Garrido 1 Holli Garrido Prof. Presnell English 1103 Honors 3 Oct.

2011 Jennifer Clich, using a name as the title of a story. Then again, Jennifer Muster was anything but your typical story, and she in turn altered my own path. I knew of Jennifer before I actually knew her. This is the way of people who are different, extraordinary, or both: their name is passed through the halls and discussed without them having any say about it. By the time I actually met her, I knew she was a bit of a trouble maker, but I knew that by being paired with her the teachers would think better of me. My semi-selfish impulse as a fifth grader resulted in one of the most self-less experiences of my young life, and remains so to this day. Who wants to be Jennifers buddy this year? After an awkward few seconds of silence I raised my hand, and following my lead so did Madi Lovelace, a name as pseudo sweet as she was. Madi and I were complete opposites in every sense of the word, her with long, golden, perfectly curly hair and a tiny waist, perfect even in the eyes of the other children and my boyishly short hair and dirt under my nails from the past days playing with Dylan in either of our muddy back yards. Different as we were, suddenly we had to work together, and just like that, friendship was assigned to Jennifer in the only way the teachers knew how, despite how little bonding there actually was between the three of us. This system of mixing Jennifers much smaller class with our regular sized class was the way of

Garrido 2 trying to make us more open and accepting children, to know that it was okay to all take gym and make art together. All the elective type courses in the school were governed this way. Now I cant say why, but things changed for me, and rather quickly, so that a few days later when Madi quit the job, I felt anger inside me and an obligation to stay with Jennifer, because somehow I knew she deserved it. My days began to revolve around seeing her, having to chase her down the hall after she had snagged another lunchbox from a classmate she deemed deserving, or holding her hand in gym so she didnt run out the door and into the beckoning street just beyond the curb. By the end of that year I was friends with Jennifer in the truest sense of the word, and I began going to her house to hang out, almost always accompanied by Papa Johns pizza and followed by a trip to the pool. That pizza always tasted so good, as it was something my mother, a well-known health fanatic, refused to buy. When we swam I remember always watching her as though she were a small child, always half afraid she would slip and fall in, imagining the sounds she would make and the panic of everyone around us if she did. I have never been so scared of someone drowning, of the slick concrete under her feet or the unforgiving metal ledges of that pool. She would hang onto me, her arms around my neck and smiling as big as she could manage. Her skin was always so soft, even bathed in chlorine, and she clung with so much trust and dependence in those hands that I couldnt have hurt her if I wanted to. I dont ever remember being frustrated with her, not even the time she sneaked upstairs and put on all my clothes that I had brought for the next day when I planned to spend the night. She sat on the stairs smiling and trying her best to look as pretty as she had been taught. There was this face, small and round under a mop of white blonde hair, with little hands and stubbly fingers, and legs that curved in at the feet, all put together and misplaced inside my own outfit.

Garrido 3 Jennifer, what are you doing?! her father asked loudly as he rounded the corner and absorbed what I was seeing. Hiii Hooolliii Jennifer replied not quietly, but not entirely sure of herself either. A nervous and almost awkward laugh escaped her fathers mouth, as if he knew this was completely innocent and was more afraid that I would be angry with her. Go upstairs and take that off he said in an attempt at severity. As I stared and her father scolded, the imposter retreated up the stairs and put her own clothes back on, but to this day I have never seen such a strange and touching sight. In that moment it hit me just how much I meant to Jennifer, and how much she wanted us to be together, to be equals, to be one. She didnt just look up to me anymore, she wanted to be me. Perhaps not me but someone like me. Someone who was different, because I swear that deep down inside, in a way she hardly understood any better than we did, Jennifer knew she was not the same as the people around her. Of course, this mentality was what caused her the most harm. Those people that surrounded her assumed she was less than they were and therefore that they were somehow superior. Every individual wants to think that they are better than the person next to them, whether or not it is a fair comparison or even a worthwhile one. I wanted Jennifer to look up to me as her friend and guardian, not because she wanted to be like me. I can be selfish, easily frustrated, and paranoid and irrational, but Jennifer could not see any of this. She was kind and self-less and so easily satisfied and trusting, qualities I wish I possessed and that I hope Jennifer possesses still, because something else I regret is that I have not seen her in months, or spoken to her in years.

Garrido 4 As the unstable middle school years came to an end, Jennifer and I had spent more weekends together than apart. Her mom would even call me and hand the phone to Jennifer so that I heard Hoollliiiii squealed through the ear piece with so much joy and excitement that it made my heart swell up. Almost as much as my heart pounded when my dad sat me down on the couch and told me not to get too attached, because people like Jennifer didnt live as long as the rest of us. The life expectancy rate was only around thirty or thirty-five for the lucky elite. This was impossible; things would be different for her. She will be okay. It could not happen she is special. You dont know. I know her. Im right. And so far I am. Jennifer is still alive and from the looks of it death is nowhere near to claiming her. Luckily the digital world allows me to stay updated on her life enough to know that she is still living it. Not so lucky is that this is all I have, because as high school began I was not allowed to work with Jennifer. We had schedule conflicts or some other sorry excuse that the school did not deem necessary to figure out. Teachers think they know best, of course. Though I did see her around, and was proud that she could walk to class without holding hands, and that people did not stare at her as much as they once did, I only had the pleasure of running into her a couple times, but each time was the same, and just as upsetting as the last. It was always those piercing blue eyes behind thick glasses that looked up into mine, a look of curiosity and interest, but not of recognition. After years spent together, the dilemma that made up Jennifers brain had erased me from conscious memory so that I was nothing more than a kind stranger to her. Some days I think this could have been helped if only I stayed in touch with her or fought harder to keep working with her in high school. Then again, one of the few beliefs I hold is that everything happens for a reason, so maybe this is just how it had to be. What made Jennifer so astonishing is that she still reached out and took my hand. Her tiny

Garrido 5 fingers with some various shade of polish crudely painted on her little nails wrapped around my much larger, longer fingers and she held on like her life depended on it. Not out of fear but out of complete trust. Trust for someone she did not know, but perhaps thats the beauty of it all. What her mind lacks her heart makes up by making her a truly kind and trusting person who will open up their heart and change anyones life who gets close enough to be pulled in. I can confirm this notion because my life has been changed for good, and if I could make clear to Jennifer just how appreciative I am, I would. Down syndrome is a genetic disorder that is understood but hardly treatable, and varying in severity with each person it touches. Those who have it are graced with distinct physical characteristics that make each patient eerily similar looking and mental challenges that range from poor judgment to impulsive behavior and slowed learning. Jennifer was living with Down syndrome and in this sense I can look back and consider myself lucky to work so closely with someone my life has become dedicated to helping. As Ive grown up, especially over the past year, I have been pulled into the world of our own minds and strive to pursue a career in psychology, and more so to have an understanding and a literacy of the field that makes me aware and understanding. At the time it was just a friendship and a life experience, but looking back I hardly realized how essential she was to my learning and my desire to become involved in therapy. To help people like Jennifer live normal lives while existing in their own beautiful way. I cant say my drive is totally selfless, because I crave more knowledge and exposure to these diseases that fascinate me like nothing else. Hopefully I can trade exposure for help, understanding for guidance, and have just as great an impact on my patients as Jennifer has had on me. No one deserves to be treated differently, to be stared at or the object of a cruel joke or tasteless reference. The audacity of those stares filled with judgment and confusion makes me

Garrido 6 strive to help these people, to deter some of the negative attention they receive and hardly deserve because they are different. They cant help that they were born this way, any more than I can help being blonde or a man can help going bald. She had a favorite television show and a favorite food. She loved to swim and she knew my voice when I called. She even wrote letters and drew pictures for me. She could love a person and make friends in her own beautiful way. The fact that anyone could dismiss that is incredibly frustrating; then again it only drives me harder to do what I love. To increase my knowledge of the psychological field and become the best therapist I can be. For every person who suffers inside their own head in any way from anxiety to schizophrenia to Down syndrome. For myself, a relatively sane person thirsty for understanding. For Jennifer above all, for the brave person she was, the fantastic person she is, and the person I can barely begin to thank for the skills and the love she has given me.