From the Archive

Freaks on my Turf

Written by Jennifer M Blaske
Illustrated by Mike Tofanelli

I knew as soon as they walked in that they were different.

Nobody knew where they came from. They had never attended our church. But one Tuesday night the two of them showed up at teen group.

I saw them talking to Diane, the teen leader. Their hair was bleached, and they were definitely wearing too much makeup. Even from where I stood I could see that one of them had long blue fingernails, and a pack of cigarettes was sticking out of her pocket.

It crossed my mind for an instant to go say hi to them, but I didn't. First of all, they looked kind of creepy. I didn't really know what to say to them. We probably didn't have anything in common. And second, I was having a hard time fitting in with the teen group myself. Why would I walk away from everybody else to talk to some creepy girls?

A month later they were still coming every Tuesday. They chatted and giggled with each other, usually in the corner or in a side room, but they stayed separate from everybody else.

"Look at them over there!" muttered Julie. "They're such snobs. They think they're better than the rest of us."

"You mean the Freaks?" Leigh said, glancing in their direction. "Oh, I know. I don't even know why they come."

"Do you think they do drugs?" asked Tracy.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Julie said. "You can smell tobacco on them, that's for sure."

Tracy shook her head. "They don't belong in a church teen group at all."

When May rolled around, it was time for our annual spring retreat. Not only did the Freaks come, but they brought a couple of their friends.

When we arrived at the cabin we hauled our suitcases inside and upstairs to where the girls' bedroom would be.

The two Freaks gave each other uneasy looks. One of them said to Diane, "Um, can we stay in the room across the hall?"

Diane looked confused. "Well, yes, if you want to, but there's no carpeting, and the heat–"

"We don't mind," the Freak said quickly. They picked up their stuff and left.

I knew there was something very wrong with this whole situation, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

The next day after lunch there was about an hour of free time, and I tagged after Tracy, who said she was going for a walk. Steve, who was 16 and our teen group president, was standing by the lake, fishing. "Hi! Catch anything?" Tracy asked.

"Not yet," Steve said. "Of course, the only bait I have right now is hot dog buns."

The three of us heard a noise and glanced over to where the Freaks and their friends were climbing a hill on the other side of the lake. "There go the hoodlums," Tracy said with a laugh.

"Why are they hoodlums?" Steve asked, cleaning off the hook on his line.

"Well . . . because!"

"Because why?" he asked.

"Well . . . because they just are," Tracy said stubbornly.

I was surprised that Steve had to ask. It seemed so obvious to the rest of us.

"You mean because they dress differently than you do?" Steve asked.

"It's not just that," I told him. "Did you know that they smoke?"

"Yeah?" Steve whizzed the line back into the water.

I stared at him stupidly. "Is that all you have to say?"

He turned around to face me. "Are you perfect?"

"Well . . . no! But they–"

"So what difference does it make if you sin by smoking or, say, gossiping?"

I just stared. I had never thought of it that way before.

"But we don't want to be like them!" Tracy said indignantly. "People who smoke are gross."

Steve shrugged. "Not necessarily," he said. "Anyhow, who said that being nice to them means you have to start acting just like them? Think about Jesus. He was always hanging around people completely different from Him, but you know what? He could still enjoy their company. He could see a human being, not just a freak."

"Yeah . . . but this is different," I said slowly. "These girls hate us. They never come near any of us."

I thought I heard Steve chuckle slightly. "Well, no wonder," he said. "Have we ever done anything to make them feel welcome? It's not surprising that they stay away from us. What is surprising is that they keep coming back."

I thought a lot about what Steve said, and I thought about talking to the Freaks that afternoon, but somehow I never got around to it. And just as Steve had hinted, after the retreat we never saw any of them again. Nobody asked about them. Nobody checked on them. They left as mysteriously as they had appeared.

For a few weeks I felt a little bad about it from time to time, but for the most part I didn't think about them.

Then a couple of months later I was at teen group when I saw a girl standing alone in the corner. I thought about going up to her and saying something, but I didn't really know what to say.

Then I remembered the Freaks.

I walked up to her and smiled. "Hi," I said. "I'm Jen."

She smiled shyly. "I'm Lacy."

I don't know where the Freaks came from, where they went, what they were like, or even their names. But now when I take the time to get to know someone, especially someone who seems different from me, I do it in memory of the Freaks.