Anything But Ordinary

Chapter 4: A u t u m n

I run my hands down my arm. Each little bump. Every piece of healed skin. The scars have healed. It's been a while since I've cut myself. Not giving into it makes me feel strong. But I want to give in so badly. Instead I sit on the floor of the bathroom. I stare at the wall. I think of nothing. I wait. And for what? Who knows. Maybe salvation. Or grace. Or love.

      Oh, how I'd give anything to love. I don't know what it feels like. No one cares about me. People never failed to tell me how they feel. I purse my lips. I don't know what I've ever done to them. All I know is that they hate my existence. They don't even know who I am. So how can they tell me that they wish I didn't exist?

      "Don't listen to them," my mom once told me, "They're just stupid and you're better than that." 

      We left it at that. She never brought it up again. I never asked again. It wasn't helpful in the least. My parents think I'm quiet. Shy. They don't notice that I only wear sweaters. Or long sleeve shirts. Or arm warmers. As far as they're concerned, I'm a normal high school student. Even though my grades aren't A's and my reports are always half empty. I'm never around for teachers to get to know me.

      I had a favorite teacher once. Mr. Templin. He had the power to make anyone feel special. To make anyone feel anything but ordinary. He was my math teacher. His eyes could see through anything; he saw my wrists. He didn't tell anyone, but he sat me down after class one day. Told me that there is only one of me. I should respect my body. Love it for what it does for me. Walk, talk. Breathe.

      It was a legit reason in my opinion. To believe him, that is. Not to keep cutting myself. He was the only person whose opinion I valued. Then my family moved and I never had that light in my life again after that.

      My family consists of my dad, my mom, and me. Just us. Sometimes I wish I had an older brother. Or maybe even a younger sister. Or even both. Someone to talk to. Someone who had no choice but to talk to me. But no. We're all alone. I'm all alone. No siblings. No extended family members that we ever visit. And absolutely no boyfriend. Why would I care if I had a boyfriend? They're all posers anyways.

      This is my third high school in the past two years. The first one with Mr. Templin. Then Puyallup High where everyone called me by my infamous nickname. Then to here. Rogers High. Home of the biggest bullies on the planet.

      Which brings me back to the thoughts I've been trying to escape. The suicide of Tallon Sparks. As awful as it is, the school doesn't want to get involved; it will give them a bad rep. So no one knows exactly why this Tallon Sparks wanted to kill herself. But I do. I have her suicide note. I found it in Tallon's bag when I was searching it. Evidence that I should have given to the police. But I didn't.

      It's crumpled in my hand. I can read the scrawly black penmanship through the thin notebook paper:

      I'm so sorry. So so sorry. If I didn't think it would come to this, I would have told you. I would have asked for help. Mom, you tried to be there for me but I wouldn't let you in. Dad, I hope that wherever I am, it's with you. I'm sorry I left mom alone. I was too weak. I couldn't do it anymore. This one girl in my grade, oh dad. She's terrible. Everyday she reminds me that I'm ugly and worthless. She calls me tawny because I'm too skinny. She says it's gross. She told me that I should kill myself.

      I tried not to listen to her at first daddy, I really did. I let it slide by because maybe she was having a bad day. That wasn't the case at all because it happened everyday after that. I don't know if I would have killed myself if it were just her. One girl can't phase me. I'm stronger than that. You even told me yourself. But she has this crew of girls. They all stare at me like I'm a roach. She even told me that I was nothing but ordinary. If not that, then I was 'underordinary'. I don't understand, daddy. I tried to be her friend. I tried to be good.

      There are water marks blurring some of the words. She cried while writing this. Some of it doesn't make sense. Present tense and past tense verbs blend together. But I guess if you're going to kill yourself, proper grammar doesn't matter. Tallon only mentions her mother the one time. The rest is to her dad, who apparently passed away.

      I'm not sure what will become of me. Or where I will go for that matter. All I know is that I'm done. I'm just done. After all the trials I've made through, this is the hardest. Daddy, if you were still here.... Well, you're not. I just want to runaway. Maybe I'll runaway and find myself somewhere. Make something of myself.... No. I've already made up my mind. You've always told me how stubborn I am. I wish I was stubborn enough to not believe those girls.

      Before I go, I want whoever finds this to know that I'm not as pathetic as I seem. I wouldn't have done what I have done if I hadn't faced days after days of taunting. And I don't know if I should mention this, but when I'm gone I want someone to do something about this girl and her clique. That'll only be helpful if you have her name.

      Caren Linford.

      And that's it. No signature. No "will". I understand what she went through. Tawny Tallon and fat bottom Autumn would have been great friends. Maybe we could have overcome Caren. What a leech. I honestly don't know why people have to be so rude to each other. And when someone even tries to ask for help, people reply "haters gonna hate." Like what in the hell does that mean anyway? It's okay for people to be complete jerk heads?

      I curse myself for not being able to swear. To cuss Caren and her loonies out. If I even had the courage to stand up to them, I would end up stumbling over my own words. Then the bullying would get worse. Since I already know where it ends, I don't feel the need to bother. All that crap in the media that says to get help and that people actually care is complete crap.

      Therapists get paid to do their job, after all. They don't really care. No one really cares what you have to say. So I keep my mouth shut. Everything is better left unsaid.

      My mom knocks on the door softly. I quickly hide the suicide letter. "Hey, your dad is working late tonight, so I thought I'd take you out to dinner," she comes in and sits down on my bed, "Where do you want to go? Chinese? I know how you used to want Chinese all the time. I guess it's been a while since we've gone out and all."

      Oh, bother. She's trying to make small talk. She's trying to get my mind off the suicide. I don't blame her. It all makes me miserable. I almost want to reject, but her light blue eyes are staring deeply into mine. They convey much more than her words. She cares. There's a warmth there I haven't seen in a while. Or maybe have just not looked for.

      I choke up, but refuse to cry. Crying is for weak people. No, instead I nod my head, "That would be great." She replies with a question, "So Chinese?" I manage a chuckle. Gosh, when was the last time that I even managed a smile? "Sounds good."

      She grabs her car keys and I grab my jacket. Together, the first time we've been together in a while, we head downstairs and out onto the driveway. Her lips form a shy smile as she hops into her tiny Honda Civic. I slam the door shut the same time she does. We make our way through town to Hong Kong. My mom's right. I used to be crazy obsessed with this restaurant. A waiter sits us down and asks what we want to drink.

      Then it hits me. My mom really does care about me. Maybe I can ask my mom for help.  But what if she hates me? Or get's angry at me? She's my mother after all. I don't want to see her mad. I don't want to. I can't tell her. As soon as it hits me, it leaves. I just can't risk upsetting her. 

      We get through eating with small talk. I don't dare open my mouth too often. If I do, I might ask for help. My mom throws me smiles every now and then between sips of water and chow mien. Warm Chinese is a nice change from cold cereal and microwave meals. I inhale orange chicken and fried rice. It's been a while. I meet eyes with my mom and smile.

      After my mom pays the bill, we head home. I rub my full tummy. I haven't been full in a while. Mainly because I'm too scared to eat. When I was younger I used to overeat. Thus creating the "fat bottom Autumn" regime.

      I actually fall asleep quickly tonight. My eyes shut the moment my head hits the pillow, and I fall into a dreamless slumber.
      
      The next day, I decide to go to school. My alarm clock goes off at six. I roll out of the warm covers. I wish they would take me back to my cozy bed. But I've got to try and do something. Skipping isn't going to solve anything right now. I was everywhere in the news this week. If I don't go to school, they'll think I'm a suicidal freak. Maybe I am. But they don't need to know that.

      I pick out a simple gray v-neck and dark wash skinny jeans. People make fun of the way I dress. The way I do my makeup. The way I look. It seems like I can't leave the house anymore. They'll find something wrong. I'm too fat. I'm too skinny. My face is breaking out. My face is not breaking out. What will it take to appease people? Make them like me?

      Much like Tallon, I've tried so hard to make people like me. Tried so hard to fit in. So maybe it's looked upon as lame and pathetic to kill yourself. But no one has really hit rock bottom like Tallon and I have.

      I start to hyperventilate. I pull on a black leather jacket over the gray shirt. I grab my backpack, and take the first step out the door. Without a bite to eat or a bite to eat later, I leave the house. 

      It takes about fifteen minutes to walk to school from where I live. The trees have lost all their leaves. The sky is dark. A breeze pulls my blond hair into my face. I would move it away, but I don't care. It can stay on that side of my face forever for all I care.

      All I can hear are my footsteps. They stomp their way up the concrete stairs. My reflection in the front door is horrendous. Blond hair everywhere, face expression read-less. I used to smile all the time for no reason. Guess I haven't any reason to smile anymore.

      Other students are walking around outside. They're too far away to notice me, I think, I'm too scared to take that first step into the school. I haven't walked in here for almost two weeks. But I suck it up and step through the door.

      It's like a magic barrier. The moment my feet cross that threshold, everyone turns to stare at me. For a minute I'm almost fooled that their stares are pitiful. At least, that's what some of them look like. A whisper here, a whisper there.

      To my surprise, I make it until lunch without a rude comment here or a rude comment there. Just a bunch of stares. I think I can handle that. I think. When the bell for lunch rings, I follow the crowd to the lunchroom. I stand outside the room for a near two seconds before someone taps my shoulder. I turn, startled.

      "Oh! I'm sorry, did I scare you?" A girl asks. She's my height, with brown hair and brown eyes. She reminds me of a bunny. So innocent. My eyebrows wrinkle, but I don't say anything. "Are you looking for a place to eat?"

      Before I can reply, she's grabbing my hand and pulling me toward a group of rowdy students. She tells me that she's seen me on TV, and how horrible it must have been to go through. My heart beats faster. I don't like this. I can tell something is up.

      A boy with shaggy blond hair looks me dead in the eye. He is cute. But I don't want to admit that. Instead, I sit down and try not to draw attention to myself. None of the other kids mind me much. At least I hope they don't. They give me an awkward hello when bunny girl introduces them to me. I ignore their names, and I don't know hers either. But I don't care. I'm not staying here long. I want to run, much like a bunny would.

      "So, what was it like?" Blond boy drawls in my face. His attitude is rude and arrogant. He doesn't want anything good to come from this. But I've never been in this position before. I don't know what to do or say. So I sit there. "Come on, tell us what really happened. How pathetic tawny Tallon was before she jumped in front of a car. Must of been quite a show."

      Bunny girl throws him a look, "Brad, don't be like that."

      "No. That crap is jacked up. Is it a way to be known? A call for popularity? Dying doesn't make you a saint," he spits at me, "What the hell is up with that? You're just as jacked up as Tallon. That's what you are. So maybe you should just join her. You want to anyways. I can see it. Go ahead. See who cares. Won't make you anything."

      His words echo in my head. They're still in my head. Gosh, I can't get them out of my head. I ran away. I skipped the last half of school. Who can tell me I didn't try? 

      I don't know why Tallon killed herself. I'm not Tallon. But I guess I do know. It definitely had nothing to do with wanting to be popular. It was to be as far away as she could from people like that. The people that can't seem to keep their mouth shut.

      That's what we need more of though. Just someone with more empowering words. Moving in a positive direction. But in this hole I call life, there is no direction. There is no Mr. Templin. There is no hope.

      I find my way back home. Back to my bathroom. Back to the comfort of blade against fresh skin.