Belonging copyright 1976 by Tracy Marks I did not belong to the group on Putnam avenue. For a year I lived with them, but left the dinner table early and read in my room when they had parties downstairs. What is wrong with me, I asked myself, cringing. Why must I hold myself apart? Why can't I enjoy their company? Why am I so often the black sheep, the albatross, the butterfly with one wing? Now, three years later, I look back in disbelief at the pain of that year in which I felt I was wrong for not adapting, when I was indeed wrong, but in choosing the wrong group. I stumbled upon new friends the day I decided to flaunt the bright yellow and green of my healthy wing rather than shake my stub of a broken wing at nearby predators. And they welcomed me, the other one-winged butterflies. I realized then that I could not belong everywhere and still belong to myself.

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