I am albino, which means my skin and hair are paler than pale, and though I have partial vision, I’m legally blind. I grew up in a town where it seemed everyone worshiped at the same handful of churches and was white and voted Republican and wore the same clothes. I was white, but I was too white. I was an agnostic atheist, a bleeding heart, and I dressed like the grunge-rock musicians I admired. I didn’t even fit in with the delinquent kids, because my parents were too strict and my grades too good. I felt like the town freak.
Nothing emphasized my feelings of alienation like a school dance, where I’d sit at the back of the cafeteria and eat chips to numb myself. One time I tried to mingle, but a girl I’d ridden to the dance with told me to stop following her around like a puppy. I went back to the food table and tried to disappear.
So, over this summer, I told myself I was going to send out a submission a week, and that plan lasted for, well, a week. The one thing I sent out was a submission to The Sun’s Readers Write section. There are topics listed in each issue, and I just picked the one with the closest deadline, which was “Parties” and did some freewriting, typed it, printed it and put it in the mail.
Just after returning from my trip, I got some certified mail from The Sun, saying my piece might be included, but they couldn’t be sure, as things do get cut or rearranged closer to publication, so I didn’t want to say anything in case it never happened.