Character sketch: My bully

Let's call her...Tabitha, because I don't personally know anyone by that name.  I met Tabitha in the third grade, and she was my foil, my opposite.  I am short, rather stocky, quiet and introverted but in classroom settings I am eager bordering on obsequious.  Tabitha was always the tallest girl in the class, with the slender but powerful muscles of a basketball player.  In class she was shy and always smiled and laughed nervously when called on to answer a question, save for (surprise!) gym class, in which she put down everyone with her athletic prowess.  I danced for a while but when it came to sports I always seemed to have two left feet and little to no hand-eye coordination.

On one hand, this sounds like it could be the classic case of BFFs who are complete opposites in that Abbott and Costello opposites attract kind of way.  But there was no way that we could ever be friends, as our interest were so completely divergent, and I was such a prime target for taunting.  She could've easily hurt me physically but instead, as is common with females, she verbally berated me when the teacher's attention was elsewhere and I was too much of a coward to stand up for myself or tattle.  And what would I be able to tattle her for?  It wasn't what she said but the way she said stuff to me, the way she made me doubt myself even when I knew I was right.  And that mocking tone she used when she'd ask, "Are you crying?"

It didn't take too long for me to understand why she acted this way.  She was the youngest child of her family, with at least one older brother and sister, and her brother acted exactly the same way, with that pompous sneering attitude prevalent among tween boys.  She wasn't that bright, nor pretty or sociable enough to charm her way through life, so instead she exploited the weak in various ways through the years.  Although I understand on a very basic level why she acted out, I have to admit that I cannot entirely forgive her and let it go.  In high school she seemed to have toned it down a lot but in the few instances I was in a class with her I could still see her viciousness surface--toward other people, lucky for me.  I'd love to just forgive and forget, but I can still readily recall how hurt my little third grade self felt, and the face of the girl Tabitha who inflicted that hurt on me.

Character sketch: Mr. Creeper

In retrospect, Mr. Creeper (obviously not his real name) really did look like a typical pedophile.  But then again, he was a teacher in his sixties, so of course his usual work outfit consisted of sweater vests, button down shirts, khaki pants and loafers (with not-matching socks).  And those huge circular square glasses, all the better to see you with, my dear.  And requisite thinning salt and pepper hair.

I never had Mr. Creeper as a teacher for anything, but he was my best friend's English teacher in 8th grade and she regularly filled me in on his...exploits.  His conquests.  He liked to give special attention to those girls who had developed early and boutifully.  He liked to come over to them and give them shoulder massages as he spoke to the class.  Keep in mind, this was middle school, when tween girls are just coming into their own, and the desks were sometimes arranged in four or five table islands, so it wasn't like Mr. Creeper was obstructing someone's view of the black/chalkboard as he massaged.  Ugh, I shudder.  I know we students complained about him to each other, but surely someone had to have complained to someone who was in power to actually do something about it, like another teacher or administrator or the middle school guidance counselor.  Actually, scratch that last person, she was pretty worthless, barely did anything from what I could tell, but that's another story, another sketch.

Hopefully he doesn't still teach anywhere...

Character sketch: Alexa

At age 26, Alexa was the oldest student in my driver's ed class.  She had grown up in New York and spent her undergrad college years in Boston, so she never before had a real need to forego public transportation and learn to drive.  Now she was a grad student and wanted to go places that weren't so easily accessible, she wanted to go hiking with her boyfriend and do outdoors stuff.  I don't want to say she looked old, but she definitely didn't look like the rest of the teenagers: jaded, fresh, with ever changing crops of acne popping up on the facial landscape.  She had long straight light chestnut hair that fell in a shiny, single lock when she tied it up.  Actually, the first thing I noticed about her was that she was a hair twirler.  She sat diagonally in front of me, so in a way I couldn't help but notice; now that I think about it I was slightly unconsciously jealous of her, because I never had the kind of hair that took to twirling.

I think that in another situation, if we had gone to school together, we would have been friends.  Or at least we would have become more than casual acquaintances able to go slightly beyond the stilted small talk of strangers.  She was easy-going, warm, outspoken but introverted like me-- she had no qualms speaking her mind but didn't go out of her way to voice her opinion on every little thing.  I was in the car observing her for her first driving hour with the instructor, for the first time she ever parked or did a three-point turn.  I'd like to think that she got her license soon after she finished all her hours, that she passed her road test on the first try, and that she's somewhere out there driving like she's been doing it since she was sixteen.

Character sketch: Karl

Karl was one of those people who was always polite, upbeat, and happy for no reason.  He was in one class with me-- one with a cantakerous and sometimes actively racist teacher-- and he took all of her complaints and accusations in stride.  I want to say that he was Nigerian but I can't say for sure.  He had amazing eyelashes: they were lush, bountiful, and perfectly and naturally curled.  Those are the two things I envied him for: his great attitude and lovely lashes.

I didn't pay too much attention to him in class and I don't feel up to writing up a more detailed, pretend-sketch of him.  All the same, I think if you met him you'd be struck by him in a similar way.  Also I have to admit I didn't like him at first because I'm naturally suspicious of people who are nice for no reason.  I believe in practicing random acts of kindness, but also I am a person who is prone to envy and spontaneous surliness.  I don't wish to be him or have all of his characteristics but I'm happy that such a person exists; what a terrible world it would be if everyone acted like me.

Character sketch: Doppelganger

Twice, I was mistaken for someone named Simone.  Both times it was dark out and I was walking alone across campus.  The same guy (I think he might've been Chinese) called out "Simone!" or "Hey Simone" or "How's it going Simone?".  I'd slow down a bit and as he got closer he'd realize his mistake and apologize.  Did I mention that this happened twice?

Usually I'm mistaken for someone I know-- a Korean friend or blood relative.  I wonder how closely I resemble this Simone and if she's ever been mistaken for me.  I wonder what we have in common beyond having vaguely the same appearance from afar.  I imagine that Simone is something like this:

Simone is bilingual-- she can speak English and Mandarin fluently.  She did some field hockey in high school  but wasn't a particularly notable or crucial member of the team.  She's a foodie and spends a good deal of her free time hunting down the newest great hole-in-the wall restaraunt to champion and recommend to her friends.  Her "notes" section in her planner is dedicated to memorable dishes and quick reviews of the places she's been.  She works out at least two times a week, thrice if you count shopping on the weekends.  She can never have enough pairs of jeans.  Simone doesn't ever leave the house without wearing mascara and lipgloss. She prefers cats to dogs despite owning one French terrier.  On quiet weekends she likes to paint her toenails while watching reruns of "Sex and the City" or "I Dream of Jeannie" or "Bewitched".  Her childhood dream was to grow up to be a veterinarian or marine biologist.  Simone recently left her job as a urine technician for a drug rehab clinic and is now working as a pharmacy technician and loving it.  She's secretly afraid of growing old.

Character sketch: Sean

More than anything I remember his voice and the back of his head.  But of course I did, since I spent an entire semester staring at his uneven hairline and its various permutations as the weather changed.  I got the impression that he shaved his own hair because whenever he came in with it shorn it was sort of patchy.  Oftentimes he wore a baseball cap that covered most of it  BUT not his scraggly hairline.  Oh, the many times I wished I could ask him if I could shave it to make his scalp and neck more distinguishable. 

I guess you could say that his voice was similarly scraggly.  I don't think he was a regular smoker but I had never seen him refuse a cigarette if one was offered, and you could really tell if you listened to him. His voice was full of uncertainty, very tentative, and cracked a lot.  I don't mean to say that he was going through puberty but that he sounded like he rarely spoke-- which was true.  Whenever he did speak it sounded like he had just woken up and hadn't had a chance to have a proper cough to clear his throat and chest.  He wasn't shy or unintelligent, he just seemed to have a "speak softly and carry a big stick" way about him.  His voice was crackly like static on kiddie walkie talkies, like the stiff groan of the binding and the paper when turning the page of a new book, like Pop Rocks with none of the sugar (or high fructose corn syrup, whatever they use to make it sweet).

The rest of him is pretty nondescript: he was probably average height, 5' 6" or 7", a little on the lean side, maybe 150, 160 lbs., brown hair, brown eyes (I think), some Irish-Italian-American mix.

Character sketch: Juror No. 9

This character needs no pseudonym; memorable as she was, I don't think I ever learned her name.

As juror (gah, what a difficult word to pronounce; it's like "flirt" or "nurse" in that it sounds basically the same without vowels) number 8 I sat at the beginning of the second row, with no one on my right and juror 9 on my right. Oh my goodness, where to begin...I'll start with her feet.  They were bulbous, dry and crusty; I distinctly remember juror 10 commenting that they looked like they belonged to a pterodactyl, and that description and image have stuck in my head forever.  I had jury duty in the summertime so of course the climate in the courtroom was set to "arctic shill", yet she wore sandals to court and always took them off when we were in session.  Sometimes they'd point at the juror 10, sometimes at me.  They were enormous in proportion to her height. Thank God they didn't smell, they were creepy enough already. 

To add to that, she had the distinct raspy voice of a pack-a-day smoker, and asked if she could go out for a smoke during our breaks.  Her request was denied.  She took it well, though, and merely shrugged her boulder-like shoulders so that they brushed her frizzy mousy-brown bob. "Can't win 'em all," she muttered colloquially to no one in particular.

I know a lot about being perpetually late.  I'm terrible with time management and I think the only event I ever came to ahead of schedule was for my birth (by two weeks-- 336 hours; I think if you added up all the minutes I've been late for something in my life, it probably adds up to something like that amount).  But for the four days that I had to show up for jury duty I made sure to come early, if not on time.  I had been 18 for 6 months and was the youngest juror; I didn't want to lose respect by acting the Negligent and Careless Teenager.  Instead it was juror 9 who was always the last one in, and was always 5-10 minutes late in the morning and for returning from lunch breaks. 

As easy as it is to riducule her for living in her own world and caring little for what people thought of her, I have to admire her a little bit for that.  I still think that she should've acted with more tact in light of the situation we were in.  It annoyed me, how she spoke so casually with everyone despite the fact that we were basically total strangers who didn't care about each other past reaching a verdict (and almost everyone made remarks about her when she wasn't around).  Even if we said disparaging remarks to her face I don't think she'd give a hoot.  Annoying, but admirable.

Character sketch: Niko

Niko sat in front of me in orchestra, which gave me ample opportunities to look at his profile and his hands.  OH, those hands.  They could've been hand model hands, they were so beautiful; with that rich olive skin tone, and long nimble fingers that produced an enviable vibrato and traversed the fingerboard with ease.  I kind of wished that I had his hands, but that would be awkward and probably wouldn't suit me aesthetically or musically.

I took an immediate liking to him because he was a violinist and had nice hands. (Okay, and he was good-looking, something nice to stare at during rests.)  Unfortunately he turned out to be, well, kind of a saukerl.  He was not actively dislikeable-- he didn't go out of his way to annoy others-- but he hung out with guys who were aggresively cocky and full of disdain for everyone else.  On his own he was relatively polite and laconic, but he was a slacker and clearly rided on his good looks and charm to get by.  But he really was a good violinist-- about the same level as me, at the time, but maybe slightly better in terms of technical skill.  And as I've said before, it's really hard to fake it when it comes to playing the violin.  Niko came off as not caring too much about the violin, as if he just did it because he was good at it and it was something to do to pass the time before catching up with his asinine friends.

Character sketch: Mrs. V

As with all the people described in my character sketches, Mrs. V is a pseudonym; however in this case I don't actually remember her real name.  She was the teacher's assistant when I was in fifth grade and although we only ever called her by surname I can only recall her first name.  Weird, huh.

She was the first vegetarian I ever met-- and the first vegan.  At that time it never crossed my mind to become vegetarian and I was fascinated by everything she ate.  For lunch she would often have a cheese sandwich made with soy cheese.  When I asked her about how it tasted she broke off a bit and asked me to decide for myself.  Again, I have no memory of how it tasted, but I don't think it was as bad as it sounds.  But it helped that I took an instant liking to her.

She had green eyes, tawny skin and very long chestnut brown hair that was streaked with natural blonde highlights.  She always wore it in one thick braid, sometimes letting it fall down her back or wrapping it around (and around) her head.  Oh, and she was the first person I ever met who had a twin.  Mrs. V wore those long, blandly floral dresses and she practically glided across the room to our tables whenever we needed help.  Never did she treat us like the snotty little ten-year-olds that we were, but talked to us...well, not like we were adults, but as if what we had to say was worthy of her undivided attention.

Character sketch: Gary

Gary used to be the kid I loved to hate.  In fifth grade he was The New Kid and you'd think I'd feel sympathetic toward him because it wasn't so long ago that I was a new student myself.  But he garnered none of my symphathy.

Character sketch: Inga

Inga (not real name) is a classmate fron high school. We had two or three classes together. She is the kind of girl who can get along with everyone. NOT the girl who is, like, super sweet and has her name utter in a kind of obsequious squeal. No, she's a laid-back kind of chick with a deep voice and easy, genuine laughter. Smart but not a genius, and not smug about it. She was a real bookworm-- she volunteered at the school library-- and was reading something interesting, a book that I would want to read. She liked the Ender's Shadow series and we shared a few animated discussions about the characters, which book was our favorite, etc. Sometimes she wore this long, faded denim shirt that dusted the floor and it would've looked costumey or goofy on anyone else. I wish I had gotten to know her better, because if I had put in more effort I think we would've been closer friends. She'd be the kind of person to keep in touch with you after graduation, who wouldn't just send emails but write letters and affix cool stamps on colored envelopes.

Character sketch: Peter

It's not his real name but for the purpose of this blog I'm going to call him Peter. He's the conductor of the orchestra I'm in and during rehearsal the other night it occurred to me that it might be fun to write about him. Some other orchestra members would also make for interesting side characters for...something to write about in the future? But for now: the orchestra conductor.

Peter is from Siberia and speaks English with a bit of an accent. "Celli" (plural of cello, pronounced "chel-lee") comes out of his mouth as chee-yell-lee, so the word has three syllables rather than two distinct ones. He pronounces his v's as w's but it's not that noticeable unless you're like me and pick up on this kind of stuff. He has a predilection for stopping the orchestra to tell anecdotes about the other orchestra he conducts, which is at a local public high school. The combination of his accent and personality make for amusing storytelling, because it's hard to figure out if the story is intended to be comical or insightful until the very end. He's of average height and weight, has dusty-brown hair and blue eyes behind glasses. He sits on a stool on the conductor's podium and leans forward on it slightly when conducting us. Peter holds the baton upwards in his right hand, and his motions are something between sculpting invisible clouds and slicing invisible zombies.