Tim Jeffreys Writer

Every lunch break almost every child in the school would be playing the game. Not Emily. Emily did strange things instead. Not that she thought the things she did were strange, but she knew that other people did. One of the teachers had said she was special, and had said it in such a way that Emily realised it wasn’t a good thing to be ‘special’.

Emily was standing at the edge of the school yard one day, gazing at a long weed that was growing up between the flagstones. She was doing this simply because she was fascinated by the way things could grow so quickly, the way things grew here and there, wherever they liked, even in the most unlikely places. And they didn’t ask anyone’s permission to grow, or need anyone’s help to grow, they just grew. Emily liked watching other things too, like the birds. It amused her the way the birds just went about their business in the man-made streets of her town: fluttering from tree to tree, building their nests, rearing their young, finding things to eat. They didn’t need anyone’s help or permission either, they just got on with doing what they wanted to do. Sometimes Emily drew pictures of the things she enjoyed looking at in the world, or wrote about them in a notebook. She hoped that people would look at what she drew or wrote and, in some way, be able to see what she had seen.

So Emily was standing at the edge of the school yard, gazing at the weeds growing up through the flagstones, when a teacher approached her. It was Miss Quinn, who had a gentle way about her and wasn’t as strict as some of the other teachers.

“Emily,” she said. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you playing the game with the other children?”

“I’m looking at that weed,” said Emily.

Miss Quinn’s face looked concerned. “Um, Emily, I think you should go and join in the game. Really, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Emily glanced over towards the centre of the yard, where the game was in progress. The children were laughing and shouting. They did seem to be enjoying themselves.

“Okay,” she said, smiling at Miss Quinn.

Miss Quinn smiled back at her.

Emily went and stood for awhile on the outer edge of the game, watching what was happening. She quickly understood the rules. It was a very simple game. It was so simple, in fact, that Emily realised she didn’t want to get involved. She would much rather go and uncover some woodlouse under a brick, or lie on her back and watch clouds drift in the sky overhead. This seemed to her a much more enjoyable way to spend the lunch break than playing the game, which she had decided was rather silly. She was just turning to leave when a red-haired boy noticed her. He stopped playing and called out to her.

“Are you going to play with us?”

“No,” Emily said. “I was just looking.”

“Why not?” said the boy.

“I don’t like this game. It’s too simple and silly.”

“What do you mean?” said the boy.

“Well,” Emily said. “Perhaps we could play another game.”

“There are no other games,” said the boy.

“We could make-up another game,” Emily said.

“No. This is the only game we want to play. What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you play with us?”

Emily was about to answer when she heard Miss Quinn’s voice. She hadn’t realised Miss Quinn was standing behind her.

“Emily, go and play the game with the other children.”

“But-“

“Go on, now.”

Emily sighed and went with the red-haired boy to take part in the game. It soon dawned on her, though, that the other children took the game quite seriously even though it was so simple and silly. When she watched from the sidelines the game had seemed enjoyable; but now she was playing she saw how competitive it was.

She stepped out of the game after someone punched her in the back to stop her scoring a point. But she found Miss Quinn waiting on the sidelines.

“Is something wrong, Emily?”

“I don’t like that game.”

“Why ever not? Get along and play, now.”

“No!” Emily said, stamping her foot in a sudden fit of temper. “I won’t play! There are more interesting things to do than play that silly game!”

“But you have to play the game, like all the other children,” said Miss Quinn.

“But it’s just a game,” Emily said. “Can’t you see that?”

Mrs Quinn said nothing for a long time. She stood tall over Emily with the sun at her back. Emily squinted up at her. Finally, she said:

“Emily, did you know this school has a psychologist?”

“What’s a psychologist?”

“It’s a kind of doctor, for your mind. I’d like to take you to see him.”

Emily stared at the teacher. “But there’s nothing wrong with my mind.”

“Well, you won’t play the game like all the other children, will you?”

“No, but that’s because it’s simple and silly and they made it all up!” said Emily, convinced that now the teacher would understand. “It doesn’t mean anything, really.”

Miss Quinn held out a hand to Emily. Her voice was sterner when she said, “Come with me, Emily.”

Suddenly, Emily was scared. She was scared at the thought of what a ‘doctor for the mind’ was, and what he might do to her. She imagined him removing thoughts from her head with silver instruments; cutting out all her favourite things from her mind and tweezering them onto a silver dish at his side. And she was scared at the thought of the teachers fussing over her and saying again that she was ‘special’. She backed away from Miss Quinn and said in a small voice:

“I’m going to play the game now, okay?”

“That’s a good girl.”

“Come on!” It was the red-haired boy again. Emily took his hand and she was back in the game. But she was miserable, thinking about the birds building nests and the weeds growing in the cracks and the woodlice hiding under stones. Eventually these things shifted to the back of her mind. She stopped thinking about them; she was occupied with the game. She stopped thinking about how miserable she was. She stopped thinking altogether in fact. She was just playing the game.