good fences make good neighbors.

when i was a kid, probably around 9 or so, i was obsessed with popping a wheelie on my purple bike with the orange-and-purple flowered banana seat, and the little white basket up front. it was a normal looking bike, one that fit the shape of my persona at that time: young, innocent, fresh. why i was so obsessed with popping a wheelie now escapes me; all i know is that i wanted to be cool, to fit in, and just having a normal bike did not allow me entrance.

i'd been an outcast all my life. often i blame it on my deaf ear--i could never hear things, and therefore, i probably was not much of a communicator until later on when i learned how to keep up in a conversation--or at least make it look like i was. my childhood probably was quite separate from others insofar as just that simple fact alone. i think i miss a lot nowdays, but then--a redhead is enough of a pariah without being plump and deaf, too.

i guess you could say that i lived in my own little world for many, many years.

anyway, i wanted to pop a wheelie. my mom warned against it since she'd probaly done it as a kid and skinned some portion of her own body, but as a kid you have to try it and find out the worst before you can believe in it.

i popped my wheelie and then promptly flew over the handlebars. skidded down the pavement on my head. when i looked in the mirror, it looked as if i had a large, red, scabby area in the shape of lake superior and lake michigan. if only it'd been on purpose.

in my mmeory i remember wobbling home, crying. i remember that i was wearing maroon courderoys, and a white shirt--a blouse, with buttons up the front. mom came racing across the lawn, and eventually we went to the hospital, where i threw up before being examined. then i had to stay up for at least 8 more hours, as i'd had a concussion.

the whole memory is tinged with reminders of what happens when you take a chance. i learned on many, many occasions that it's just not good to stand out, but with the genetic predisposition of 1% of the population, i didn't stand a chance of blending in. i could ignore insults and i could actually turn a deaf ear towards bullies, but i heard enough to know my place in the pecking order.

when we were at the mall months ago, my friend rene and i saw a place selling hermit crabs. she put one finger to the glass and the little legs and slender antennae withdrew into a shell the size of a quarter. now when i think of me as a child--ungainly and unknowing--i think in terms of that crab, pulling back, hiding.

i've been hiding a long time. it's something i'm good at. being ignored--it's an art form, really, a form of camoflauge to which the navy seals will never ascend. it's one thing to blend in with the crowd, another to fade into the walls and exist on the fringe.

escaping notice was my own great insulator from the world. some days, lately, i question its necessity, and whether or not that insulator can ever be removed. perhaps at one time it was needed, but now i find that it's a wall over which i cannot see.

i know that other people have these same issues--i've been to the self-help section at barnes and noble. there is so much information regarding building confidence and removing all the blocks people like me erect in order to protect themselves. i've read my own share of those books, listened to therapists, tried to question my behavior.

to remove this wall would take years. it took years to build. some of the spots are patchy, made up of whatever was at hand--holes plugged with gum, caulked with a handful of mud. other parts are solid and smooth, fear and anger poured solid. all of it surrounds me, protects me in the same way that the Great Wall in China protects people living on the other side.

what i suppose i realize, when staring up at my own inner insulator, is that this thing that has kept out invaders and withstood all that crap the post office plods through, has also kept me, quite ably, in.

the question i'm pondering is whether or not i want out.