I’ve always been somewhere in between everyone. Think of a vast void of nothing but two sides, with two very different groups of people on each side. Now that you have your two people on other sides, imagine one person, smack dab in the middle of them. Just..there. Not one on either side dares to utter a single word, but they dare utter it physically through facial expressions and body language. It’s like a scatterplot that has no correlation..but it really is nowhere like that. Because there’s one dot in the middle, and two large groups on the bottom and top of the graph. It’s an outlier right there in the middle of everyone. 

I’m that outlier. I’ve been since day one when all other individuals separated into groups. I’ve tried fitting in, but no matter the group I’m in, everyone looks down at me, as if I’m nothing but a secret agent working for the other group. In a world of human cube and cylinders, I’m a damn hexagonal prism. I am that pitiful child that’s not picked until there’s no one left for our dodgeball game. That’s from no one mustering up the courage to even ask what team I belong to. It’s an ambiguous decision that won’t benefit either team. 

Yet, in the end, that choice won’t really matter, right? We’re all just monkeys. Except we’re not. We’re human. But no, everyone says there’s only two sides to that human choice. The human female and the human male. I am human. Not either, I’ve tried to be. Both sides will kick me to the ground and laugh boisterously at my agony if I even stood up once more. As stated earlier, no matter the human group I’m put in, the human female or human male will look at me as if I’m a cliche secret spy who will betray them. 

Ever since we were younger, everyone was once an anomaly. A story to be told to one another, passed from one generation to the next. Sure, groups still existed, but everyone was okay with mixing groups. We were all one big conglomeration who were more than happy with mixing our light reds and blues to create beautiful lavenders. But now we’ve separated. And I’m still that damned purple. A confused, dazed purple while the once light red who turned into red and the once light blue turned into blue stay on their respective sides, never daring to interact with each other unless necessary.

I was meant to suffer like this. It was obvious from the start that I never meant to fit anywhere. Ridiculed for the way I behaved, the way I sang melodies, the way I was perceived, and the way I twirled around and clothed myself. I could’ve done something, anything to not figure it out earlier than everyone else. I am the consequence of my actions and all I can do is stare. I’m perplexed. I’m always confused. I am confused. I’m a puzzle. A puzzle meant to be solved just like any other set. But the corner pieces can’t be found, neither can any pieces that were included in the set given to me can fit no matter how many times I jam and erratically attempt to lodge it into the socket of my piece, and some of my pieces don’t even comply to the standard two by two or standard grid cut. 

When you’re something yet nothing, you respond to anything. You’re in the midst, you’re not one or the other, you’re practically both according to those in their respective groups. 

I remember I never did abide to the team I was assigned to at first when younger, so I can still recall the faces the light red group gave me. Confusion and disgust at my offers to jump in the puddles that the rain kissed the stone ground with. There was this time, probably first grade if we were a hundred percent honest. A member of the light red team was talking about either mermaids and pirates or mermaids and ninjas..I can’t even remember but it did have mermaids in it. No matter what it was on, it was a PERFECT conversation topic to speak on!

“I like mermaids too!”, was probably something I blurted out sanguinely, desperately wanting to barge in onto the conversation. 

It was true, I liked mermaids like any naive child would be about urban legends and mythical creatures. But that little affinity wouldn’t be biased to pirates as well..or the ninjas..both are cool regardless! 

One thing is that I can recall vividly are that all the individuals in that specific moment, specific group, specific color, all turned to face me as if a huge spotlight had been placed on me so I’d perform a perilous act of doing a backflip while juggling vases and standing on a tiger. There it was, rows of faces plastered with confusion and no excuse for acceptance.

“Yeah, you like mermaids” one girl retorted to me, seething with nothing but sarcasm that I couldn’t figure out...probably. 

I’m pretty sure every member of that specific light red team began to holler and grin at my puzzled face. Of course it was puzzled. Of course it was. 

It’s complex. It’s a “journey”, matured reds or blues who dare come to the middle say to me. They try to compare their feelings to me, but they just can’t. They haven’t gone through this constant labyrinth of agony. This isn’t an “adventure”, this is all a puzzle with missing pieces with other pieces that belong to a different puzzle but were thrown all together into the cardboard box for me to open and attempt to figure out and piece onto me. 

Being a color isn’t primarily external, but it is according to uneducated blues and reds who failed their ninth grade biology class. Stated by them, if you have bigger pieces on your chest, you’re a human female. If you have more lengthy pieces on your legs and a deeper voice, you’re a human male. Yet, If I was assigned to being a member of the red group when younger (which is the human female group) then why was I still purple? Purple with no sockets to pop in larger pieces. 

..Maybe professionals had believed I would turn into a red member based on my external looks. Yet I didn’t. My own family still holds onto that belief sung by professionals on the day I was born that I’ll mature into a beautiful, nubile red despite all the signs I’ve shown of never evolving into a true red member. 

I can still feel glares of suspicion from acquaintances close to family when they look down upon me on what I even am. Clothing, hair, face, body language. Nothing can truly give what group I pertain to. I can’t read what expression they give, but it radiates off disgust for not conforming to what society wants from me. Sometimes it’s not even my own family, it’s sometimes older people who “know better”, or just random people on the side of the street who cannot seem to wrap their heads around the fact that I’m still purple. Or maybe it’s even my own relatives who give me that same tired, hopeless demeanor, specifically the matured red members in my family.

I can recall moments of being told to not sit a certain way because it could help make my purple look like red. I’ve been asked if I can finally feel some emotion to blue members like other red members and if I’ve crossed over to their side. I’ve been told to wear something they’ve picked out for me so maybe the red inside me will pop out and people won’t be so confused. But all I do is sob and weep, wondering why I can’t be normal and why instead that my internal feelings represent me in this world based off of external looks. Why did I figure out something wasn’t truly right at such a young age? 

I haven’t felt anything to a blue member a day in my pathetic life. I haven’t felt anything to a red member a day in my pathetic life either. I’m pretty sure I’m expected to feel something due to my age and how I’m perceived with some hope on a thread left that I’ll wake up completely red one day. But when you’re in the middle, you’re neutral in every stance. You’re a mix, a combination of the two with nothing to say because you’re also disinterested. I feel the same for everyone I see and meet. I have equal liking and equal hatred to everyone despite if they’re red or blue. 

But that’s uncommon. I’m supposed to be something else. I’m supposed to understand. But I can't. It’s impossible to guide yourself without a literal guide on how to do everything everyone your age is capable of. Everyone but you. I’m completely alone. It’s really the truth when I say no one else can fully understand what it’s like to be an outlier your entire existence. Thrown to the ground, bashed to the abyss with no return. 

I look back upon moments that I’ve experienced where members of my family on either color team have gotten frustrated when other individuals can’t tell due to the purple who swims on my skin and gorges on my loneliness. Exasperated sighs with tired, monotone voices to explain once more for the millionth time in their life that I just haven’t gotten the grasp of it yet or that I’m still looking for the specific puzzle pieces despite the obvious fact nothing really does fit by the looks of my puzzle blanks. 

It was my fourteenth birthday and I wished to go to a go-kart place. And so off we went. My dad, two cousins who were assigned to light blue at the moment, and my aunt. When we arrived we obviously went to the desk at the front to buy some tickets..something like that. I’m pretty sure they were wrist band things so other workers would know that we weren’t some randos who waltzed in unbeknownst. All five of us were told to sign waivers first..I think. So we did, and as in we, the adults signed it for us because under the law, we’re all still little children. 

When my dad and my two cousins had finished signing the waiver and got their bands for identification, my aunt and I went up to the desk to pay and to get the wrist bands for ourselves. 

A warm, welcoming face from the worker who belonged to the red group suddenly twisted into a disorientated expression at the sight of me. She couldn’t tell at all what I even was. So to avoid a further issue at the moment, she spoke to my paying aunt and gave her information and the wrist band.

The minute she turned to me, she turned back to my aunt. A fake, wobbly smile plastered onto her face for the prime customer satisfaction ever. 

“Is..he with you?” She questioned, her voice losing its balance as she spoke about me to my aunt.

A flustered face became visible on my aunt’s face, upset that the lady couldn’t tell.

“She..?” The lady questioned my aunt again, confused on how I could even exist.

“They..?” The worker said once more, not getting any response verbally, but got a physical, facial expression instead.

I can’t remember what occurred afterwards, but it really did show how no one could really see what I was. Who I was even. It was impossible to tell, see, or hear. Especially if your world is primarily built upon looks and nothing else. 

But I did know one thing, and one thing only. I didn’t belong. I was thrown questions by those who dared to get near the middle where I was located on what I even was. Was I just doing this for attention and to be different? Was I not normal? Was I even considered a thing? ..What I can say back is that I’m confused. And that's all I am for the rest of my puny life. 

I’ve had more experiences that go further than just basic questions of, “Are you a red or blue member”. Far too many that can’t fully be a story of itself.

..I don’t know how long I’ll be in the vast middle, lonely forever, but I know I can wait. After all, that’s all I’ve been doing my entire life waiting for something to occur.