The Outside World

At the age of fifteen, I would sit in the kitchen and reflect upon the outside world. I didn’t understand it; I wasn’t able to become a part of it. I thought it was a pretty tough place. 

Throughout my childhood, I heard talk about the outside world. I wondered, Why do people rave about it? What is all this stuff about it being so wonderful, so fantastic? According to Grandma, I was missing out on my life. Repeatedly, she would tell my mother, “It’s a big world out there! Take her downstairs. Let her see the world!” I remember my father coming home from work and eating his supper. He didn’t talk; he was the silent man. Then, all of a sudden, I heard him say, “Did she go out today?” That was about all he said. It bothered me: What is so important about going out?

Every now and then my father asserted, “I want to take her downtown to see the Great White Way!” Hedda, plainly annoyed, would hatefully retort, “She doesn’t need any ‘Great White Way.’ She has enough right here!” Didn’t he know that she was going to say no? 

I wondered, “What is this “Great White Way”? And why was it so important that I see it? It must have been something very special for when he spoke about it, there was a sparkle in my father’s eyes that I rarely saw. 

When I was a little girl and my mother was in the hospital, my Uncle Will was fighting with Grandpa for permission to take me out. But I was much too scared to leave the safety of my home. I would sit in my chair and ruminate about it: What is it like to be out there? What am I missing? They all talk about how great it is—how can they all be wrong? 

The few times I saw my Uncle Will and Aunt Jessie, they would enthusiastically endorse the magic of the outside world. Jessie would tell me, “There are movies, and shows, and art museums, and restaurants to eat in. There’s just so much to do out there!” But I wasn’t interested in any of it.

The outside world seemed so mystical and unattainable. It preyed on my mind as I kept telling myself, I’m safe at home. Why abandon something secure and subject myself to the unknown?

I was just entering my teens when I had my first real exposure to the outside world. I went downstairs by myself, into the street. I didn’t know where to turn first. I saw people scurrying to and fro and there was constant movement all around. How overwhelming! It seemed like there were a multitude of things to do and places to see. But there was also something strange; I sensed that strangeness wherever I went, and it troubled me.

I looked at the people around me. It seemed they wore many faces, and I was intrigued, and frightened, by what I saw. Some looked plastic and cold, as if carved in stone. Some were happy and exuberantly alive, while others looked as if they were about to cry. Still others had an air of indifference about them.

I passed neighbors in the hallway and on the street; I sensed them looking at me as if I were a creature from outer space. Some might say “Hello.” Otherwise, I received a nonverbal message that seemed to say, “You keep your distance, I will keep mine!” Did they think I was strange because I rarely went out of the house? I often felt like a leper in my own building. I longed for social contact, and I could not understand why people had to be so aloof. What was it about me that made people distance themselves from me?

I gave it a lot of thought. I concluded that I was different, and people just didn’t like me. It seemed that life in the real world was difficult and hard—even cruel. You had to be smart, informed and really aware, not only to succeed, but also, to survive.

I would stand in front of my building and watch people pass by. I saw tongues wagging wildly; smiles extending from ear to ear; eyes that would dilate and beam, and then the faces went blank. It was almost as if they wore masks that could be taken on and off. And I watched some more.

I felt diminished every time I walked past the candy store. When the fellows there saw me coming down the street, they would have something vulgar to say or snicker about. They didn’t even know me. Did they single me out because I looked different? Did they have x-ray vision where they could see inside of me and know just how different I felt? The more I thought about it, the more agitated I became. It took great effort to walk past them and their mocking expressions without bursting into tears.

Yes, I was very sensitive to my surroundings. Quite a few times I saw people on the street who I thought were making fun of me. Sure enough, as I turned around, they, too, turned around; they were looking at me and laughing! I wondered, What’s so funny? A few women snickered and made comments to each other as they passed by. What was that all about?

Then there were the men who would try to pick me up. Truck drivers hollered out the windows as they drove by. That, too, made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. If only this would stop! But it didn’t. I couldn’t understand what I was doing to bring on this kind of response.

I felt like one great oddity in a very strange society. Wherever I went, I felt empty and lost. I didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. How awful that was! Nobody cared about me, or what I was feeling. I was j///ust there, sticking out like a sore thumb, trying to hide from ridicule, and yet desperately longing to be accepted by those who were ridiculing me. As terrible as the whole scene appeared to me, I still longed to be a part of it.

Many a time I had wanted to approach a person in a store or on the street. I would gaze their way and hope for a response, but the look I received seemed to say, “Why are you staring at me? Don’t you have anything better to do?” I felt an ache inside. The more I wanted to “belong,” the more alone I was.

As I watched people on the street talking, laughing, sharing with one another, I was reminded that I had no one. How I hungered for the friendship I never had. I thought so much about it as I was growing up: What was it like to have a friend? Would I ever be able to have a friendship with another human being? As I looked around, I didn’t think it would ever happen.

I retreated to the house. I was timid; I was lonely and sad. I was struggling with feelings—all kinds of feelings—over which I didn’t seem to have any real control. I needed someone to talk to, possibly a shoulder to cry on, and a helping hand. But there was no one. I felt hollow inside, and there didn’t seem to be any way to fill that hole.

And I continued to observe people on the street. They were part of a throng that was foreign to me. I thought about the passing parade. I could have been drowning in buckets of tears and I don’t think anyone would have noticed or cared.

So, I stepped out of a dark, sedentary existence into a supposedly better way of life. It was different from anything I surmised. I thought I was missing something being locked away in the house. But at least I felt safe. I did not feel safe in the outside world.