One Could Only Imagine

Chapter 1

? 2019

Dear Journal,

I don't remember much of that night, I only remember bits and pieces of it. I remember it being the Friday after semi-formal, which I attended with my good friends wearing a strapless black sparkly dress that came down to my knees. It was far too big on me- well, some parts were. If you're a girl, you probably can relate to having friends with bigger boobs than you.

Yeah, that was me Journal, the petite girl with mild Cerebral Palsy on her right side.

I was already labelled a "goodie-goodie," so, I didn't care what other people thought about me. Maybe me being a goodie-goodie was true because of the many hours I spent in the library during lunch or studying for fun since I felt like somebody when I did those things. Sure, absolutely, but I was so much more than that. Besides, I liked the library. It was quiet, so, it was easier to study or search the bookshelves for a new book to pick up.

***

It was that same Friday during lunch when I was in the library, skimming through the books. I was trying to find something new when I found Margaret Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. I saw it crossed off my reading list.

That's another thing you should know about me, Journal, I love to make lists for myself. I even have a bucket list for my life on my phone.

I brushed my fingertips with one hand on the spine, feeling the jitters of memories flood through my head.

I still remember Journal.

I walked down the aisles and touched various books. Oliver Twist, Moby Dick, and Little Women. They were all under the Classic section, one of my favourites. I sighed as I left the library, heading to my locker so I could pick up my things for class without the rush. Strolling down the hallways, I kept my head down until I passed the vending machines, uttering in complete fear as I locked eyes with a particular group and its leader.

Now you may be asking, "Who is this so-called "group? " Well, all in due time, all in due time. All I'm going to reveal is that they were in my grade-grade twelve. One of them (doesn't matter who, Journal) would always have a class with me, which was dreadful as I couldn't forget what happened at the beginning of grade ten.

I shook the thoughts clear, greeting my good friend Kinsley.

We met last year in grade eleven history, Journal. I didn't expect us to get along very well as she was more outgoing, and I wasn't.

I locked eyes with her honey-coloured eyes, her brown hair with faded caramel highlights was stuck into one giant braid. She also wore her glasses instead of contacts for a change.

"I need a coffee, Jess. Got any money?" She slipped off her black beanie.

"No," I shrugged.

"Bitch I know you have money; you're just being selfish cause you want coffee." She pouted.

Just as she was about to walk away, I turned to her and yelled, "You know me too well, Kinsley. Best to ask someone else who isn't also addicted to coffee." She flipped the bird at me, so I chuckled and went back to doing what I had planned to do before I got sidetracked. As I reached my locker, I saw the same grade 10 boys from the beginning of the year surrounded by it like a pack of wolves.