The Girl in the Red Polyester Pants
By R Dean Taylor

I don't remember her name. But I'll never forget her. I see her in my mind. She's maybe ten years old, the same age I was at the time. Her too round face, her pudgy body, her faded red polyester pants, the same pants she wore every day. She's a childhood memory I will never forget. She kept to herself, never saying a word. I was new to the school, and, for the first time in my life, I was popular.

If she ever reads this, I hope she forgives me.

My family was poor, and I knew what it was like to be teased and bullied. My clothes were second-hand, never as nice as the other kids' clothes. I remember wearing shoes a couple of sizes too big, because my parents could not afford a new pair. I had endured the laughter from the other kids when my mother, unable or unwilling to pay a barber, gave me a bad haircut. I knew how the girl in the red polyester pants felt.

But in that school, I was accepted. And it felt good.

For a while, we simply ignored the girl in the red polyester pants. We ate lunch in the cafeteria at our table, while she sat by herself. I heard some kids teasing her one day about her pink free lunch card. Pink cards were for poor kids. A green card meant your parents paid for your lunch. My own card was pink. I was embarrassed for her, but I did not defend her.

Then there was the girl who had everything. Her parents were well-known and respected. She wore the nicest clothes. And, for some reason I never understood, she hated the girl in the red polyester pants. She began teasing her every day. She made her miserable. I remember a day at lunch time when the girl in the red polyester pants remained in class, sitting alone at her desk to escape the daily taunts. I saw her at her desk that day. She looked so sad. I should have defended her. But I chose to be popular.

One day, I was on my way to lunch, walking with a friend, when the girl who had everything stopped us.

"Come on," she said. "We're gonna play a little trick."

The look of malice on her face made me hesitate, but my friend and I followed her anyway. She led us back to the empty classroom.

"What are we doing?" I asked.

She opened the top of her desk, and pulled out a stack of play money. They were her "lucky bucks," fake money we earned by doing well in class, answering questions correctly, or scoring well on tests. We could spend these on candy and other small prizes.

"Give me yours," she said.

My friend obeyed, getting his from his desk. I hesitated.

"What for?"

She walked over to the desk belonging to the girl in the red polyester pants, and opened it. She placed the lucky bucks inside. I felt my heart sink.

"Why?" I asked.

The girl who had everything looked at me.

"Because she's stupid. That's why."

I wish I was brave enough to stand up to her, but I wasn't. I got my lucky bucks and gave them to her. She put them in the desk of the girl in the red polyester pants.

We left the classroom, and returned when lunch was over. I sat at my desk, feeling awful. The girl in the red polyester pants sat quietly, unaware of the "stolen" lucky bucks in her desk. Our teacher was a cranky, older man who never seemed to like us. He sat at his desk while we worked on our own. The girl who had everything got his attention.

"Someone stole my lucky bucks," She said. If anything, she was a good liar.

The teacher looked up at her.

"What are you saying?" our teacher said.

"My lucky bucks. Someone stole them."

My friend looked in his desk, then.

"Someone stole mine, too." He looked expectantly over at me.

I opened my desk. I felt his eyes on me. My ears felt hot.

"Someone stole my lucky bucks, too." I said.

Our teacher stood up.

"Alright, everyone. Open your desks."

We all opened our desks, and he stepped forward, walking between the rows of desks scanning the contents of each desk like a drill sergeant inspecting recruits. He looked down into the desk of the girl in the red polyester pants. I held my breath. I felt like I might faint. But he moved on, apparently thinking the pile of lucky bucks in her desk belonged to her. The girl in the red polyester pants stared fearfully down at her desk. She saw the lucky bucks, and knew they weren't hers.

Maybe she wouldn't get in trouble. I hoped. Then the girl who had everything spoke up. She pointed at the lucky bucks in the desk of the girl in the red polyester pants.

"Those aren't hers! She never gets lucky bucks. She's too stupid."

I thought for sure she had gone too far, calling her stupid. I thought the teacher would turn on her, but he didn't. He looked down at the lucky bucks in the desk of the girl in the red polyester pants. Her too round face looked pale. She was staring down at the lucky bucks. Our teacher examined her with a look of distaste.

"Are these yours?" He asked.

The girl in the red polyester pants shook her head. Tears were welling up in her eyes. She looked scared and confused.

"Did you steal them?" Our teacher asked.

She shook her head.

"Yes, she did!" Said the girl who had everything.

The girl in the red polyester pants was openly weeping now.

"I didn't steal them," she said. Her voice was low and quiet. It was the first time I heard her say anything.

"Yes, you did!" The girl who had everything said. "You're stupid and a thief!"

Our teacher looked down at the girl in the red polyester pants.

"Come with me," he said, grabbing her by the arm.

He led her out of the classroom. She was crying.

I saw a look of triumph on the face of the girl who had everything.

I am still ashamed.

The girl in the red polyester pants never returned to our classroom, and I never saw her again. We heard that her mother had removed her from our school, and I don't know what happened to her. But I have never forgotten her. I find myself writing about the underdog in many of my stories. Maybe it's a need to right a wrong, to atone for the way I treated the girl in the red polyester pants.

If you have the time, buy Skyler Floret and the Flourish. I kept the price low for my friends: Skyler Floret, a teen on the bottom of the pecking order, discovers he has a unique ability. Together, with Corky, a one hundred and sixty year old former slave who is somehow still alive, and Lerna, a woman who sees the future in the stars, he must stop the Man in White, an ancient creature intent on stealing the souls of all mankind. To stop the Man in White, Skyler must beat him at his own game, stealing Flourish, the stuff of energy, life, and souls. Will Skyler save the world, or will he become the very thing he is trying to stop? http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_5?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=skyler+floret&sprefix=skyle%2Caps%2C463

Magic Stream Copyright © 1995 - 2013 Regina Pickett Garson
All writings, graphics and scripts are copyright by the individual authors. Nothing on this site may be reproduced without permission of the individual authors.

No claims are made as to the reliability of any of the information provided or linked, sources often disagree. None of these pages are meant to be a replacement for professional help, but a resource that enables one to be a more intelligent consumer. You can learn a lot by becoming aware of different opinions. Don't be afraid to ask questions when it comes to your health, physical or emotional.

Join us on Facebook

Regina Garson's Blog
Regina Garson, Editor and Publisher
garson@hiwaay.net

Pickup
Or Send a
Free E-Card

---

Like Us!
Join Us On Facebook

---

---

About Site
Addictions
Aging
Art
Autism
Blog
Child Abuse
Children
Contributors
Contact
Death & Grief
Depression
Diet
Disabilities
Disaster
Dissociation
Divorce
Domestic Violence
Dreams
Eating Disorders
Fairy Tale
Family
Fitness
Food
Free E-cards
Gallery
Gender Issues
Holidays
Homeless
Jobs
Learning Disabilities
Medical Reference
Medications
Memberships
Memory
Men's Issues
OCD
Panic & Anxiety
Personal Growth
Personality Tests
Poetry
Psychology
Recovery
Reference
Relationships
Relaxation
Schizophrenia
Self Defense
Self Esteem
Self Help
Sexual Abuse
Site Map
Sleep
Spirituality
Stress
Submissions
Suicide
Support Services
Teachers
Teens
Therapy
Tourette's
Trauma
Violence
Women

---

---