The first scream completely startled me, but it confirmed my suspicions. I was chewing my food cross-legged on the floor, and it's a good thing I didn't drop my plate or anything.
I was watching her from the corner of my eye as soon as I sat down. I already sensed at first like there was something wrong with her, but I wasn't sure. Maybe she was just having a bit of silly fun? But she looked about 9, too old to do those kind of things. So I just sat there and ate, trying to figure out if the girl sitting a metre away from me was mad.
I suppose I should have used the term 'mentally challenged'. Mad or retarded sounds kind of rude. But yes she was mad. Her scream made my stomach curdle. Everyone there averted their eyes, trying to seem like it was a normal thing. Like What, this girl yelling in the middle of a party? Happens all the time. Eyes downcast, my mom muttered "It's okay, she's not normal."
That's when the fear crept in.
I realise the things we fear are the ones we can't control.
Why aren't we afraid to live then?
We don't control what happens to us, not really. But I suppose we're under this illusion that we do, so we're lulled into this sense of security. Why are we afraid of wild animals? Because we don't know what they'll do next. We can't see inside their heads, we can't negotiate, we can't predict anything. Not much anyway.
With every yell my fear escalated. I chewed on my cucumber faster. It was bitter, so it was hard. I was getting nauseous. The girl kept bouncing on her chair, eyes blank. Her mother finally came, told her to come upstairs. "Come, lets go upstairs."
Yells of protest.
Surreptitiously the guests moved a little further away to create a little path for her to walk. I was so afraid then, I kept having images of her attacking me for completely no reason, clawing and biting at my face. Stupid, I know. But I really couldn't help it. I was terrified. I looked downwards thinking,"don't hurt me, don't hurt me, don't hurt me".
And of course she didn't. Her mom pulled her away. She stumbled forward, walking on her tiptoes. More yells from upstairs.
As I left the house I couldn't help but shudder and then feel terrible after that. And grateful that I or anyone else I knew wasn't born like that. I guess I'll never be volunteering at the Mental Health Association then.
