Heather. A Lebanese girl with short black curly hair whose favorite food is baklava. Her jeans come up to her ankles, revealing her tube socks, her outfits never match, her sweaters look like her grandmother knit them, and sometimes she wears a flower in her hair. She likes ponies, reads anime, and writes in her journal. She carries an enormous backpack filled with crinkled papers and tattered textbooks. She gets picked last in gym class; she never has a partner, she sits alone. She never gives anyone eye contact; she speaks slowly and stumbles on her words, she always has a runny nose. She is different; she is a loner.
Brianna. A chubby girl with broad shoulders and with hair that could almost be an Afro. A girl who likes wearing black and matches every outfit. Loud and obnoxious she walks with confidence. Her nose is big, her hips are wide, her shirts are tight, but even so, she is always picked first and she never sits alone. She always volunteers to present projects, she never raises her hand; instead she blurts out answers. She laughs infectiously, mouth wide open, bearing her teeth. She carries herself proudly; she is popular.
I’ve never talked to Heather or Brianna, they were simply in a few of my classes. Besides being classmates, they were strangers. Heather and Brianna weren’t friends either. They ignored each other, but when they did finally speak, they exposed the coward inside me.
Three minutes into passing period, students steam into the classroom. They find their seats and shuffle through their backpacks searching for their homework. As more students enter the room and as friends reunite, the room becomes chaotic. Since it’s the class right after lunch, energy radiates off everyone. Seated in the back corner, I watch as kids situate themselves. Soon, they begin to realize that the teacher is gone. Everyone ignores the warm-up problems on the overhead and continues with conversations. Unable to concentrate, I notice Heather wandering around the front of the classroom. I assume she’s searching for a box of tissues, since her nose is constantly running. Unsuccessful in finding one, she heads for the closet.
Suddenly, the back door opens. Silence spreads across the room, but realizing it’s not the teacher, the noise begins to crescendo. Patrick and his gang of friends file in. In his baggy shorts and oversized t-shirt, Patrick mischievously grins. He nods towards Heather, who is in the closet, and all his friends smirk. He casually strolls toward the closet and immediately; he slams the door and pushes a table in front of it, locking Heather in. His friends burst out laughing like hyenas and Patrick goes around, receiving high-fives.
Unable to comprehend the callous behavior, I freeze. Thoughts fly through my head. “Why did they do that? Are they going to let her out? Of course they’ll let her out! Why aren’t they letting her out? Did anyone else see what happened? Is someone going to help her? Why isn’t anyone helping her? Do I need to help her? But what if they laugh at me? What if they lock me in? What if they don’t let me out?” Struggling with my thoughts, imagining being captured in the closet, I just sit. Too scared, too worried, too selfish, I don’t do anything.
As I cower in the corner, battling against my morals, finally someone steps in. Brianna yanks the table away and opens the door. Heather stands in the closet weeping, her tears streaming down her face, and her nose runnier then ever. Too busy thinking about myself, I didn’t even consider how Heather was feeling. Brave Brianna gives Heather a hug and hands her a tissue. Courageously, she berates Patrick, firmly asking, “How could you do that to someone?”
Brianna continued to shame Patrick and the last thing she said, I will never forget, “Are you that cruel and heartless?” How cruel and heartless was I to sit there and do nothing? That day, I was a bystander and unlike Brianna, I didn’t have the audacity or the selflessness to help Heather. As I sat there debating with my conscience, not doing anything to help her, I basically agreed that nothing was wrong. Her tears were my fault because I hid in the corner, doing nothing.
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