Someday

Year 7, Day 22

A/N: When I was 4, someone from my class told me that I had a deformity, a left cheek dimple. Being the curious soul that I am, I researched it and asked my parents about it. No amount of convincing from them or my other friends made me see past the fact that it was abnormal.

It took me 12 years and a whole lot of self-confidence to accept that I was never 'normal' (not in that sense of the word, at least) to begin with. In fact, I don't think anybody is. So here I am, a writer of perceived abnormalities, hoping to make others feel that it's not wrong to be different.

What about you? What makes YOU different?

***

"Aw!" I kicked the small branch that fell on my head. Of all the places it could have fallen, it decided to smack me in the head.

Just my luck!

I'm definitely not the same 7-year old who snuggly hid behind a bush. No matter how much I crouch, some part of me is gonna show. If Mr. Robertson saw me in this position again, like he did last week, I'm sure he won't relent to my mom's persuasion the form of freshly baked apple pie anymore. He will call village patrol...again.

"Where is he?" I muttered, mostly to myself, when I saw him walk past my hiding spot. Of course, all-black. Why am I surprised?

"Bobby!" I called as I run up to him.

He nodded, but kept his eyes on the road in front of him.

"You have plans for the weekend, man?"

Nothing

"Garret's throwing a back-to-school party at his parent's beach house."

Still nothing

"Videogames? I just got a new one."

Dead silence.

I'm not the most patient person, never was, so I stood in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. He needs to talk to me, dammit! He spent the whole summer with his grandparents then just ignored me for past two weeks since he came back. What was that?

Even before this summer though, I already noticed us drifting apart. I asked him to come over and play soccer or watch movies with other kids in our class a lot of times, and he always said no. He even started not coming to our family dinner.

Bobby never missed our family dinners.

"Bobby," I started. I had a long speech prepared after I talked to Mom and Dad about what happened with Bobby and I, but I can't remember one word. Of course!

I looked at him, trying to guess what he was thinking at this moment. Maybe he'd give me a hint on what to say. Was he expecting an apology or a congratulations or something? But he wasn't even looking at me. His attention was focused on a stray dog, milling about the side of road.

"This isn't like you, Bobby." I said in a low voice. I barely heard myself.

"What?" Finally! Even if he only glanced my way when he responded, it's fine. I'll take it. At least, he talked.

"He speaks," I teased, hoping to keep this conversation going.

"You don't know me," he said in the same low voice I had earlier.

"Huh?" I asked, confused. What is he talking to about? I've known him half my life, literally.

"You don't know-"

I cut him off the said, "I heard you. I just don't get it."

"You don't know who I am. I'm not the same Bobby. I'm different so just stop, will you?"

"Maybe, but I know what isn't you."

"What? Normal?"

That shut me up.

What do you say to that? Should I say that he is? But I'd be lying, he isn't. Bobby was beyond normal. He's unique and talented and great. Why would he wanna be normal?

Usually, I would just say all those things without thinking twice, especially with him, but it scared me. What if that's not the answer he wanted to hear?

Before I could come up with the answer I thought he needed, he said, "Stay away from me, Will. Stick to your crowd."