Cast

I remember the hot August afternoon on the playground when you fell.

My heavy breathing as I ran, yelling

“Mrs. Owens, Mrs. Owens! Come quick!”

Your cast, covered in our juvenile kindergarten chicken scratch,

Ran up your arm almost to the elbow.

I think you probably took pride in that cast.

It made you different.

And I think that somewhere inside my five-year old self,

I wanted to have a cast.

I wanted to be different, just like you.

And almost two decades later, I’ve realized that want I had -

That want to feel different; the need to feel different.

Where is my cast?

Where is my different?

Where do I fit in so that I can stand out, so that I can feel just the littlest bit of importance,

Because it has come to seem that we are not all special.

We aren’t different. We aren’t unique.

We are a product;

The combined efforts of everybody we come into contact with.

We are the same.

I can accept that.

But I have to say, I remember when I found out you were leaving.

I remember seeing pictures of you after you had gone and thinking

“Thank goodness we are so different.”

I was so glad that you were gone;

That I no longer had to compare myself to you and your standards

Because in the end, even in our sameness,

We are different.

And I don’t need your cast to prove that.