Loser

“Her? Oh. Don’t bother with her. She’s just a loser.”
The Word is one we use daily. It has become just as regularly used as any other word, a part of our natural speech. Loser. Loser. Loser. It doesn’t disrupt the flow of conversation as it used to. We have grown immune to that word.
She either doesn’t hear them or she doesn’t care. Sshe just sits on the swing absentmindedly swaying back and forth. She hums an unrecognizable tune probably one she made up herself. Her eyes are looking forward toward us but she isn’t looking. She doesn’t even make any gesture that she knows that they’re talking about her.
There’s a smile on her lips. What is there to be smiling about when everyone talks about you? How could you be happy like that?
She just kicks at the wood chips on the floor without a care and swings back and forth, back and forth that smile on her face the whole time. Doesn’t she know that no one uses that playground anymore? Doesn’t she know that she’s horribly outdated, terribly expired? How can you simply not realize a fact as plain as that?
“Loser”
More laughing
She doesn’t flinch, not one bit. She just sits there, smiling to herself, not letting it bother her. Doesn’t she know that being called that is nothing to be proud about? How can she not be one bit ashamed? Everyone in the school could be talking and pointing and laughing at her and she wouldn’t notice.
She is not like us. Not like any of us.
She has no one. Not one single person. But that doesn’t seem to make a difference to her.
She is so different, so unaware of what is going on around her. Does she even know that she has no one? Can’t she tell that she is not like anyone else?
How can she not be bothered by that?
She can just sit there alone, while everyone in the entire school talks about her but she will hear no one. She will pay attention to none of it. She will simply sit there humming her own tune, kicking the wood chips and rock back and forth on the swing and smiling; smiling about nothing.
There’s nothing for her to even smile for.
Is there?
She’s so confusing; I can’t figure her out. There seems to be nothing to figure out. No one knows a single thing about her. And it looks as if it’s going to remain that way. No one wants to be the one to crack her code.
“Loser.”
I actually feel embarrassed for her. She can’t seem to do it for herself. But I am still surprised when a wave of embarrassment for her engulfs me. She doesn’t even know what they’re saying, she just allows them to treat her this way.
Doesn’t she realize what they’re saying about her?
The bell rings, interrupting our---their---talking and giggling about her, interrupting my dumbfounded thoughts. We all turn to make out way into the school to begin the day.
But she just sits there happily continuing to sway back and forth, not showing any sign that she plans to get up and gather her backpack. I want to stay behind and keep watching her, to see what she does but I can’t.
Because I am not like her. I am like them, I am with them. And I am expected to stay there.
I glance backward one last time.
She is laughing.
Laughing out loud, her head thrown backward, and her wavy sandy colored hair falling past her shoulders and down her back.
No one else turns back, no one else notices.
Maybe we’re all as bad as she is.
“Loser.”
The word doesn’t feel so comfortable anymore. It is used to describe someone different from us, to ridicule someone for being the way they are. And it suddenly doesn’t seem like such a little thing anymore.
She is sitting on that swing again, it has simply become hers. No one ever uses those swings, no one ever uses the playground. I want to run over and scream it at her; her just being so clueless makes me ache with pain for her, pain that she can’t seem to feel for herself.
I am frustrated with her. If she could only just make some kind of sign that she knows that we talk about her. If she could just attempt to stand up for herself for once. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad. Maybe I could even join in on the ridiculing. But I can’t. I can’t laugh along with them. I can’t bring myself to make fun of her. Not when she doesn’t do anything about it.
She makes it so impossible for me to join in, and I don’t know why.
I listen to them say such mean things. I wish I could tell them to stop it, this whole thing is hurting my head. If only she would get a clue. If only they would just stop laughing at her.
Why are we like this? Why is being different, being unique such a bad thing? I wish I could understand why they feel like they can laugh at her for no reason. For her being different from us. For her not being exactly the same as everyone else.
People like her make the world not so boring.
And suddenly It hits me, people like us are the ones that do.
She isn’t the one that is clueless, I realize. The only ones that are clueless are us, the only ones who don’t know what’s going on are us.
And we’re the ones that are laughing at her for that exact reason.
But it’s only us who are being laughed at, being laughed at for being so stupid as to think we can make fun of people and have them not do anything about it. For being so stupid as they don’t actually realize it.
“Loser”
But the only losers are them. And I want to tell them that, so I do.
“I’m sick of this,” I say, “Just shut up. Shut up.”
They don’t answer they are too stunned to talk. And I don’t stay to find out. I turn and walk away. I don’t know where I’m going but it’s going to be anywhere away from them. Anywhere where I cannot hear their stupid voices and stupid laughter.
They can talk about me all they want because I don’t care anymore, I don’t care what they think.
I find my feet taking me toward the swingset. And all of the sudden, I’m sitting down on the swing next to her.
She doesn’t say anything. She just continues to rock back and forth on her swing and kick the wood chips on the ground. She glances over at me and I see the slightest smile on her lips.
And finally she’s not alone. And I know that she’s not the loser.
Because in the real world, where being different is the thing that counts, she wins.
And they lose.
 
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