Tales of a Neverland Lost Girl

Scarred Strangers

Flicking her dark hair over her shoulder, a 16-year-old girl swings her purple school bag on to her hip. She slides the front zipper from left to right and pushes her hand into the small black pocket. She tosses the eyeliner, tampons, pens and loose change around until she pulls out her indigo trans pass.

The bus is a few blocks away. It's April. The sun is shining but the wind still makes it feel like it's 40 outside even when it's 65.

Her brown wavy, locks are carelessly falling down her back. The beach waves framed her translucent skin. Her gray eyes looked green in the blazing sun. Her lips were plump and painted with dark lipstick. Her eyes were drawn on with the same dark as her lips.

Her attire consisted of a black Beatles shirt, a red swede skirt that hugged her hips along with a black and white flannel that was tied at the waist. Her shoes were black, laced combat boots that made her a few inches taller the her regular 5'1 self.

The bus finally pulls up and she steps onto it; it's nearly empty. She missed the pack of students that usually occupy the bus after school. But she was getting math notes from her teacher.

It was 3:45 when she took her usual seat in the back of the bus. Only a few older women and four men were on the bus. There was an older man sitting across from her.

He looked to be in his fifties. He was handsome looking for his age. But his eyes were beginning to droop and his skin was becoming more and more wrinkled with each passing year. He was gray in the roots of his black hair and he was blading at the top. His clear blue eyes looked at the girl as she sat down.

The girl took no time to look at him. She pulled out her phone from her bag along with her pink earphones. Her dainty fingers pushed the earbuds into her head and she unlocked her iPhone. She put on a song to fit her mood; "Wake Me Up" by Ed Sheeran. She wasn't one for romantic things but the sweet plucking of his guitar and the rasp in his voice made her fall for his love ballads. He brought her comfort and security without ever having had a conversation with her.

The man saw her rest her phone in her pocket and saw how her face began to change. Her expression softened at the sound of the piano keys. He saw her lips relax and her shoulders drop lower. Her eyes filled with an emotion that he couldn't quiet explain. He didn't want to be foolish and name it as love but her eyes didn't lie.

The truth was that she did fall in love. Not so much with the artist but with his words. The way he sings and organizes his thoughts in the lyrics so perfectly was enough to make her loose herself for a bit.

He saw that she was gone. Practically dead to the world. But then the man noticed something else. Her face suddenly changed again. It was complete and utter despair. Her eyes were now wet with the tears she hasn't yet cried. She took on a look of longing. She was lost. He felt his heart drop into his stomach. He knew that feeling. He lived it over thirty years ago.

The girl didn't want to go home. She knew every block the bus passed would bring her closer to a house which she couldn't live in. Her mother was never there. She was always working. Always on the phone. Always making something else more important then her.

Her father was no better. They barley talked. They couldn't. She had to deal with womanly things that he just can't relate to. She would try to start a conversation but it would always fall into an awkward silence where either he or her leaves the conversation. The only womanly figure she had in her life was her mother and she was never there to fulfill her role.

She would spend most of her time alone in her room. She was left home alone six out of the seven days of the week. She couldn't talk to anyone. She wasn't too popular at her school. She usually sat in the back of the class reading a classic novel or painting her nails with a sharpie marker. Her grades were fine. They could be great if she really applied herself. But when there's no one at home encouraging good grades, no one else does it.

She thinks about her near future. Her lonesome hours in her room. She'll play her guitar and write her poetry but she won't be able to play for any one or share her poetic poison.

The man took note of how many tears were escaping her eyes. He took a closer look at her and noticed her arms. Her pale arms. They had been violated with the most awful form of self torture. At her wrists were the horizontal red lines but as his eyes ran up her arm, he could see that the blade had turned vertical. The ones at the top were much more defined. They were still only a few days old. He was impressed at her lack of hiding them. He felt a lump begin to form in his throat. This girl, without even speaking was playing with his emotions. She had brought him back to a time when despair was his blanket and depression was his bed. He couldn't help himself; he had to speak with her.

He stood up and walked across the moving bus. She looked up with her bloodshot eyes and knitted her eyebrows together. Why was he coming over?

"May I sit down?"

His deep voice pierced through the music in her ears and she moved her bag to the floor so he could sit. She tried to ignore him by starring out the window or playing with the earbud wires. He continued to look at her and she continued to avoid his gaze.

"How are you?"

He asked politely. She took out one of her earbuds and starred at him for a moment, studying him.

"Fine. How bout you?"

She had a thick south Philly accent. She over exaggerated her vowels and dragged out her words.

"Good."

The pair locked eyes. Neither wanted to pull away first. She finally gave up the starring contest and looked down at her shoes. She fiddled her thumbs and bit her bottom lip nervously.

"I see your arms. It's unfortunate that such a pretty girl has such ugly marks."

She froze at his words. She tried to hide them by folding her arms but he had already acknowledged them. It was too late to try and make them disappear.

"Why would you do that?"

He looked at her and could see her breathing start to quicken. Her shoulders moved up and down more noticeably. Her gray eyes shifted back and forth quickly and she'd bitten down so hard on her lip that it began to bleed.

"Why would you ever make yourself look like that?"

He pressed on. Her expression was no longer fright. Now it was anger. How dare he judge her? How dare he just come up to her and ask about her personal issues? She was having none of this. She turned her head to him sharply, letting her tears slide down her cheeks.

"Maybe I'm just done! Maybe I don't like being alone every God damned day! Maybe I'm just so fed up with having to bite my tongue and pushing all my feelings down until I'm suffocating on my own emotions. Maybe I need a way to let out all the anger and frustration and sadness and loneliness. Maybe I'm dying on the inside because I have no one to speak to and talk about my feelings. Maybe I'm just completely insane! Maybe taking a blade to my arm brings me pleasure because it's the physical pain the distracts me long enough the forget about the emotional pain. And who are you to ask and judge me? I wish I had your audacity to just come up to a broken person and blatantly remind them of all of the bullshit that is occurring in their personal life. You have no idea what my pain feels like so don't you come up to me judging me on my choices. Please, leave me alone."

The girl finally took a breath after what felt like a weight ascending into the atmosphere and off her shoulders. She had finally told someone about her own mental torture and it was to a complete stranger. But she didn't care.

She kept glaring at the man, her face wet with tears and her arms clearly visible. The bus was silent. The whole world had gone quiet at her release of pain.

The man half smiled and looked forward. He was only a few stops away from his destination.

"You know, you shouldn't be so quick to judge, little lady."

The man stood up as the bus pulled up to his stop. She continued to stare at him. When the bus stopped he rolled up his sleeves.

The girl's face went white and her heart stopped. Her eyes began to fill with more tears. But this time they weren't from her own pain. They were tears of sorrow and wanting of forgiveness.

"Although mine are from thirty years ago, I still had the same pain."

And just like that, he walked off the bus...with all of his own scars.