avannah sat on her bed, legs crossed and bent over her math book. Her Jack Skellington sweatshirt was too big for her slight frame and hung loosely off her shoulders. The white skeleton face of Jack on the front was cracked in many places because of all the washings the sweatshirt had been through. The black of the sweatshirt faded to a dull hue. Still, she loved how the sweatshirt fit, like a snug security blanket that she could almost hide in. The same could be said of her long bangs that hung down past her eyes. Ragged brown edges that hadn’t been trimmed in a while often covered her large doe eyes, dark brown and fringed with long black lashes. Both her bangs and her clothes suited her just fine, allowing her to feel hidden. Not that she was really a wall flower. She just chose to keep to herself, watching the world pass through a brown fringed curtain.
Savannah
decided it was easier this way, to be unnoticeable. She had learned after three moves that observation
was better than action. After all, what
had action ever gotten her before but sadness at leaving friends and unfinished
dreams? There was the junior choir she’d
had to give up for the last move, leaving before she could sing her solo at the
spring concert. The move before that it
had been a Girl Scout troop left before she could complete the bridging ceremony
to Junior Girl Scouts. And before that
it was a ballet career cut short. Okay,
maybe there had never been a career in the works, but after leaving her first
ballet teacher she never enjoyed ballet as much. Besides, Savannah rationalized that it was
better to sit passively on the sidelines when you moved every couple
years. Two years was just enough time to
make good friends and get too involved, and that made moves even harder.
Now, a
year into this most recent move, Savannah had stuck to her guns, not joining in
any activities and mostly staying to herself.
Of course, it was hard to make friends of girls when you dressed more
like a boy. Savannah looked up from her
math book and glanced at the Tony Hawk shoes she wore, remembering the day her
mother had bought them for her.
“Are
you sure you want these shoes?” her mom had asked. “They’re boy shoes you know?”
“I don’t
care,” Savannah had responded, “I like them.”
Her mother
had looked at her uncertainly. “Aren’t
you worried the girls will make fun of you if you wear these?” she asked.
“No,”
Savannah replied simply. And in reality
she was not worried. It didn’t bother
her that some girls might think it was funny that she wore boy’s shoes.
In the
end, her mother had relented and bought her the shoes, and Savannah had worn
them every day since, along with her Jack Skellington sweatshirt, much to her
mother’s disapproval.
“You
have a closet full of nice clothes that your grandparents and aunts sent you
for your birthday. Why don’t you wear some
of those instead?” her mother always asked.
“I do!” Savannah insisted. She did wear many of the shirts she had received
as gifts. It’s just that they were always
covered by the Jack Skellington sweatshirt.
Anyway, Savannah didn’t like most of the things her grandparents and aunts
had sent her: shirts with flowers and
frills, and little skirts and button up pastel sweaters. It was like her family back home still thought
of her as the six year old that had left five years ago.