A few miles from my house, in one of many rural sections in town, is a narrow road called Elbow Road. It is a road so secluded, that if someone were to scream, he would go unnoticed until a passerby happened fatefully upon him. It is a road so narrow and twisted that it has claimed dozens of unsuspecting cars, and even lives, by way of the deep ditches on either side of the tight bends. Today among teens, among those my age, it is a phenomenon, because it is fabled that along that road wanders a ghost, a young girl killed on her prom night, or killed by a drunk driver, or dead from driving too fast, too late, trying to get home.
Silly though it seems, on cold and stiff nights, teenagers try to "live it up" on that road, and they attempt to entice the spirit to walk in their midst. No matter what they do, however, she only makes an appearance when she's least expected. She sneaks out, and stays silent, she never utters a single syllable. She only presents herself to those not only unknowing, but those she deems to deserve her entity. No one is sure about who she was, or is, as those who once knew her are obscure. And though this spirit reportedly contains human emotions, human expressions, human features, she is simply referred to as the ghost of Elbow Road.
I am known by those around me very well, I am Amanda. My friends (I have many), fellow students (and many more), teachers who have known me, all know that I am a highschool senior, that I prefer arts to sciences, languages to maths, they all know me not only by heart, but by name. My parents and brother know me, my family knows me-- these people all know me for who I am, not what I am. But to those who do not know me, I am no one. It is that way for everyone, until a person graces others with his prescence, he will be unheard of. In my chemistry class, no one knows me. I am the only student whose name is still forgotten by my teacher, and I only speak up when I deem it necessary. When I climb wearily onto the bus, and immediately pull out my books for study, the younger students pass my seat and whisper-- "She's so pale, who is she? ...I think she's in our grade... She looks like Casper, but not as bubbly." They do not know me, either, but I prefer it that way.
I have become selective about those I present myself to, as they have always been selective about me. I have only come to the conclusion that I have had it wrong all along, that instead myself appealing to others, others must appeal to me. And until they do, that minority who chooses to label me so, I am the lone, drawn spirit. To them, I am the ghost of Elbow Road.
I made that connection on the way home today. It's strange, because I'm not lonely, I'm not even sad. I think it's just that now I can deal better with ridicule than a few years ago. Those kids will never understand that I'm so tall and so thin and so pale because I'm Irish. It's just genetic. If I speak up and tell them that I have pre-cancerous skin issues, it'll ruin their fun. So for now I'll just be the quiet girl of unknown origins who continually studies in the front seat. They'll never see the fact that I'm just as loud as (if not more than) everyone else, just as happy-go-lucky as can be. It does provide a bit of strange interest, like an ora, I like that. It sets me apart.
Still, I can't help but wish I looked a bit more like others, you know, tanner. Or at least lived where others looked like me, like in England. I'd feel more at home, but I like America the best. I was thinking about that the other day... I was watching The Patriot, it's about the war that won America its independence. And I started thinking, "Okay, I know I would have been on the side of the Torries if I had gone from today to back then..." But my family came from Ireland in the 20's, my other side of the family came from Germany only a few decades ago, but my grandmother is a Hamilton, one of the founding fathers of America. Had I been alive back then, and if I hadn't been enslaved to an English plantation because I was an Irish Kennedy (or starving in Ireland still), or if I weren't dancing to oompa music in leiderhosen in Germany, I'd more than likely be a Hamilton in America, and thus a hard-core patriot. Even so, what those men were doing for the colonies was great: they, poor farmers, went against the BRITISH ARMY. What was then largest, strongest, most defined and orderly military in the world was being taken on by some rebelling farmer militia men and their little French buddies. The Americans barely knew how to fire guns, and yet 12-year-olds were fighting for the cause, dying on their own soil! It was so brave that it was almost foolish, if you think about it, especially when they were dying so all of the colonies, whether they supported the cause or not, could be free of monarchy. Though I do still think it true that the colonies were settled by the king, and should therefore be owned by the king, geez! That was cool! I would have switched to Patriotism! Anyway, it's a good movie, so go see it. It's got Mel Gibson, Heath Ledger, and a beautiful bit of cinematography (though it's highly idealistic and contains painful charactatures and flat characters [but they still remain interesting]). It's a very nice movie. And, no, I didn't cry.
Uhmm... I think that covers all the bases. I've got to do my homework! An abstract for Government, notes and reading in English, a worksheet and vocab in Chem, and workbook pages in French. It'll take me all night, all morning, and some time between classes. *sigh* I'm being overloaded this semester.