Everyone saw Lauren for her peculiar behaviors; I watched them judge. The hand flapping and the noise making and rocking in the atrium turned their heads as well as their noses.  Her hair was messy. Her dress was not up to snuff. Her language wasn’t perfect. She stuck out.

I guess I saw something else in Lauren. Maybe a little of me; I don’t know.

I didn’t know me then.

Lauren was in my history class; the first day she made an abrupt entrance, and I knew she was the most interesting person in the school. Everyone else saw a disturbance; the surface.  She made the teacher uncomfortable because he didn’t understand there was a real human in there.  No matter what she said. No matter how hard Lauren tried; she’d never win them over. 

The lowest hanging fruit; the easiest choice. Everyone picked Lauren. 

They were offended by her lack of boundaries and would talk about her while she was right there — as though she knew the social offense she was committing. Instead of addressing her directly, they asked her to infer her offense with gossip which is something she cannot do or understand. 

So I invited Lauren to sit at the desk next to me and that’s where she sat for the rest of the semester. I helped her with tiny little things; mostly as a fellow ADHD student who in this classmate, I saw some of my same attention “issues.”

My peers picked on the most innocent; the most vulnerable; the easiest target. They were unkind, but they were grotesquely ignorant. Superficial. Self absorbed. Like Lauren didn’t have a right to be in our class; that they had a right to assert she didn’t meet their standard.  That because Lauren was there, they got to gripe about her and feel superior. 

Cheap. So cheap.

I cried more times for Lauren than I’ve ever cried for another soul on this earth. There aren’t many people who will look under the surface. Targeting the special needs kid said a lot about my classmates, but nothing about my friend Lauren.

Lauren… who couldn’t meet the expectations of the class —let’s take a look at how Lauren measures up to that standard. One of the classmates with self-proclaimed better judgement arrived 10 minutes until the end of class and expected to get credit for attendance without any of the effort. Lauren would have never done such a thing. She was on time every day. Never missed.

Lauren spoke out of turn, she had questions that seemed inappropriate but the teacher was so weirded out by her, he never actually heard what she had to say. She was fidgety; she’d miss the answer but not because she was wrong – because the teacher didn’t know he could ask her to repeat. Like he thought Lauren “wasn’t supposed to know”about her language deficit. Like she wasn’t working on it already.

He couldn’t see that she was speaking from a different perspective on the matter either. She was right in her own way. Her language and her perception just failed in that classroom. No one was trying to understand Lauren; it would have taken effort.

She always tried; she didn’t care if they said she was wrong. And she wasn’t as quick to jot down the really important information – like the notes she might need at home — because she was processing and managing her sensory needs while people poked fun.  So I tried to help a little. 

She started to find me at the tables outside of class and would come and sit with me during study time. The little notes I did for her and the tiny little ways I was kind in class must have made her feel accepted by me. That I was her friend. Her ally. 

Then she didn’t stick out as much – not at my table. Not with me. I gave her a place to go — I didn’t know she needed a place to go.  But now I do. And I’m extra glad I had a seat for her. 

It wasn’t until we were at the tables, just she and I, that Lauren got to show off.  She claimed she was doing the homework assignment (reading the text) but I saw a girl flipping pages.

“Lauren! Can you really read that fast?!”

She sparkled as she nodded, and she told me everything she got out of the chapter.

“I am so jealous!,” I told her.

And she giggled. And I giggled. And I told her she was the coolest, and that I wished I could be like her.

She did not, however, appreciate me saying “hey girl!” when she came near, and she was so kind to remind me that her name is Lauren. I didn’t mess it up again. 

I was sad to leave the class because I was sad to say goodbye to Lauren. I knew even though she had my information, she’d never call me. It was just for those few months. 

But I think of her all the time. And I hope she is happy wherever she is. And I hope she knows she’s still one of the coolest people I ever knew.