This was originally around 1800 words. I worked intensely with an English teacher whose opinion I hold in high regard. She loved the essay, and helped me pare this down many times. I have about 12 drafts that she personally went through and cut down. So before you say that I can cut this down, know that I have cut it down a lot and can't seem to part with much more without sacrificing the essence of the story.
If you would like to read any of the original drafts, please message me! Without further ado, here is my essay. Thank you in advance!
"B-blossom!" I turned and struggled to hide my grimace. It was our cabin's proverbial problem child, Ruben. He had already set himself apart from the other students at science camp. He had decided his given name didn't suit him, and fashioned a new name for himself. He was slightly taller, and his lanky arms ended in tightly clenched fists. Ruben's tensed shoulders were in perpetual anticipation for a fight. Even the angry blonde streaks punctuating his hair seemed to be rebelling against the natural brown.
"Ruben! How can I help you?" I smiled uncertainly, expecting only verbal abuse from the boy that had, at 11, already been arrested for assaulting and attempting to rob an elderly woman in a 7-11. I shuddered slightly, remembering our trip to the creek earlier in the day. Four students returned drenched, and an unfortunate few cried that that live banana slugs had been added to their sandwiches as a surprise condiment, all courtesy of Ruben.
After each incident, I scolded him, but he shrugged my words off nonchalantly. I found Ruben later, threatening another camper, and stopped him mid-blow. Trying a different tactic, I approached him with kindness, instead of harsh words. He expected reproach, I delivered forgiveness. His surprise was obvious. I asked him, without contempt or anger, why he had attempted to punch the other boy. Ruben answered by stuttering and running away, and, fearing that I had been too forward, I let him go.
He stood before me now, his expression both hopeful and nervous. It was charmingly endearing, and unexpected considering his usually sullen demeanor.
"Can I sit next to you at campfire?" It was a simple question, but it sent a surge of warmth through me. The tension dissipated like the dying wicks of flame escaping into the night. We sat together in silence, one row above the rest of the cabin. While the other boys were joyfully singing, I sensed Ruben's hesitation. I nudged him.
"I know it's silly, but let's humor them a little," I indicated with a smile. He smiled back, tentatively, then more confidently. Even as the other boys giggled at our less-than-stellar singing, our voices rose above theirs, growing louder until we were belting lyrics at full volume. Our off-key voices didn't matter. I turned to him with an embarrassed grin, and we burst into laughter.
"Surprised?" I asked. He paused for breath.
"Yeah, I didn't know I could do that."
Encouraged by his response, I asked, "Are you happy?"
This time, we lapsed into silence.
"Mm." He said, quietly.
"Mm?" I laughed a little. Ruben looked down shyly.
"I mean - yes, I'm happy."
It was my turn to pause. I couldn't articulate my feelings. My heart was being tightly squeezed in the fists of this boy, the same fists that had just been poised to deliver a punch only a few hours earlier. I settled with a curt nod. Some unspoken truce was established, as we sat in intimate silence.
"I'm sorry about before," he mumbled, scratching his ear. I remained quiet, encouraging dialogue. "I don't know why I can't misbehave when everybody else does." A hint of defiance crept into his voice. Suddenly, Ruben, the boy who had resigned himself to a life of crime, began to talk. He had been so astonished by the hand I extended, he grasped it tightly and pulled me in, giving me a glimpse into his life as he attempted to escape it.
Ruben got into fights often, so his classmates feared him. His home life was far from the best. His father got violent easily, and his mother struggled with alcoholism. He generally felt unloved and unwanted, and didn't think he owed it to his parents to behave. If they couldn't "behave" themselves, why should he? His logic was simple and human. There was no malicious thinking.
"Why tell me all this?" I asked him.
"You're the first person who cared," he replied. "You do care, don't you?"
Revealing his troubled life to a complete stranger, Ruben spoke with emotion. He gripped his knees tighter to his chest. It had felt like a barrier - he didn't trust me enough to keep his guard down. However, as he confided in me, I realized that he had actually placed his trust in me, and I, in turn, trusted him.
"Yes," I replied.
I cared; I was happy he put his faith in me; yes, I trusted him. My "yes" conveyed more than we both felt comfortable expressing. "I care," I said plainly, and we both understood the simple statement. It had made all the difference.
If you would like to read any of the original drafts, please message me! Without further ado, here is my essay. Thank you in advance!
"B-blossom!" I turned and struggled to hide my grimace. It was our cabin's proverbial problem child, Ruben. He had already set himself apart from the other students at science camp. He had decided his given name didn't suit him, and fashioned a new name for himself. He was slightly taller, and his lanky arms ended in tightly clenched fists. Ruben's tensed shoulders were in perpetual anticipation for a fight. Even the angry blonde streaks punctuating his hair seemed to be rebelling against the natural brown.
"Ruben! How can I help you?" I smiled uncertainly, expecting only verbal abuse from the boy that had, at 11, already been arrested for assaulting and attempting to rob an elderly woman in a 7-11. I shuddered slightly, remembering our trip to the creek earlier in the day. Four students returned drenched, and an unfortunate few cried that that live banana slugs had been added to their sandwiches as a surprise condiment, all courtesy of Ruben.
After each incident, I scolded him, but he shrugged my words off nonchalantly. I found Ruben later, threatening another camper, and stopped him mid-blow. Trying a different tactic, I approached him with kindness, instead of harsh words. He expected reproach, I delivered forgiveness. His surprise was obvious. I asked him, without contempt or anger, why he had attempted to punch the other boy. Ruben answered by stuttering and running away, and, fearing that I had been too forward, I let him go.
He stood before me now, his expression both hopeful and nervous. It was charmingly endearing, and unexpected considering his usually sullen demeanor.
"Can I sit next to you at campfire?" It was a simple question, but it sent a surge of warmth through me. The tension dissipated like the dying wicks of flame escaping into the night. We sat together in silence, one row above the rest of the cabin. While the other boys were joyfully singing, I sensed Ruben's hesitation. I nudged him.
"I know it's silly, but let's humor them a little," I indicated with a smile. He smiled back, tentatively, then more confidently. Even as the other boys giggled at our less-than-stellar singing, our voices rose above theirs, growing louder until we were belting lyrics at full volume. Our off-key voices didn't matter. I turned to him with an embarrassed grin, and we burst into laughter.
"Surprised?" I asked. He paused for breath.
"Yeah, I didn't know I could do that."
Encouraged by his response, I asked, "Are you happy?"
This time, we lapsed into silence.
"Mm." He said, quietly.
"Mm?" I laughed a little. Ruben looked down shyly.
"I mean - yes, I'm happy."
It was my turn to pause. I couldn't articulate my feelings. My heart was being tightly squeezed in the fists of this boy, the same fists that had just been poised to deliver a punch only a few hours earlier. I settled with a curt nod. Some unspoken truce was established, as we sat in intimate silence.
"I'm sorry about before," he mumbled, scratching his ear. I remained quiet, encouraging dialogue. "I don't know why I can't misbehave when everybody else does." A hint of defiance crept into his voice. Suddenly, Ruben, the boy who had resigned himself to a life of crime, began to talk. He had been so astonished by the hand I extended, he grasped it tightly and pulled me in, giving me a glimpse into his life as he attempted to escape it.
Ruben got into fights often, so his classmates feared him. His home life was far from the best. His father got violent easily, and his mother struggled with alcoholism. He generally felt unloved and unwanted, and didn't think he owed it to his parents to behave. If they couldn't "behave" themselves, why should he? His logic was simple and human. There was no malicious thinking.
"Why tell me all this?" I asked him.
"You're the first person who cared," he replied. "You do care, don't you?"
Revealing his troubled life to a complete stranger, Ruben spoke with emotion. He gripped his knees tighter to his chest. It had felt like a barrier - he didn't trust me enough to keep his guard down. However, as he confided in me, I realized that he had actually placed his trust in me, and I, in turn, trusted him.
"Yes," I replied.
I cared; I was happy he put his faith in me; yes, I trusted him. My "yes" conveyed more than we both felt comfortable expressing. "I care," I said plainly, and we both understood the simple statement. It had made all the difference.