Ice fills my veins as I trod down the hallways of Taft High School. The bell rings but I don't go to class. Yesterday I would have never cut, but yesterday I didn't have this...condition.
And that's what I've convinced myself it is. A condition. Nothing but a fatal mark on my soul that tells me over and over that I'm going to die before I get to throw my cap in my prosthetic gown. Nothing matters much anymore. But this. This feeling of numbness. This feeling of disconnection. I know any minute now the world's going to come crashing down on me and I'm going to break down, but I've known for a full 48 hours and I haven't cried a single tear. At this point, it doesn't matter.
Reckon I did lock my bedroom and refuse to come out. My brother, whose bedroom is only accessed through a spiraling staircase is a hallway off of mine slept on the couch the last two nights. My mother left food by my door but I didn't open it to retrieve the meals. They didn't matter anymore. Nothing did.
My clothes were a little different than Friday's. On Friday my usual sweatshirt only went to my waist, today's isn't mine and goes over my bottom and caresses my thighs. And while Friday's was black, this one is gray. Plain gray. No peppy design. No insignia to personify interest. Nothing. My jeans are a little looser, product of no eating. And my converse a
ren't tied. I couldn't seem to remember how when I spent ten minutes staring at them in the car ride to school. I just tucked the laces into the shoe.
No one asked me how I was doing this morning before I left for school. No one acted like they knew. They just watched me with a fervor and determination that sent chills down my spine. I didn't like them staring so. It was driving me insane.
I find the big metal crate in a small yard by metal shop. It's the make out spot. The grass is damp but that doesn't matter. I slide down and lean against the crate, taking the coolness in. It's nice. The wetness underneath me and the cold hardness behind me. Comforting actually.
I wait the period away. The bell rings and the people pour out of the classrooms but I just sit there and watch them walk by. A teacher steps out and stares at me for a minute and then goes back inside. I don't know who she was, but she doesn't seem that suspicious. I mean, I know she knows I'm sitting here, and I have the feeling she knows I was here all period, but there's an unmistakable sadness in my eyes that isn't hard to miss. I have the feeling she isn't going to make me move.
At some point the sprinklers turn on, despite the fog and wetness in the sky, and they get me damp, touching me slightly with every rotation, but they don't move me. What does is when a cute little couple begins groping each other beside me during break. I rise slowly and head to the football field.
The bleachers, metal and cold and wet are inviting and I take a seat I know I'll be keeping. The bell rings and PE class files onto the track below me, but I just sit there and dazedly gaze at them, almost wishing I could be one of them. Not that they seem happy, but they seem healthy, not like someone who's due to die in less than a year.
And then I start to cry. Lucky for me the rain begins at the same time. The coach tells the class they have to finish their four laps before they take shelter and they moan and groan. Me, I lean farther into the downpour.
Someone climbs the bleachers and stands next to me, staring down at my wet face and sodden outfit. I know my eyes are red from crying but I hope that the tears are invisible from the rain. I look back at the person, at first not really seeing them. At first, they are invisible to me as I stare right through them and onto the cloudy gray sky. My mood. My aura. And then my eyes focus on their face, or, rather, their eyes. And what beautiful eyes they are.
Hazel with a splash of green and a dash of blue. Warm and inviting, but mysterious and sad. I take in the person's face. A boy, not too much older than me. A year maybe. But I'm young. He looks about eighteen. He has golden bronze skin and sweet cheek bones that say teddy bear and then he sits down. I watch him as he does it. Conscious of his every move.
"Are you alright?" a soft voice asks; a warm hand on my shoulder.
The word comes out before I think it.
With the smallest shake of my head, I say, "No."
I'm lead away from the bleacher and down to the track. My book bag still over my shoulder, text books soaked. For once, I'm glad I'm not wearing makeup. The thought seems so trivial at a time like this, but I can feel how truly important it is. If I were wearing it, it would be all down my cheeks. But now, bare faced, my skin is fine, and even though it only makes me feel more vulnerable than ever, I don't mind. The trivial thought actually warms me a bit.
I walk the track, not fast, but not slow. It doesn't matter where this boy takes me because there's nothing left in this world that can ever heal me. But am I broken? Truly? Or simply empty?
After a long while of thinking about that, coming up with no certain answer, I suddenly remember that I'm not alone, and so when I take in that I'm sobbing quietly I realize he doesn't seem to think little of it. He's not looking at me like I'm a fool. He's not looking at me. He is staring at his shoes, seemingly involved in them. Then suddenly he looks up and glances at me. Two hands grab my shoulders and I'm stopped. I don't see that the entire class is done already and gone inside and I don't feel that the rain is getting harder. I don't hear the sound of the cars on the street near and I don't hear the honk of the janitor's truck as he tries to maneuver through the school parking lot, way too many people in their cars for the time of day.
He holds me still and facing him, and he looks at me like he actually cares. "Why are you here?"
It's not the question I expect. I expect to hear, why are you crying or the heck is your deal? But no. He asks me why I'm here but I don't understand the question.
He realizes that.
"Why aren't you home? Safe, dry? Why are you sitting in the rain at school like there's nothing left in your world to live for?"
Again I don't think. "Because there isn't."
"Nothing at all?"
I close my eyes and try to picture something, but my foresight has died. I can't even see myself coming home tonight. My head shakes. I open my eyes to meet his gaze, eyes concerned but level. He's not going to lose his head. He's not going to walk away and leave me here.
For some reason I take comfort in that. My heart warms a little more. So trivial.
But I fall apart.
I realize why I feel a little happier. Some boy whose name I don't know is holding me by the shoulders trying to get answers out of me and he isn't leaving me out here in the rain and somehow it warms me a little from the slump the...condition left me in. Really? Truly?
Yes. And I begin to sob and shake and my knees buckle. He catches me and pulls me to his chest. I bury my face in his gray long sleeve shirt and ball. Literally. But he just holds me there, rubbing the back of my head.
He doesn't even try to leave me when the dismissal bell rings.
