your face isn’t actually from flesh eating disease, is it? That was one of the rumors going around at school but I think my buddy started it.”
I remembered quite well who’d started it. It had been Jerry Baker in the first grade. His mother had been watching the news one day after school and he’d seen a story about flesh eating disease while he’d been pretending to do his homework. He’d come to school the next day and promptly told everyone I had flesh eating disease and chunks of my face might fall off at any moment.
Children who were already wary of my appearance avoided me like the plague, as though they were scared that if they came too close they too would catch what they thought I had. That had been a particularly painful time in my school “career” because it had been the tip of the iceberg. It had been at that point that I’d realized I was different and not in the special, unique snowflake kind of way.
I was a freak.
The kids at school coined the condition I supposedly had The Ugly Disease. On the playground at recess, they’d run circles around me on dares, chanting cruel taunts. They’d throw things at me and then dash away when I looked their direction, giddily screaming, “Run or you’ll catch Michelle’s ugly!”
That had been a long time ago, but it felt like Eric was inadvertently opening up old wounds. I felt tears prick at my eyes but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see me get upset. I’d never given him or his friends the satisfaction of seeing me cry back then, ever. I wasn’t about to let him see me cry now.
“It’s not a disease, no,” I replied, making sure to keep my tone light. “It’s actually just a birthmark. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, I guess,” I added, hoping the joke would act to shield the way I truly felt about it.
“Don’t get mad,” Eric warned – which of course, automatically put me on edge. He fiddled with his fork for a moment and then looked back up at me. “Why didn’t you ever get plastic surgery to fix it?” he asked curiously and then sat back in his chair as though he was afraid I’d change my mind and accept his offer to hit him.
I must have had an expression of surprise on my face because he quickly tried to explain himself.
“I’m not trying to be mean,” he insisted,
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “I’m not going to punch you,” I finally managed to stammer. “I – I’m not some violent nutcase who goes around attacking everyone, you know.” I wondered if that was the conclusion he’d drawn after hearing about the incident with his two high school buddies…and whether other people thought that about me as well. I hoped not.
Eric smiled , looking as handsome as ever. “Okay,” he said agreeably. “I’m not going to lie: I’m a little relieved. But at least let me buy your cheesecake, alright?”
I didn’t protest. After everything Eric and his friends had done to me to make my life a living hell, I figured I was entitled to some free cheesecake. Food has a way of tasting better when it’s free, doesn’t it?
Eri c called the server over, ordered himself a plate of cheesecake and that’s when I realized he had no intention of leaving anytime soon. I didn’t know what to make of it.
Somewhat begrudgingly, I sat there and finished my slice of Raspberry Chocolate Swirl. I didn’t try to make conversation. I didn’t care if Eric thought I was being impolite. Making small talk with him so he’d feel at ease wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities.
As we ate, Eric looked at me from across the table. For once I felt like he was actually looking at me and not just my birthmark. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Look, I’m sorry if this is too forward but…that thing on your face isn’t actually from flesh eating disease, is it? That was one of the rumors going around at school but I think my buddy started it.”
I remembered quite well who’d started it. It had been Jerry Baker in the first grade. His mother had been watching the news one day after school and he’d seen a story about flesh eating disease while he’d been pretending to do his homework. He’d come to school the next day and promptly told everyone I had flesh eating disease and chunks of my face might fall off at any moment.
Children who were already wary of my appearance avoided me like the plague, as though they were scared that if they came too close they too would catch what they thought I had. That had been a particularly painful time in my school “career” because it had been the tip of the iceberg. It had been at that point that I’d realized I was different and not in the special, unique snowflake kind of way.
I was a freak.
The kids at school coined the condition I supposedly had The Ugly Disease. On the playground at recess, they’d run circles around me on dares, chanting cruel taunts. They’d throw things at me and then dash away when I looked their direction, giddily screaming, “Run or you’ll catch Michelle’s ugly!”
That had been a long time ago, but it felt like Eric was inadvertently opening up old wounds. I felt tears prick at my eyes but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see me get upset. I’d never given him or his friends the satisfaction of seeing me cry back then, ever. I wasn’t about to let him see me cry now.
“It’s not a disease, no,” I replied, making sure to keep my tone light. “It’s actually just a birthmark. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, I guess,” I added, hoping the joke would act to shield the way I truly felt about it.
“Don’t get mad,” Eric warned – which of course, automatically put me on edge. He fiddled with his fork for a moment and then looked back up at me. “Why didn’t you ever get plastic surgery to fix it?” he asked curiously and then sat back in his chair as though he was afraid I’d change my mind and accept his offer to hit him.
I must have had an expression of surprise on my face because he quickly tried to explain himself.
“I’m not trying to be mean,” he insisted,
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