A palpable alienation

 

 

An incredible, shocking, truly exceptional surprise was in store for Áron, who, unfortunately, in the first grade of high school, everyone just called him the "idiot stupid kid". The real main source of trouble, of course, was that no one really thought of getting to know him fully and truly. What is hidden in the so-called behind the stupid childish exterior?

He could never judge whether no one befriended him just because he looked like a screwed-up, mentally totally zombie Quasimodo of the 21st century. century? Or that he didn't get his driver's license before he was sixteen, which made the girls horny anyway? Or maybe he was just a handsome enough boy to make every girl fall on his knees longingly chanting his name like a musical quartet?

What particularly disturbed him in the emerging, forming mini-class society of the first grade was that there was hardly anyone who did not look at the hitherto unknown other with suspicious distrustful curiosity. On several occasions, she could hear the girls whispering to each other during the breaks that Áron was not good enough, and why it was necessary to put such defective half-hearted people in their class, who probably don't even know how to make friends or behave , because every single day is perfectly defined and filled by a lasting feeling of sad, melancholy loneliness, and who deliberately withdraws from the world because he is stubborn and defiant rather than allowing anyone to get to know him.

- Pay attention! Sorry to address you... Yes you! - called a slender supermodel, at least two heads taller than Áron. "I'd like you to come with me now!" Don't worry, they won't hurt you! - he encouraged kindly and smiled broadly, which was unusual for Áron, because his cackling, unruly heart was beating again.

"I wonder what such an exotic bouquet of flowers, like this sweet-looking girl, could want from such an unfortunate nobody's house?" - he mused in disbelief and thought again of when he was generally stripped naked and his clothes were taken away. Could another public shaming be in store? It would be a good introduction. After that, the mocking name would stick to him: Quasimodo the bass player.

As he continued with uncertain, hesitant steps through the school corridor reminiscent of a bustling beehive, gloomy, apocalyptic thoughts were always in his head. Why does he always have to be so different from the majority? Why can't he be a normal, grey, average teenage guy whose least concern is what his circle of friends is like, or what his new girlfriend is like? How much pocket money can you borrow from your parents?

"Don't be left behind!" Feel free to! I promise, it's just a few steps! - he dragged her along the corridor, which seemed increasingly dark and gloomy. It still took them fifteen minutes to get to the end.

- We arrived! the girl said measuredly. The neon lighting mixed with the natural light coming in from the larger windows, which bothered Áron a lot until his vision cleared. But when he saw the outlines of objects and people clearly and clearly, he suddenly didn't know whether to cry or laugh. It turned out that her arrogant headmistress wanted to treat the new student with a small gift, and nothing could be easier than giving her a medium-sized, potted ornamental flower as a gift from God.

"Welcome this little surprise with love!" �" he kindly handed the potted plant directly to Áron's paws, and as their fingers touched Áron was once again seized with romantic feelings.

"I... I don't even know... what to say..." he was really surprised that his new classmates could really be so good-natured. Tears sprang to his eyes from the unexpected happiness, then he added shakily: "Thank you... everyone!"

The supermodel girl kindly bent down and kissed her ruddy cheek twice, which detractors said smelled of garlic.

"Welcome to our class!" - he added, and then returned to the company of the crowded company.

Áron spent the rest of the day in blissful happiness, on the one hand, in pensive, pensive aloofness. He felt a strong urge to be an equal member of a real community, on the other hand, the other half of his soul constantly proclaimed that he needed to maintain a distance of three or even more steps from those he had been lucky enough to meet in the last day or two.

"It's fine, skunks!" Time for everyone to go back to the hall! - henceforth everyone returned to their usual social system. The beautiful and beautiful were in one group, while the dice and brains were in another, while the less fortunate wandered here and there pretty much alone.

Áron could feel for the first time that maybe he is not as much of a fool as many people thought he was. He could finally breathe free air and think: Yes! I am someone too! I am one of you, no matter how hesitant and crazy I look!”

Most of the hours were spent doing nothing. Of course, with the difference that although most of the teachers tried to hide their ardent curiosity about whether the cheerful new student sitting in the first pew had a potted flower. Where did you get it? And of course the most important question: why did you get it?

In the faculty room, it would not have been possible to drop a pin between classes, it was so busy.

"You won't believe it, dear colleagues!" I just taught a class with ninth graders, and one of the boys got a potted flower! You can be a really, really important person if you receive flowers at the end of the very first week! - this was the comment of the physics teacher, who is prone to curiosity and the search for new and new sensations, which then gradually began to spread, so much so that Áron could not even notice it, and by the end of the seventh and last lesson, word of mouth had already spread that there was a strange, an unknown boy who walks around with a flower and hugs and cherishes that plant as if it were his best friend.

Some curious students from other classes immediately took a look at Áron and the flower during one of the breaks.

"Hey, my friend!" Where did you get this weed? You look like a florist! - said the first person rushing onto the ladder, who started talking to him as if he were an old acquaintance.

"I think you have a very cute little flower, handsome boy!" - a freckled, broken-toothed girl congratulated him, who tried to speak by deliberately sucking in her fuller lower lip, as if she was ashamed of that part of her mouth.

The other girl had already started drawing, and on the back of her large spiral notebook, she improvised a real artistic portrait with her graphite pencil of Áron and his mini flower, which could be seen as a comic book character or an avant-garde work of art.

"There you go!" I give this to you! - the girl kindly gave her own drawing, smiling. Maybe she even flirted a little with her fluttering eyelashes. "You are very photogenic!"

- Well... thank you... very much... - he mumbled as quickly as he could from the rather cramped corridor, where - usually - most of the teenagers were huddled in groups to their heart's content.

It was then that Áron discovered the workshops of the vocational training schools, perfectly hidden from the curious, mysterious, darker, slightly more dangerous, where high school students and vocational high school students never even set foot. Since the buildings were connected to the vocational training building by a tiled corridor, he could walk from one place to another without any temporary problems. (In just two years, his class will have its own neglected, graffiti-filled, dilapidated room in the vocational training building, which will be the class teacher's next failed plan.)

Áron settled in one of the darker, slightly more cobwebbed corners, where they packed used washing machines and other everyday machines, which were beginning to rust, so that the skilled workers would have something to practice when they would one day turn their heads to practical knowledge. He placed the flower he had received as a gift next to him and began to engage in a philosophical exchange with him:

"Then what do you think it was?" he asked the petaled flower as if it were a real person.

"I think so!" I think there is a case of minor fraud and lying here. - he drew his eyebrows together and his eyes, where he could see them enough times in the crime series.

"I wonder what will come out of all this?" he wondered aloud. Kongó's echoing speech - now exceptionally - calmed him down and filled him with renewed presence of mind.

Later, it was class teacher's class, and the arrogant, somewhat overzealous class teacher launched a real search team to look for Áronka, so that she would not be lost forever in the unknown masses of the school. It didn't take long to find. Áron - thanks to the suspended corridors - could appear anywhere, anytime, and it became one of his favorite hobbies to prank his slightly more comical classmates.

"Aaron!" Where the hell have you been?! - reprimanded a slightly angry blonde girl who had fallen to her feet, but was full of heart, who wore a padded bra on purpose, thus emphasizing her adult personality.

"Oh!" I apologize to everyone... - he tried to apologize with little success, because the group of girls already grabbed him by the hand and began to drag him to the office class, which was already in full swing.

"Finally Áronka!" Said donkey! - exclaimed the young headmistress, who was not what she showed herself to be at enrollment, somewhat relieved. "Áronka, little darling!" Where the hell have you been? �" his gaze glided over the group of girls, waiting for someone to speak up and explain things.

"I like to know... teacher, it was because I forgot about the time and I just wanted to be alone..." Áron said, causing great relief to the other girls, who avoided being reprimanded for that very reason.

"Áronka is fine!" But don't do that again! I was about to call the police! - the headmistress always had a sophisticated intimidation tactic in case her students rebelled against her.

"I'm sorry..." he replied, barely audible, and apparently with such a bitter look that most people thought he was the bass player again.

- Oh no! She's starting to cry again! he sighed bittersweetly.

"There's nothing wrong, Áronka!" - the headmaster's voice went over immediately, and he guessed that he was about to cry. "But please don't let it happen again."

Later, the headmaster, who was zealous and exaggerating his precision and professional preparation for everything, called directly from the German office, where most language teachers had their own desks, to inform Áronka's parents that their son was fine and that no personal injuries had occurred.

From then on, the headmaster always secretly appointed two people whose job it was to keep an eye on Áron and to immediately warn the teacher of his every move, no matter how small an act it was.

Áron finally walked home with his little flower proudly, with his head held high, and began to believe and trust himself a little again.