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A PIECE OF S%$# (Crap)



"He's one of those stupid idiots from over at the children's orphanage home," said one of the boy's from my Grade 7 class.

I looked him straight in the eye and he turned his back on me. Then other boys and girls grouped around him and looked away, as if I was not even there.

I had hoped that attending a new school located five miles from the orphanage, would give me a new start on life. It would be a welcome break from all the jokes and never-ending ridicule, which we suffered for years while attending Spring Park Elementary School. It was located next door to the orphanage where I lived.

It took less than a day or two for the word to spread around the classroom that I was from the orphanage. My living in an orphanage somehow made me different from all the other kids. I could not tell much of a difference myself. However, for some reason, it sure made a big difference to all the other kids in the classroom.

For the first week of Junior High School, no one other than my teachers even spoke to me. I sat in my assigned seat just hoping someone, anyone, would smile or speak to me. I opened up my notebook and took out a piece of paper. On the paper I drew a heart. Inside the heart I wrote the words, "Roger, you are a piece of shit."

I folded up the notebook paper, walked to the front of the classroom and handed the note to the teacher. She opened the paper and began to read the contents. She looked up at me and tightened her jaw muscles.

"You head straight to the Dean's office, young man."

She pushed on my shoulder to spin me around facing the door.

"I'M A PIECE OF SHIT," I screamed at the class as loud as I could.

Turning, I ran out of the classroom and down the long hallway. I sped to the double doors leading outside the large brick building and continued to run, until I could run no more. I made my way to the St. John's River and then over to the Main Street Bridge leading back to the orphanage. I stopped when I reached the center of the bridge, looked over the metal railings and down at the water below.

"That's a long way to fall,” I thought.

I stood looking down at the moving water below. I placed my head down on my arms and tried to decide what to do. My mind was racing 90 miles per hour. I could not go back to the orphanage, because I had left the school grounds and as usual, they would beat the pure living crap out of me. There was no way I could return to school and face my classmates, or the Dean of Boys.

"I'm too scared to jump all that way."

Slobber fell from my mouth as I mumbled to myself.

"You have no choice. You’re in bad trouble," my mind kept telling me. "You don't have to jump. Just put one foot up on the railing," said something inside my head.

Carefully, I raised my foot and placed it on the metal railing, and then I raised my other foot up off the concrete walkway.

"See that didn't hurt anything," said the voice. "Yeah, I don't really have to jump, if I don't want to?" I said aloud.

"You don't have to jump if you don't really want to!" said the small voice inside my head.

Each time I took another step, I felt much better inside. The pain and the sadness were disappearing a little bit at a time. Soon I was half way up the silver steel railing. Now the passing cars were starting to honk their horns at me. One of the cars came to a complete stop, a man rolled down his window and yelled at me to get down off the railing.

I looked over at him and thought to myself, "That man must care about me to honk at me like that."

"Do you like me?" I asked him.

"I like you, son. Come down off that railing."

Slowly, I climbed down off the railings and stepped onto the concrete walkway below.

I have always heard that people who commit suicide really do not want to die. All they want is for the pain to stop. I have never heard a truer statement in all of my life.



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