Learning to Fall

6: Permanent Wounds

I threw open the doors to the back of the school, bursting into the courtyard.

I felt the warm sting of tears prick the corners of my eyes as I doubled over, my hands on my knees, breathing hard from running so fast. I glanced around and when I saw no one, I sat on the cold stone steps and drew in a few deep breaths to try and steady my racing heartbeat.

It had been so long since I cried.

I felt the emotions well up inside of me, engulf me. It started from the pit of my stomach and then creeped upward, through my chest--squeezing my heart painfully--into my throat--making it hard to breathe--and then finally, the salty tears fell from my eyes.

The lump in my throat wouldn't let me breathe. I tried to gasp for air, but I couldn't get any. I felt my shoulders shaking, my body becoming numb as the feeling took me over. And I knew that once I started, it would be difficult to stop. But now it was too late. The tears were pouring. My chest was tightening. And I still couldn't breathe.

After a few moments, I heard someone sit next to me. I didn't want to look up to see who it was, so I kept my head down, shaking my hair so it made a veil for my face.

"Just because you're covering your face, doesn't mean I can't tell that you're crying," the person said. It was a deep, cheerful voice. One that I had heard only a few minutes before.

"Please, I just want to be alone right now," I managed to say.

"Well, I think that's a bad idea. No one should be alone when they feel as shitty as you look like you feel," the person told me. With a great sigh, I forced myself to calm down. I regained composure and looked up to see Mr. Len.

"I'm fine," I said.

"And who are you trying to fool with that?" he asked me, raising his eyebrows knowingly. I turned my face away from him and looked out at the dreary, empty courtyard.

"You just left the class without a teacher?" I asked after a few long moments, in which I steadied my breathing. I could feel the lump in my throat shrink. The tight grip that my emotion had on my heart loosened.

"I dismissed them early," he replied. He wasn't looking at me now. His gaze was on the plain brick wall across the courtyard from us.

"You know, I think you've got the makings of a really talented artist," he said off-handedly. I swallowed, my focus still remaining on keeping my feelings in check.

"Want to know how I know?" he asked me. I still didn't say anything, just stared blankly ahead.

"Because a true artist feels emotion differently than a normal person. It's what makes an artist, an artist. They see and feel things differently and on a higher level. A normal person feels sad when they see a homeless person walking on the street. An artist sees the homeless person's story and connects with them," he explained to me. "Whatever it is that you're feeling right now, you need to take it and find a way to channel it. And with a great voice like yours, I suggest you put your feelings into music. You have the ability to make something powerful, something amazing, out of what seems like a bad situation," he continued.

"It's not that easy," I said in a hollow voice.

"I never said it would be. But it's better than what you're doing to yourself right now," he replied. I blinked, my eyes burning from the tears that dried them out.

"I don't know," I said, my voice small.

"That's all right. It'll come slowly, but you have to open yourself to it first," he said.