The Zodiac Spirit Guardians

The Meaning of Memories

I anxiously tug and itch at my school uniform, fidgeting with the fabric draping over my body like a loose trash can liner would overwhelm its container. These thigh-high socks, lengthy pleated skirt, and oversized black sweater, each dangle on my body and consume me in blankets of fabric. Nevertheless, I'm comfortable in the camouflage this outfit brings me.

The other high school students are conversing with one another as I maneuver through the hall filled with herds of bodies near rusted lockers. The faces of these students lack personal uniqueness; each one fits into the crowd and blends in like the toasted bits in a box of cereal. They carry on like hollow drones and not as though they're adolescent teenagers suffering from puberty. It's bizarre. Nothing irresponsible happens in this building, not a single tardy, fight, discrepancy, or anything that I would've considered normal high school behavior. That intuition is based on finicky stories in books and some sort of groundless assumption I have, but it's almost like the people here are illusions rather than humans.

Students with unrecognizable faces huddle in circles at different locations in the hallway. They cluster near doorways and windows in their own groups, sharing smiles and laughter. I can't help but eavesdrop and listen in on conversations of average life experiences that cease to really peak my interest. The small talk saturates the air, and I struggle to maneuver through the crowd of the happily reunited. Claustrophobia creeps up on me as the bodies, that seem to only occupy space rather than contain life, crush me unintentionally.

I need my morning pick-me-up.

My routine--to search for my only friend among the sea of identical faces--begins. I crave her bright smile and soulful eyes, my version of caffeine. As I continue to seek the bouncing rosey curls, I have to stand on my toes every now and then to get a good look above the faces in the hallway. It doesn't help that her and I are both short girls. With my height, I am a rabbit in a field of wheat hunting down my mouse friend.

It wasn't by choice, but rather by circumstance, that she and I became friends. She was in each and every single one of my classes, always assigned to sit next to me. At first I thought it was strange and sort of irritating, but now I'm more excited about it than cynical. I eagerly accepted Dessy's existence into my life because I saw the honest desire she felt for me to be in her's. I never felt the same about her as I do other people. She's been a blessing to me ever since, always at my side to fight the troubles of adolescence. She's my own personal sunshine.

Without any luck at finding my mouse, I make my way to my first class and attempt to ignore the loud bustling in the hallways. The other students at this school hardly give notice to me, as a person, at all. But when they do, their icy stares are enough to make a girl lose her mind. I occasionally hide behind my hair forts rather than try to fit in with them, especially since I still retain the fuzzy memory of having been bullied at some point when I was younger. Not to mention, I have trouble keeping those unclear images from lingering there in my conscious like a phantom whenever I open my mouth to talk to someone.

"Akira!" The short girl with thick rosey red hair sprints and dances toward me waving with one hand and carrying an armful of books in the other. I pray she doesn't slip and fall, or run into anyone. The curls bounce up and down in a wild mess of hair. "Akira! We have our first class together!" Her shouting forces an itch of enthusiasm through my body, already spreading her sunlight.

I dramatically roll my eyes toward the ceiling over my shoulder, pretending not to notice her. She slams into my body to get my attention, but she almost knocks me off my feet. My quick hands catch her by the arm and stand her back up as quickly as they can to avoid further danger of falling over. I frantically glance around to the eyes now peering our way. Just take a picture if it's that interesting.