The Willow Tree

Intro.

You know the feeling you get when you just finish watching a heartbreaking documentary.

 

A sad American Idol backstory.

 

Hell, the season finale of Skins.

 

The feeling that makes you want to go out there and help someone who can't help themeselves.

 

Go and camp out on The Gap or The Golden Gate Bridge, and try persuade people from jumping.

 

You vow that they’re going to do something to help someone other than yourself.

 

That you'll change the world for the better.

 

But the sad thing is that the feeling isn’t permanent. If it was, everyone would be running around saving the planet.

 

But after a while it fades, and you tell yourself, maybe another time or, someone else will help. Or even in the back of your mind you think-

 

It’s not my problem.

 

But the thing about this world is that there are far too many people who aren’t willing to help, but are only interested in being a leader.

 

 

When sometimes all you need is someone who will understand you.

And just listen,

without saying a word.

 

There are also the rare people, the ones who actually are different. Not the kind of different people claim to be, because they still like something while the rest of the world has moved on to something new.

 

The people who are the very definition of the word.

 

Differing from all others; unusual.

Unlike in form, quality, amount, or nature; dissimilar.

Partly or completely unlike.

But the thing about them, is that they come in all kinds of different packages, and personalities. Everyone else doesn’t know what to do or say to them, so they soon become outcasts because everyone else is scared-

 

Scared about the change that one persons dissimilarity could do to everyone else, if they don’t get rid of them-fast. Either by excluding-or just plain ignoring them.

 

Which leads to kids getting bullied,

teenagers getting ignored and pushed away,

and later on as young adults feeling completely alone.

 

Then there are the people who try to do good, but instead find themselves preferring to

watch from the sidelines because they’re afraid.

 

That was probably where I had fit in for the longest time.

 

Looking back at when I was about 12 or 13, I now realize that I just like most kids, had a defense mechanism to cling to thing were used to, and try not to change things as much as possible.

 

 

Back then I had always been friends with the loud kids. I wasn’t necessarily loud myself, but I did talk my share and plenty of other peoples.

 

 

If everyone started wearing blue jeans, I’d beg my mom to buy me a pair.

 

 

Just so people wouldn’t think twice when they saw me, wondering where my jeans were.

 

We had a partiularly large class, so everyone would always fight to be on top, or the most known. This was usually decided, by whoever was the meanest, or whoever talked the most.

 

 

I remember the meanest by far, was definately Ella Mae.

 

 

And the loudest, Seb.

 

 

Ella Mae had a new best friend every couple of months or so, because more than a couple months of her frostiness could freeze the warmest of hearts into fleeing away from her friendship.

 

 

While Seb, was one of those boys who were so nice and then wouldn't hesitate to laugh at you when one of his buddies said something rude about you when they thought you weren't listening.

 

 

I also remember that day in eighth grade when a new kid walked on to the blacktop at 8:45.

 

 

He ignored the jabs everyone gave eachother and walked straight to the office, as if there was noone there except

himself.

 

 

Later on that day, Ayesha-who worked in the office had spread it around that he was going to be in our class starting tomorrow.

 

 

It had rained all weekend, and the field was extremely muddy and sticky. No one dared walk in it, because we all knew that our parents would throw a fit, when we all came running home at noon for lunch.

 

I remember every day at recess and lunch, he would always aimlessly wonder across the field, as if he never really knew where he was going.

 

Looking back, I realize I couldn’t have been more wrong if I tried.

 

Because the truth was, he always knew where he was going.

 

It was just the rest of us who were lost.

 

 

Author's Note

Just a small bit of a short story I plan on writing. Not sure where I want to go with it yet.Suggestions welcome. (Not edited)