Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.
A harder prompt might have been “Tell us about a time when you felt you really belonged”! On the outside looking in is the story of my life.
On the Outside Looking In …
I walked home on my own. As usual. I’d hated the church Christmas party with all its trumped-up noise, childish games, and artificial gaiety.
The priest, formidable yet effeminate in his long black skirted robe, had made us sit in a circle on the floor, legs crossed. He stood inside that circle and placed a bar of chocolate on the wooden boards. Then he walked around the group and whispered a word in each boy’s ear.
“You must wait until you hear your secret word,” he explained. “Then one of you, when I speak that word, may claim the chocolate bar,” he stared at us, large, horsey teeth, black hair streaked with grey, eyes golden, fierce, like an eagle’s, beneath bushy eye-brows. “When you hear your secret name, you must grab the chocolate bar. Understood?”
I had come to the party on my own as both my parents worked. The mums and dads who had brought their offspring to the party leaned forward in keen anticipation. The boys all nodded.
“Are you ready?” The priest watched us as we nodded and then he shouted “Alligator!”
Nobody moved.
“Elephant!” The boys shuffled forward, like inch worms, hands twitching, fingers flexing and grasping.
“Tiger!” A sigh emerged from multiple mouths. Some of the boys licked their lips.
“Lion!” One boy moved, but the priest shooed him away. “Sit down. That wasn’t your word.”
“M-m-mouse!” The boys heaved, a sea-wave about to crest and break.
“I do love this game,” said the priest to the parents. “And so do the boys, don’t you boys?”
“Yes, father …” came the chorus.
“Monkey!” All the boys leapt into springy action. They dived, crawled, leaped to their feet, ran … a surging heap of boyhood writhed on the floor as the chocolate bar was torn apart and the long-awaited fights ensued.
All the boys moved, except me. I just sat there.
“I said ‘Monkey,’” the priest frowned at me. “That’s your word. When I say ‘Monkey’, you join in with the others and fight for the chocolate.”
I shook my head.
“Have some Christmas fun. Join in the game.”
I again shook my head.
“Why not?”
“You’re just mocking us. I want to go home,” I stood up and walked away. I stopped at the door and turned and saw the priest glaring at me while a mound of boys continued to scrummage on the floor.
As I walked home, it started to snow. Not the pure white fluffy snow of a pretty Merry Christmas card, but the dodgy, slippery mixture of rain, snow, and ice pellets that turned the steep streets of that little seaside town into an ice rink. I turned up the collar of my coat, bowed my head, and stuffed my hands into my pockets. Two houses before my own, I stopped in front of our neighbor’s house.
The window shone like a beacon in the gathering dark. I drew closer, pressed my nose against that window and looked in. A Christmas tree, decorated with lights, candles, more decorations, a fire burning on the hearth, two cats curled up warm before the fire, presents beneath the tree, stockings hanging from the mantelpiece. For a moment, my heart unfroze and I felt the spirit of Christmas. Then I thought of my own house. Cold and drafty. No lights, no decorations. No fire. The snowball snuggled back into my chest and refused to melt.
When I got home, our house stood chill and empty. My parents were out at work and the fire had died. Nothing was ready for Christmas. I sat at the kitchen table, took out my colouring book and began to draw. When my mother came home, I showed her my drawing.
“Very nice,” she said without looking up.
“But mum, you haven’t really seen it.”
She blinked and stared at the picture. This time, she saw the Christmas tree and the lights, the cats and the candles, the decorations and the presents. But she never noticed the little boy standing outside the house in the falling sleet, peering in through the window.
rogermoorepoet 
First day of women’s lit during summer semester in college. It quickly turned into a male bashing session after attendance. It was just me and one other guy among a room full of fist pumping gals. I made sure that it would be just him for the second class, and who knows how long after that for the poor fella.
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Ever since July.. I was unfortunately laid off and everything just keeps going wrong, no matter how hard I try to pull things back together.
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Sometimes we struggle and find things difficult, we need to rely on God to meditate for understanding and stick with positive people.
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I won’t click ‘like’ on this, because it is not a ‘likeable situation’. Thank you for commenting and sharing though. Alas, there is so much negativity in our little world, especially post-Covid. I hope and trust you will find what you are seeking. Whatever you do, keep fighting, and don’t give up hope. Blessings.
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I have encountered such moments so often that it feels i am only imagining it. Whenever i go out with my sister or my friends, i always feel out of place like i don’t belong there and all i wanna do in that moment is to disappear. I cant help it.
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I think this happens to many of us. Alas, not everyone can express those feelings – let alone admit to them and bring them out into the open. Qs for disappearing, I have never disappeared! But I have walked away, and even run away on a couple of occasions! Thanks for visiting and commenting.
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It’s a matter of doing it often going out more with positive people, encouraged other to do the same.
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Wow, I feel like you crawled inside my head and described every awkward encounter from my life, all rolled up into one. Very well written!
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I think the experiences can be very similar. However, not everybody can talk about them, and few can write about them. Our tendency is to suppress, rather than to accept and move on. In my case, I try, with my writing, to bear witness, so that the suffering may be less for others. Thank you for visiting.
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A sad story well told my friend. 🤗
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Thanks Tiffany. I wonder some times how much is true nd how much is invented. I guess creativity shapes our memories. Blessings.
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Words and reconstruction have always helped me. I circulate those words so that others may find some comfort and release when reading them. Hace mucho que no tengo una novia!
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Oh this should be interesting. Well I was around people who have made it in life. I struggled with even accepting myself for a long period of time. First of all the conversation there made me look so poor. Being asked questions like “do you still believe you will make it in life Nozzy, you are in your 30s, you should at least be having a home and a cheap car, life seems to be very hard on you…?”
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Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, as they say in Australia. School – the only way you’ll get to university is on a train. Indeed we struggle – but we don’t give up. I do hope you have made it – in the outside world – and in the inner one – the latter much more important. Blessings.
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I’m pushing, hey.
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Pushing is good. Never surrender!
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Thank you so much for motivating me. This means a lot.
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😔
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Sad indeed. But many have been there. Not just me. Blessings.
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Yeah, I know. That’s why I can’t describing it into words. How sad that was for anyone who experiencing it.
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