Nobody ever remembers my name. I’ve been fine with it for most of my life, but in middle school, I was sick of it. No fourteen-year-old wants to feel invisible, especially at a time where emotional and physical pain is the highest it will ever be. I had to deal with the sad reality that no one would remember my whopping seven letter name because it was difficult and unfamiliar.

This brings me to the eighth grade school trip to New York City. Trust me, it’s related. I was excited to visit the big city with some of my closest friends. Maybe I would even make new friends. My brain was swirling with possibilities as my dad dropped me off at school at 5 in the morning.

It wasn’t all perfect, however. The minute I got on the bus and sat next to a group of kids who I realized I would have to be with for the next 8 hours, I realized something was wrong. The smell of the bus, although not being of anything particular, overwhelmed my nose. It smelled disgusting, and from then on, I knew that not everything would go as I hoped it would. My stomach started turning, and I was worried that I would get sick, or worse: I would embarrass myself in front of all of my peers on the bus. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking. How did I ever overcome this horrible situation? My first solution to this problem was simple: I slept. I slept as the bus went into the next town, slept through the long highway stretches, and slept as we rode on and on for several hours. Unfortunately, sleeping wasn’t the answer to all of my problems, and I woke up around halfway through the ride. The terrible feeling in my stomach still didn’t go away, and I looked for other ways to distract myself. Luckily, the bus chaperone was in the process of putting on a movie: specifically, Gremlins. 

I can’t stress this enough: I hate horror movies. Any kind of horror movie. All of them. And when the movie started, I knew I would definitely hate it. Something about the special effects or the voices of the gremlins made my stomach turn even more. It was absolutely disgusting, and I felt that with every bone in my body. Things got even worse, and I looked down at the ground to keep me distracted from the overwhelming sights and sounds around me. 

There comes a time in life when you realize that all of your hard work trying to avoid something terrible was for nothing. Sometimes, avoiding your fate ends up having you walk right into it. Sure enough, I fell right into mine. As I looked down at the floor of the bus underneath me, I realized that maybe I should just get it over with. Maybe I should just let it all out.

[insert super gross vomiting sounds here]

That’s right! I threw up. In front of the entire bus. In front of a bunch of teachers who probably didn’t know who I was until this moment. In front of 16 middle schoolers who had the potential to ruin my life for good. 

I’m not sure what most people think the moment after they throw up, but the first thing I noticed was not the disgusting mess or my ruined bag. It was the fact that my best friend, who was sitting right next to me, had her foot right next to the vomit. I knew what I had to do. “Move your foot!” I yelled. She looked at me confused, then looked down, yelped, and crouched onto her seat. 

The rest of the bus soon found out. My chaperone rushed over. The kids behind me realized that someone had just puked and asked what was going on. I sat in my seat with my now ruined drawstring bag on the floor. “Are you okay?” asked the chaperone. “Do you want the bus to pull over?” I shook my head. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” 

I was not fine, emotionally at least. I had just released my breakfast onto the floor in front of a bunch of my peers, and it seemed like the rest of the world was finding that out too. I could see kids texting frantically on their phones. My friend sitting behind me tapped on my shoulder and said “Guess what? I told my dad!” as she held up her phone and showed me the text messages. Great. Now my friend’s dad, who I hadn’t even met before, knew that I was the kid who threw up on the bus to New York City. I thought that it would stick in everyone’s memory for the rest of their lives.

In reality, people forgot about it pretty quickly. Middle schoolers are surprisingly forgetful, so people forgot about what happened by the time we got off the bus. The adults didn’t treat me any differently either, but I could tell something was different with them. I couldn’t tell what exactly it was until my chaperone greeted me a couple days later and said “Hey Deeksha!”

That was it. She knew my name. Finally, after a traumatic experience, she was able to learn my name. Maybe the situation wasn’t so terrible after all. I mean, I did embarrass myself, but people knew my name now. I didn’t feel as invisible as I had felt before. 

To this day, people still have trouble remembering my name, but it doesn’t bother me that much anymore. If I have to puke in front of 25 other people to become memorable, I’d rather they forget about me entirely.