The Ellie Letters: Cows with Devil Horns Play Middle School Volleyball (October 16, 2007)

Hey, remember me?

Don't bother answering that. I know you do. You see me in the halls between classes, though we never acknowledge each other. We've had classes together for over three school years. I know you remember what happened. Otherwise, maybe things would be different.

We were only in middle school at the time, and at the top of the school. As eighth graders, we supposedly ruled the school, but in actuality, there was no "we" to it at all. I was nothing more than a thirteen-year-old sixth grader. The sixth graders knew the building better than I did. I was new to the town that year, and of course new to the school as well. I carried with me from my old home more than just the bags that were packed in the mini-van and moving truck. I carried the heavier baggage locked up inside my heart, and then covered that up.

But that doesn't really matter.

There is little point in telling you about the entire year. I honestly don't care to remember it all. Still, there is one thing I cannot seem to forget and that is our gym class. It was period eight, right between my Reading and Writing and English classes. I assume it was your favorite class, but I only saw it as a sweaty Hell.

I've never been good at gym. I've never been able to win the relay races, throw, catch, kick, or anything related to gym class. I have been teased and mocked since elementary school because of that. I have been the last one picked for teams, and that's usually only because the teacher just put me into a team; if it were up to the captains, I wouldn't have been picked. I also never learned how to play volleyball. They never really taught the real rules in school where I came from. The rules changed from day to day, but nothing was ever "official".

Was that my fault? I don't think so, but what does that matter anymore? Even with learning the rules to the game, I still found it to be stupid. You yelled at me to get a ball that flew over my head and out of reach from my outstretched fingertips. It was obvious much earlier that my skill was null, and it is only common sense that I would not be much better with a ball out of sight and out of reach. You saw no difference though. You kept yelling at me. I tried and missed; you yelled. I didn't try; you yelled. I was always on the loosing side.

So, it wasn't as if you made my life any less miserable during the year. I'm certain it was a misunderstanding, but you loved yelling, so I was unable to get a single word in. So this is my chance to say what I was unable to say before.

I have never seen such an immature conflict. Honestly, I find the whole thing stupid, and most of it a little funny. I'm sure most outsiders would agree. You freaked out because I supposedly called you "cows."

I did no such thing.

Either you thought it just be fun to mess around with me, or maybe you actually did think I called you cows. Either one is a possibility. I did have a sore knee or something a few days before, and perhaps you misheard the"ow, ow..."

You didn't know I said "ow" did you? Well, I did.

Still, I don't think that being called a cow is such a bad thing. It's actually kind of funny. That's the only funny thing though.

You were laughing, but what is so funny about being cornered in the locker room? What makes cursing and yelling and laughing at me so entertaining? Do you get all of your satisfaction from making other people cry, or just me? Your lives must have been very dull before I moved here.

I just wanted to get out of the locker room and talk with my friends before I went to English. I said only two words to one of you: "Excuse me."

"What? Did you fart or something?"

So, maybe I did snap a little in response, but you had given me a hard enough time in class. Plus, that comment was completely unnecessary Still, maybe I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, and I apologize.

But then, you swarmed in like an angry hive of bees. At once, nearly every girl in our gym class stood so that my only retreat was the corner. You yelled, and claimed I called you cows. You cursed and screamed, and only after an unsuccessful attempt to stand up for myself, I was able to escape.

There are a few things I cannot deal with. Among the top of that list are being accused or blamed for things I didn't do, being yelled at, and constant teasing. You did all of those.

And I ran out of there, shouting for you to "shut up" as I tried to hold back those angry tears. My attempts failed.

You didn't let it go though. The next day was another torturous class."Don't have a cow! Moo! Don't have a cow!" It was endless taunting and laughing.

That wasn't the worse though. I think you said it purposely so I could hear. You looked straight at me when you said it. You saying it almost confirmed that you find satisfaction in hurting people.

"I don't care if I make her feel like less of a person."

You didn't care? Well, maybe you would be glad to know that it worked.

-Ellie

This was the second "letter" written in the series, and it is currently the only letter written to people I met in New Jersey... specifically, a group of girls in my eighth grade gym class.