When I close my eyes, I'm young again, sitting in the corner of my room with a sheet of paper. It's crumpled in half, folded clumsily by a classmate. There's a single word penciled in the center, highlighted in traffic cone-orange. I'm used to being laughed at, and I'm used to my peers throwing things into my hair, calling me names — but this sheet of paper is different.
And it says something that I don't want to repeat. After the first letter of the word, there sits a big, capitalized letter A.
The letter A follows me. It creeps up on me as I hold my backpack in the crook of my arm. It trails my footsteps when I retreat to the school restrooms at lunch. It pounces on me with tiny, sharp feet as the class giggles when I somehow manage to embarrass myself again. Not only does the letter A follow me — it is me. I'm shaped weird, and I'm too wide. I don't have any curves. I can never seem to get to the end of anything, because A is always stuck at the beginning.
I'm a loser. I'm a freak. I'm a failure. The letter A is everywhere, and I can't escape it.
Even when I'm out of school, the letter A is attached to my hip. The bullying is gone, but A isn't. I feel like I'm written in bright red ink, and I don't have the strength to erase myself. I don't want to be a part of the alphabet anymore. I want to be covered in white-out.
When I open my eyes, I'm seventeen, sitting in the corner of my room with a sheet of paper. It's a letter, scented with strawberry, decorated with glittery stickers, and it's from a girl. She makes me think about the note I'd received in middle school, the one given to me by a certain classmate. More importantly, she makes me realize that the word highlighted in traffic-cone orange bears no meaning. It means nothing, because I love her and she loves me.
I'm a dreamer. I'm a lover of life, a visionary, a girl who works hard to achieve her dreams. The Letter A still follows me, and everywhere I go I can still hear its feet pattering close behind. I don't mind it anymore.
I don't mind it anymore, because I know I'm not a loser, or a freak, or a failure.
I'm art.
