BULLIED GIRL [2005]
I headed to the lunch pickup area, instead of my classroom. I had just left the auditorium, after listening to a speech about the Battle of Okinawa. The prefecture’s June 23 Memorial Day was approaching, so our homeroom teacher had invited a college friend’s seventy-year-old mother to talk to a couple of classes about her war experiences. Mina had told me to sit up front and pretend to listen, so that’s what I did. Sitting right in front of the podium, I kept my eyes on the lady for the entire speech. I didn’t have to pretend, though, because she was pretty interesting. I considered myself lucky to be able to sit up front, but I was so stressed out about what was going on behind me that I had a hard time concentrating. My classmates, apart from Mina and her group, would think I was putting on a show for our teacher again. Or Mina might spread such a rumor on purpose. That made me think something bad was in store for me later. I got so nervous I had trouble breathing. Trying not to hyperventilate, I concentrated on the speech for the entire forty minutes.
The chime rang shortly after she’d finished. As planned, our class representative expressed some words of thanks, which were read from prepared notes. I could sense the impatience of everyone behind me. Thinking that their frustration might be taken out on me later, I broke out in a cold sweat. I prayed that our teacher would be accommodating and wrap things up quickly. The lady received a small bouquet and said a few word of thanks. Then the other class representative gave the signal for all the students to bow. A moment later, I could hear the boys in the back pushing open the doors and rushing out of the room. The lady looked surprised but returned to her chair and sat down. As she waited for everyone to leave, she stared at the floor. I overheard our teacher thanking her for giving a moving and instructive speech. I sat with my head down and listened to my teacher and the noisy students. When I figured most of the students were gone, I lined up behind the stragglers at the exit.
The auditorium was on the second floor. I went downstairs, walked along the covered walkway past the faculty room, and headed to the pickup area near the school’s rear entrance. Not many students had arrived yet. I opened the screen door and entered. Cases of bread, containers of food, crates of dishes and eating utensils, and other items had been divided up for each classroom. I lifted up several cases of milk cartons with both hands.
—You can carry those by yourself? asked the supervisor, wearing the usual food industry surgical mask.
I nodded and left. As I headed back along the walkway, I passed other students who were coming to pick up food and utensils for their classes. Suddenly, someone called from behind, and I turned around. It was the lady who had given the speech.
—Thanks for listening so attentively, she said with a smile.
—Uh, sure, I answered, looking down.
—That was my first time speaking in front of people, so I was pretty nervous. But having you listening at the front was a huge help.
I knew I should say something, but I couldn’t think of anything and hung my head.
—My stories about the war must’ve been confusing. I’m sorry I was such a poor speaker.
From the movement of shadow, I could tell she was bowing in apology. That’s not true! You were easy to understand, I muttered to myself, but I couldn’t manage to speak up. My silence must’ve made her uncomfortable.
—Oh, you’re on lunch duty, she said. Sorry to interrupt.
Then she started to move away.
Just as I was getting up the courage to lift my head, I heard footsteps dashing past me. Then I heard the three other lunch-duty girls calling out:
—Thank you for your speech!
—I’m so glad we had the chance to hear you!
—That was the most moving story about the war I’ve ever heard!
They had spoken in rapid succession, and I could tell the lady was at a loss. You’d better get your ass moving! said Mina’s voice in my head, so I stared at the ground and headed back to the classroom. I could feel the lady’s gaze on my back, but her good intentions were blocked by the three cheery voices, and left to shrivel on the school’s grounds under the hot sun.
—You had such a painful experience!
—We all need to fight for peace!
—People are still suffering from the war, aren’t they?!
They don’t really feel that way, I thought. But then I hated myself for my pettiness and tried to make my mind blank. I climbed the stairs to my classroom on the second floor. The desks had been pushed together into groups of six. The students were talking in their seats or making noise at the back of the room or in the hallway. Beside the podium, the teacher was
