Strange Sally Diamond

You might not remember me but we were in school together in Roscommon from 1st Year to 6th Year and we often sat beside each other in class (because nobody else wanted to sit with us!).

I am terribly sorry to hear what happened with your dad. Because I remember how you were, I can totally understand how you made such a mistake and I want you to know that most people would feel the same way as me, if they knew you like I did.

We never spoke much in school but I tried not to speak to anyone because my stutter was so bad. I am much improved since then. Shortly after I graduated from college, my grandmother died and my mum inherited some money and she spent a small fortune on private speech and language therapy for me. I won’t ever be making public speeches, but I can hold a conversation now without getting totally stuck and I guess that with age and the love of a husband and two great kids, I have grown in confidence.

I often thought about you over the years and was surprised that you didn’t go on to study music. You were the most incredible pianist. I used to sit outside the music room sometimes to listen to you play, and I wasn’t the only one. But I’m guessing that perhaps you were afraid of leaving your parents, or maybe social anxiety kept you home? I don’t blame you. I was terrified to go, but it was so much better than school. We were both targeted by bullies there.

In college, I found friends for the first time who were much more understanding. I got involved in social justice societies and I now work as a fundraiser for homeless services. It’s tough now, the campaigning is endless.

I don’t want to bring you down by revisiting your early memories. I had no idea that all that shit had happened to you before we met in school. I mean, it’s no surprise that you are the way you are, but I never saw any harm or malice in you – you were a bit unusual, that’s all. If you ever want to get in touch, my deets are below. I guess I wanted you to know that there are plenty of people like me, who admire you, firstly for surviving such horrific adversity as a child, and secondly, for living your life on your own terms. I came to your dad’s funeral and I thought the red hat was a classy touch – a bit unusual for a funeral, but that’s you! I remembered you well enough not to try to approach you or shake hands. You were looking at the ground the whole time, like in school. I just want you to know I was there, I guess.