This Is How We Do

As they passed us, they'd stare, their eyes cold as their gaze lingered a little longer than necessary. Some of the newer members of our group still got affected by it, but it had happened so many times to me that now, I didn't even bat an eyelid.

"Cole," says Kara, one of the newer members of the group, "how does it not affect you? What's your secret?"
"Well," I say. "At first, it affected me just the same as it's affecting you now, but once you've had it happen as many times as it's happened to me, it just stops mattering."
"Oh," she says, touching a light hand to my shoulder. "I'm sorry Cole."
"It's alright," I say, waving away her concern. "I'm tough. I suppose that's another factor."

"Ew!" a kid calls as he passes us. "Using your feet!? That's dirty!"
"Hey!" I say, glancing at my friend before stepping forward, toward his tormentor. "What would you do if you didn't have arms to use?"
"Cole!" says young, nervous Kara, scampering up behind me.
"It's alright Kara," I say. glancing at her before taking another step. "This is no big deal."

"Loser!" calls someone else, putting up a thumb and finger in front of their forehead as they stare harshly at another of my friends who is stumbling over her words.
"And you!" I call, turning the tables now. They stop and turn to face me, wide eyed. "How frustrated would you feel if you couldn't get your words out straight away?"
"I... I..."
"Isn't that a little hypocritical of you?" I ask with a raised brow, "making fun of them stumbling over their words, yet stumbling over them yourself? It's really no different to not knowing what you want to say. Just more frustrating because you know, but can't quite get it out."
I notice their shoulders slumping as they slowly meet my eyes. "I suppose you have a point," they say in a whisper. The first tormentor however, still doesn't seem to be convinced and stands with arms crossed and brow raised.
"Using your feet is dirty. They go on the ground for goodness sake!"
"What if we all walked on our hands?" I ask, challenging him. "Wouldn't they be dirty then too?"
"I suppose..."
"Look," I say, getting sick and tired of giving explanations. "We do the best with what we've got. We have certain parts of us that don't work like they're supposed to. If you were in our situation, what would you do? Because, this," I say, gesturing back at my group of friends, who are all still watching us, watching me, "is how we do."

As the two, once tormentors walk away and I turn to my friends once more, I am met with a round of applause. Pete gets up and claps me on the back, a big smile on his face. "Good going Cole."