Spring break at the mall. Instead of Caribbean blue waters, a sea of St. Patrick's green flowed through the food court as Hannah chattered a stream of consciousness. While we shared Chick-fil-A on formica that touted Route 66, a blonde tween sat at the next table with her twisty, pinned-up ponytail pointing at us. Soon the ponytail turned until two cerulean eyes aimed at my misshapen hands.
Keeping my focus on Hannah, I allowed ample time for our neighbor's adolescent curiosity. After a minute--maybe two--I considered the little blue lasers intrusive and turned to stare directly at them. It took a full five seconds before the eyes grew wide, I heard the tiniest gasp and the ponytail whipped itself back around. Unaware, Hannah chattered throughout the entire incident, so I was confident I had made my point and thankful the unwanted attention was aimed at me and not Hannah.
I was wrong.
Less then five minutes later the ponytail made a 270 degree turn, meaning the tween had cranked herself around until her body faced mine so that the eyes focused on Hannah. I waited to see what would happen. The blue eyes stared. Hannah chattered. I waited some more.
Hannah's speech slowed and I watched recognition register on her face until she became silent. She turned to the eyes and said, "Hi."
The ponytail swirled around to reply with silence.
A few minutes later the scene repeated: 270 degree turn, invasive eyes, Hannah's slow recognition, followed by her friendly hi and the stupidly silent ponytail.
This time Hannah looked at me and said, "That's weird."
I replied loudly, "She must just want to look and not talk."
Thankfully ponytail and her four-person family ate quickly and soon parted, two walking behind me and two behind Hannah. As the younger brother squeezed behind Hannah, he gawked at her. Innocently, Hannah looked back at him and said (for the third time now), "Hi."
No response.
After they were gone Hannah said, "He was creepy."
"Why?" I asked.
"He just looked at me."
I shrugged and changed the subject. Hannah easily returned to her steady stream of talk, but my internal dialogue rose above her voice, each thought a wave crashing: "Had Hannah's peers started to perceive her as different?" Crash. "Wait. Did her schoolmates treat her differently?" Crash. "Had Hannah finally reached the age where her classmates were mean?" Crash. "Ponytail mean?"
This was ridiculous.
I silenced the dialogue inside me and instead asked Hannah, "So, who is your best friend at school?" Her eyes clouded as I watched her consider this. I couldn't tell if she was imagining mistreatment or trying to think of a single name. Finally she answered with her own perfect perspective:
"Everyone."
