I Can't Fly

Chapter 1

"Darling, you need to write something down," Mrs. Michael voiced while looking over my shoulder. I jumped at her sudden comment, but I had been expecting it for a while. The clock tormented me with its constant ticking and mocked my ability to write timed essays. Out of the fifty minutes given, thirty minutes had already passed. Each student in the class received three pages of lined paper and a scrap sheet with the essay prompt on it. On the lined pages, I only had the introduction paragraph completed. Let me be the first to say, it was unorganized and agonizing to read. My whole situation seemed pitiful to watch.

I sneaked a quick look at my other classmates. The distance between our desks made it impossible to cheat. In addition, comprehending another person's handwriting was much harder than copying letters on a bubble sheet. I knew cheating was wrong, but the idea popped into my head during my split second of weakness. By the looks of it, everyone else had at least a page and a half of writing done. Their pencils continued to scribble furiously with a purpose.

Mrs. Michael tapped a pen on my desk. Without looking, I assumed she was giving me her famous "I know what you are doing" look. I drew my eyes back to my close-to-blank page. In all my time thinking, I still had no idea what to write about. My body grew stiff when she spoke again.

"Fifteen minutes." I wiped my eyes and reread the prompt. From there, I spent the next fifteen minutes writing whatever I could. The cramp in my hand was almost unbearable. By the time Mrs. Michael called time, I ended my essay with one conclusion sentence and gave up. The rest of the class left the room in merry chatter and confident spirits. I dragged myself out of that hellhole, trying to forget the painful grade that would arrive in a few days.

I thought to myself, who needs essay writing anyway? In a few years, everything will be digital. I can be free to surf the web or type as I please. Well, more than now. I doubted that I would have done better on the essay if I could have typed it on the computer. However, I held onto the excuse incase any of my friends asked.

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Below the surface, mischief brewed in my submerged self. Although lifeless, it watched my everyday life. It sat in silence with each struggle and social interaction of mine. Its patience was everlasting as it waited for the perfect moment to remind the world of its presence. No matter how many cages I locked it in, no matter how deep of an ocean I tried to sink it, and no matter if I hid it somewhere forever trapped in darkness, it found its way to the light. The world needed to remember, it whispered too quiet for me to hear. I needed to remember that miracles and magic lied within a world lacking it.

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When the end-of-the-day school bell rang, I was one of the first out of the door. Mentally, I had left hours ago. Maybe that's why your grades suck. Shut up brain. While others might immediately drive home, I joined up with my friend group outside the school. The ritual offered some enjoyment in my generally uneventful days. Nowadays, my presence was minimal since I had other places to be: club meetings, work, SAT studying, etc. It didn't take long for people to eat up what I had to say and let me lead the conversation. An hour later, I arrived home to an empty house. I made myself comfortable on the couch and scrolled through Instagram. My school work remained untouched until hours later.

At 6:00 pm, my Mom emerged through the front door.

"Hey, sweetie."

With a soft click, she closed the door behind her. She was dressed in her best suit and shoes. Her brown curls were tied up in a beautiful but professional bun. With the addition of a leather briefcase, she looked like the perfect image of a businesswoman. I never thought she needed makeup, but she wore it anyway. My Mom held up a smile. On the outside, she looked flawless, effortless, and put together. On the inside, my Mom had her flaws, struggled tremendously, and could fall apart at any moment. Depression was a terrible homewrecker.