When I became friends with this tight knit group of outsiders I knew why they accepted me, because I was different like the rest of them. Some of them had a secret talent that no others could appreciate, and some just had a personality that the mainstream just couldn’t handle. As for me, I knew I was taken in for my appearance, but they’re not fully aware of my true self. My days as a street mime were unsuccessful, as the passers-by all gawked and complained at my performance. I thought I was doing an excellent job, but the public said otherwise.

Despite all the negative reactions, I persevered until one day they showed up. A group of people who didn’t throw anything or shout obscenities, but rather admired the work I put into my act. They clapped and threw a dollar or two, and suddenly I felt like this day could be different from all the rest.

I wanted to thank them for their appreciation, but I remembered that a great mime never speaks. Instead I tried my best to physically show my gratitude and they understood just fine. They took a liking to me due to “how different I looked and acted from the rest of the town”. I was a bit puzzled at their statement as a thought “Have they ever saw a mime before?”

As I “conversed” with them more to the best of my ability I finally understood why they wanted me to join their group of misfits. Since then we’ve arranged gatherings to catch up with each other and escape the dread of everyday life, each meetup more extravagant than the last. We’ve went from attempting to fish in an indoor waterpark to having a loud dance party in a quiet library. We done these outlandish activities to match our equally outlandish group. All to show the world that we would never change to conform to their standards.

That leads me to today, as I enter our monthly meeting with a lump in my throat. A formal tea party by the poolside sounds quite simple, but of course our meeting has to be special, so we set it up in the pool itself, much to the chagrin of the pool club’s attendees that day.

As the rest of the gang caught me up to speed on their latest affairs, I was nervous to my core, due to their constant misunderstanding of my condition.

Once, in an attempt to be honest with my friends, I explained through sign language that I was born a mute and that becoming a mime was my way of making lemonade out of the lemons that life gave me. They completely disregarded my sadness, passing it off as another “play” that I put on for their entertainment. At one point I had even written a full, clear as day message conveying my feelings and of course, they saw it as another joke, thinking my role was a tragic character.

In my frustration, I finally moved to plan c, and that was to attend a meeting in normal clothing, with no makeup, to prove I meant business. In result, I got shooed out of the get together due to no one recognizing who I was, claiming that I was “one of those simpletons on the street”.

So here I sit, always wondering if they’ll ever get the big idea, or if I’ll just give up and return to a lonely life of harsh criticism. To soften the blow of my seemingly endless depression, I take a deep breath and resume my happy façade. Because after all, I am known for being the performer of the group, why not do what I do best.