Little thing
The puppet is strapped to her strings for the day and goes through the halls, attending her classes, feeling the chatter, feeling the untarnished pass by.
First period
Third period
The clocks fuse is shortening, it's about to explode and…..Briiingggggg!
Lunchtime.
Our lunchroom is something else. Normally you hear about lunchrooms that stink and serve poisonous liquid/solid waste products. Our school proudly struts about with welcoming sounds of kitchen clatter and a salad bar that people actually want to try. Whiter than the walls of an insane asylum, it docks paintings done by Art 1 on the sides of the lucky green tiled walls and a medium sized T.V that the football team crowds around to watch while they eat their various chips and burgers.
It's the people who make it seem different.
They are the masters of the puppets on their strings. Take one move towards their precious table. One step near a table they have claimed and they will make you believe the place is actually a butcher shop. They mangle your strings. Take away the painted dignity you have left and leave you in urgent need of stitches.
The sun is shining some of its rays through the clear windows despite the cloud forming inside. I look around quickly. Everyone is immersed in their own going rapid fire. I try to smile a little at the blue sky and almost convince myself I'm part of it all until someone rams into my back and I realize what an idiot I was. Staring out a window. The girl who ran into me looks back without a trace of pity in her freckled face. She looks familiar suddenly and then I remember.
We had presented "A Doll's House" in English class today. My group mumbled through the PowerPoint and then it was my turn to speak. I stuttered in front of all of them, just as bad as Mr. Goldfish. I spoke in front of a class of swollen eyes staring, boring straight into my brain. I felt the heat bubbling under my face as I struggled through the next slide.
They all seemed ready to criticize me. Every bit of my imperfection. Every bit of what I failed to hide in a clever façade like them. "Who is that girl again?" a sophomore whispered to her friend in one of the corner desks. A girl with light brown freckles drowsily glanced up from her nap to see who she was talking about.
They both looked at me.
Our school has a lunch patio outside. It's reserved for the elite only and a few who eat in silence apart from the elite. It's divided but united as one. It keeps up appearances with teachers. Makes them think we actually look down upon cliques. Smart, huh?
I don't belong to a clique. I don't belong to a group. I am a single nomad among caravans of giggling friends. There is a girl who talks to me at lunchtime. She has braces that click when she gets impatient and talks about horses while she chews on celery sticks.
Her name is Charlotte.
I'm scared to call her my friend because I don't know what she would think. Would she stop eating with me because she only really needed someone to talk to since her friends have different lunch times? Would she think I'm a desperate loner? Throw a celery stick in my face?
I don't know.
I do know she's not here today. She's been sick with the flu for two days. I heard a few girls talking about it yesterday. Probably her friends with different lunch schedules.
The leaves crunch crunch under my more than faded hand me down converse sneakers. The black turned dark gray color scatters the leaves as I walk and a fluffy cloud hovers above me reflecting the last of its white gentleness in me. I should be able to sit where I want.
I almost choke on my saliva. Did I really just think that? I did. My teeth grit and press together. The cloud winks and starts floating away.
I should. Rebellion builds up inside me. Where did it come from? What did that cloud do to me?
My feet walk faster steering me past the high-pitched cheerleaders, past the hockey team, past the few eating in silence, past me and Charlotte's spot. My strings tug on my skin and try to pull me back wondering if I'm out of my mind. I feel my bruise get lighter. A distant thought almost. I stop in front of a brick wall reaching just above my chest. No one sits there but it is a strange comfort zone. Just enough light to feel free but just enough shadow to feel a cool breeze. It's perfect.
I place my lunch bag up on it and hoist myself up precariously. I almost fall off the ledge but regain my balance. Oh my God. It's amazing. I can see a bird chirp in the distance and feel level to the others sitting on the opposite side atop the brick wall too, munching on their snacks. I feel remembered.
So this is where dreams happen. Up here. On top of the world itself. I feel weightless like HE can't reach me. Like his fists never made me cower into the corner of my bedroom. Like it was a bad nightmare that I have woken up from and this is my true place. Away from the demented thoughts he evokes in me and this person he made me into. I wish mom could sit up here with me. Maybe she would feel it too. This complete numbness of the mind.
Behind my closed eyelids I keep a stash of stories I can replay over and over in my mind and I go back to the time she used to baby-sit for a happy kid named Riley. She would take me too. I was five years old and swung on the swings with Riley as she smiled and pushed us higher and higher. Just as I sit up here now I felt that freedom. My fingers reached out as I tried to touch the deep yellowness of the sun and Riley laughed and laughed.
"Hey Buddha what do you think you're doing?"
The memory stops and vanishes as quickly as it came.
My eyes fly open and the dirty blond from Algebra is staring at me like I just sprouted wings.
"You meditating or some shit up there?" he says in a voice like sandpaper.
The dark blue bubble gum pops and his mean spittle gets on my face.
I try to reply but I can't seem to get any words out. Instead I sit up there mortified wondering what I did wrong.
I hear laughter in the distance. The sound of boys hollering and goofing around gets nearer and nearer. The dirty blond yells something at them and the laughter ceases at once. Silence pins me to the spot and I'm scared to look.
"Hey moron, that's our spot" a warning voice says harshly.
I turn around with a start and before I know it its Hazel eyes and I'm bound by his death glare. My skin heats up by degrees and feels deep in contrast with the swift breezy wind. I feel my hands get sweaty.
"Hey Rodrick what the hell is going on?" a voice yells.
A boy runs up slightly out of breath and Rodrick turns a little to look at him
"Nothing" he says and turns back to me "well?" he says impatiently.
His dark hair brings a shadow in his face and with a jolt I realize my heart had stopped beating for the few seconds he held my gaze.
What is this?
I gulp and feel the rest of his groups' eyes on me.
"I'm sorry I didn't know" I spoke up and it takes me a second to realize they barely heard me. In fact some of them actually lean in to hear better.
"Ok" he says stressing the word as he raises his eyebrow to give me a strange look. He throws his back bag on the ground.
The bird gives it one fleeting glance and rustles its wings and flies away.
I'm scared they will hurt me.
No, I'm more scared of him I realize. His eyes remind me of the ticking clock. Its about to explode.
"Well, if you could be so kind as to leave" he says in a sarcastic English tone and gets snickers from his friends. His lips twitch and I can tell he fights the urge to laugh.
"Promptly" the dirty blond mimics his sarcastic voice and sneers. I feel my head spinning as I clumsily jump off and reach for my bag. An invisible hand throws it at my face and I grip the bag with trembling fingers.
Just like you can't take your eyes off a horror film no matter how horrible it is. Just like you can't look away from a volcano erupting even though any moment you could be covered in lava.
I look up into Rodricks hostile eyes and they give me a cold once-over. He smirks in a way a Rottweiler might before it attacks.
"Go" he says in a quiet dark voice.
I walk fast down the patio, willing myself to never look back. Not now. Not ever.
My heart is a drum, its beat getting faster with each fearful memory of his glare.
….
The chant repeats itself over and over in my mind as I speed walk to the bathroom.
I lock the door to the stall and it smells dirty and rotten and I hold my breath as I sit on the closed toilet lid and focus on the sound of my heart.
"Go"
Focus on the heart, focus on the heart.
I feel something dripping down my chin. It slides out of the corner of my eye and leaves a nauseous feeling in my throat. An ice cube blocking it.
"Hey moron, that's our spot"
I involuntarily shudder and bury my head in my arms.
It shouldn't hurt this much but it does. How could it? It just does.
It will be the last time I go to that place again.