dot three

A brown haired girl with slightly slit eyes and plaqued teeth could not bear life in the 4th grade today. As thirty children pounded into the classroom, Kayla's wails could be seen and heard from playgrounds away.

"They are...all...making fun-nn-n of meeeee!" she let her voice trickle out as her body wretched in turmoil. "They said Ms. Sha said to go to the end of the line, but you did not say to go to the end of the line, but they all said Ms. Sha said, and you didn't. You didn't. You...hoo...didn't."

Her personal horror lingered on for many minutes.

"Hates you, but why?" In the four hours I spent with this kid, every encounter she had would result in a confession that she or he was an affront to her existence. In need of reinforcement, she would ceaselessly tattle. Every student surrounding her, a monster out to eat her alive. On the rare chance she could connect with one, they'd be unwillling to connect back, because she had treated them like a monster moments before.

At 8 years old, could it just be Kayla's peers that pressed her to the point of isolation? Was this just a tale of the fourth grade nothing, or would she forever perceive the people around her as cruel enemies?

I ran out of gas on Saturday on my way up to Santa Barbara. Barely rolling off the freeway, I double parked in a left turn lane of a major boulevard, locked my car, and ran across the oncoming traffic to the oasis Shell station. Before I even had to strategize a solution, a middle-aged man wearing dirty pants and scruff yelled out his car window, "You need a hand?" I would have loved one at that point. He reparked his old cruiser, removed a small gas can from his trunk, and walked up to me. "Come on now, you hear, we don't have much time before the tow-truck'll get you." I followed along, willing to do whatever he said in order to get my idle car off the street.

"You know, I'm not gunna do this for nothing," he muttered. I began to question his ulterior motives, but vowed to keep it cool.

"I can give you some money if you like." He didn't respond. In a hurry, he led me across four lanes. I cautiously unlocked my car and opened the gas tank.

"You know, I'm always getting screwed over. The whole damn world just screws me over."

"Well maybe you are in for some good karma," I replied, not knowing what else to say.

This wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Yeah right. You know something about me, I was in the military. I was in the damn American military, and they put a chip in me. Now they are watching my every move, all the time. Watching me, and screwing everything up." I stayed mute, listening to his troubled words.

"Hey, you think I can borrow $5 dollars." He had rescused me from my pickle. Of course.

"Turn it on and off and on and off." I toggled the ignition. "No!" he screamed, "On and off. Don't start the engine!"

The car roared up. I rolled off, leaving him with genuine words of gratitude. Had he believed them, I'll never know.