The 12-Year-Old Me (Winter 1999)
By Nora O'Connor
 
I recall the days of a 12-year old girl who would walk two miles to school and rehearse a speech over and over again until she knew she had it down close to perfectly. She would greet people on the streets with a warm hello or good morning. Opted to walk instead of taking the bus to have the air of life fill her heavy lungs. Conversations with her science teacher flood through her troubled mind. She had chosen to participate in class instead of being a bystander. Her teacher had given her a way out, but as usual her stubbornness would prevail. Tell me I'm different one more time and I'll knock you up. She walked with a purpose to her junior high.

It's close to 8 a.m. and she knows this will be the day. The day when the words will flow. When others will look at her in awe. Look at the courage in that little girl. She skips a couple squares and smiles to herself with joy. I recall all of this and more. I recall the sound of the hallways upon her entry. I recall the sight of hundreds of school kids. I recall the smell that lingered. She went to her first couple classes attempting to keep the positive energy flowing through her body. She'd look the teachers in the eye as they spoke and wanted to let them know that this was going to be the day. Her friends would never know the turmoil pouring through this girl's body. How at 7:30 a.m. this girl was filled with so much hope and wonder. And now at 10 a.m. she sat frozen in a state of panic ruin. All of her smiles to strangers on the street, all of her practicing the words over and over again so eloquently for days, all the work it took to do this whole process once again, because she knew the day she gave up hope would be the day she had sold out to her truth, whatever that was at age 12.

She knows that whatever has happened in the past has to be irrelevant. She knows that the past has handcuffed her too tightly. And that today has to be different. Today will be the deciding factor for the days to come. I know that what happens to this girl upon entering her science class is just a portion of the process. The before and after occurrences are just as important.

I have the power to change this story around and give it any kind of ending I choose because it is my truth. Was this the day that this girl let those words flow out of her mouth or was it like all the other days? Her teacher gave her a nod as she took her seat in the front of the class. A couple of kids had already reported on their news articles before the girl realized she too had to get up in front of the class and do the same thing. Now, when I say "realized," it's not like she didn't know what she had to do, because we know she did. But, there's a difference between knowing something and knowing something. Realizing that this was the same situation that she had failed in every time previously. Realizing that no matter how she prepared herself for these situations, they still were the same situations. Realizing that her stuttering was a fact not a fleeting occurrence.

Next...she picked herself up out of the wooden desk and handed her science news article to her teacher and took her half-page summary to the front of the class. She needn't even look at the piece of binder paper but she knew that she needed it for security. She opened her mouth and...there was nothing. Nothing. Then there was a gurgle and then there was more and she struggled through each word till the bitter end. Returning to her seat, somebody said how brave she was. Returning to her seat, she knew this was another beginning. The same beginning that had begun each day previously. Broken dreams. Did the words really flow eloquently from her mouth this morning on her walk? Was it a piece of cake to read that paragraph at home to her mother? Or was all of that some kind of sick and twisted illusion to get her up in front of that class over and over again? Because that is what kept her going.... She could hear herself speak without tension and no matter how many times she heard herself struggle she would remember that one day she had ease. "It wasn't suppose to be like this," she desperately thought. She would not speak a word of this to any one that day or the days to follow. I recall all of this and more....
 

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