Write About Being Deserted

The playground was a jumble of screaming kids, flying tether balls, and the rhythmic slap of jump ropes.  Pigtails flew and screams of delight echoed off the play-shed.  It was am recess for the third grade.  A whole 15 minutes to run and scream and tackle and play.  Looking over the blacktop, my eye skipped over the bursts of activity. With so many bodies whirling in motions, my eye didn't stop until it came upon a still figure in the corner of the shed.  She stood with her back to the wall, slowly tossing a ball from one hand to the other.  In the midst of that laughing and whirling and screaming, she stood out in stark relief.  Wide brown eyes watched the groups that sped past her.  I saw her  lean toward one laughing pile of girls that paused beside her.  She took a hesitant step toward them before they fled to the monkey bars, leaving her deserted,  left to watch their flight like a flock of startled birds.  She began tossing her ball again.  Slowly,.  Carefully.  Her eyes began scanning the playground again and from the recess of my brain I found myself remembering the intimidation of a group.  How hard it was to approach, and ask, and try.   Determined, I walked across the court to her and smiled.  She met my eyes and slowly smiled back.

"Want to play hand ball?" I asked.

":Sure," she beamed at me and ran to the ball bin for the rubber red ball.  She was back in a flash.  We had barely started playing when our deserted corner began to fill.  Teachers rarely played with the kids during recess.  It was our 15 minute solace as well.  Only for us, it was a time without questions and bickering and fidgeting.  When a teacher did wander into the fray, the results were immediate.  Soon we were swamped with kids who wanted in.  I let her lead the effort to form teams and rules.  Slowly, I slid to the back of the group, morphing from player to ref, to cheer leader.  I was as surprised as the kids when the whistle blew announcing free time was over.  The kids scurried to return the balls and and jump ropes.  I turned to collect my group of students when I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist.

"Thanks Mrs. Miller," she said, her brown hair hiding her face but  I could feel her smile.  "That was the best recess ever!"  I hugged her back and watched her run, happily to her line.  She was engulfed with a crowd of giggling, wiggling bodies.  No longer an eye sore, she melded right in with just as many giggles and wiggles as the rest.  A very good recess indeed.