(Arjen)
November 08
7:19 am.
eyes to the ceiling, soul to the sky.
not the gray patches outside the window, but a shining blur of clouds and stars.
i am living in my head.
i get up, feet sliding into the neatly positioned shoes, each toe facing the wall, EXACTLY 3.14 cm apart, 5 cm from the bed.
3 steps to the window, two towards the chair.
black pants, black T-shirt. no socks, since all the whites are still in the laundry. no underwear. something always seemed so wrong, in wearing pants under one’s pants.
10 steps to the door. my schoolbag is already at the entrance. i put it on my shoulder in a complex move, and run down the stairs, two each time.
oatmeal is made, and eaten, 5 chews at a time, and i know i’m crazy. i have taken 13 bites. just like the day before. just like each day.
routines and memories and dreams of different skies.
if you were to take a tour inside my head, you would find each thought, each memory in place, in neat, gray drawers reaching out to become infinities around you, trapping, in futile effort, a raging storm of seething, burning hate. some mornings, it is just a silent snowdrift, bowing it’s head, defeated by the overreaching gray, as i organise and sort and straighten the rambles caused by other nights, those when i do not see the points of keeping it under control, and it swells to a hurricane of darkness, devouring my organized interiors, sending my thoughts into a rushing annulet of fury untill i can no longer see beyond a veil of blood.
i do not know the name of the beast that rages inside me, but i know one day i will no longer be in power, in control, and i can say, i eagerly await that day.
but it is not that day, not yet. i wash my dishes and position them upon the rack.
7:59 am.
it’s raining.
11:20 am.
i am out 15 minutes early, as usual. math is too easy for me, and is the only class i cannot let myself fail in. something in me does not allow such disregard for for logic. against my will, it seems, i do every assignment perfectly, excell at every test, undermining my carefully planned image of a failing middle-range student. luckily for me, Mr. Arden hates each and every students in his class with equal passion, and i do not draw attention to myself.
i run, keeping my steps between a meter and 80 centimeters. i know it’s not allowed to run in halls, but i don’t care. it’s time for my detention, first one since the beginning of the year.
it’s 11:21 am, when i run around a corner.
F…. i almost slip, and have to remind myself, that i don’t curse. they have a REASON for not running in the halls.
i hold my hurt forehead with my left, as i notice that Jake Mason, one year above me, while clasping his chin with his left hand, is actually holding a gun, a .38, if i’m correct, and i believe i AM, in his right hand.
oh GOD. Not ANOTHER one.
“******! I almost shot you! ....er, I mean…”.
i cannot find the right words in my mind. and i just stand there, like a moron, trying to understand.
“wh…” i almost whisper, but withhold myself in time. some days i’d care. but right now – i just want to get out of the way.
i back away a dosen steps, for the first time in 234 days not knowing just how many, or how long, and run away, trying to regain control of my own mind.
i hope Jake Mason had the sence to put the gun into the bag, now that they’ll know something’s up. i run out into the empty yard, and out into the streets. i pick up my pace, wind swishing in my earphones’ lines, and the rain starts pouring down. All around me, people pull out ambrellas, hiding from the rain, and i run amidst splotches of colour beneath a forest of towering buildings. feet to the concrete, heart towards the sky.
maybe he should have shot me. i don’t know. it would surely feel calmer when i’m gone. self pity? maybe. but i do not see the point of my own life. And quite honestly, i cannot feel any kind of anger towards him. if he takes out half my school, i will feel nothing. i won’t miss a thing.
i hide all i can of myself, to let as little as i can show through, a calculated mask, a game, a part.
______________
November 09, 15:00
it’s 15:21. i am exiting the classroom. home. sometimes i wonder about my seemingly endless circle – home – school – online. rinse, repeat. the incessant hours of wondering whether there is something more, something different for me than hiding all that is me, pretending, lying. disappointment.
i walk as close to the wall as i can, and try to hold my index finger to my pinky. the tension in my fingers occupies my mind, making it easier to disregard the commotion of the halls on the way out. mom used to ask my why do i do that, and even tried to hold my hand to make me stop when i was small. i’d throw fits, and with time she decided to just ignore the issue, appending it to the long list of other unresolved “problems” and “quirks”.
i always seem to wonder. how come that it bothers people, that i walk in (admittedly), a completely weird way, but it does not bother them a single bit to eat dead animals for dinner, or despise someone just because they won’t wear uncomfortable clothes? am i weird, or something is indeed wrong with them ?
i regret the depth of my reveries the second i exit the school gates. a well-placed foot tangles between my legs, making me lose my balance and tumble ungracefully onto the hard concrete. i scrape my knee, and my favorite black jean is torn. but i need to worry about something else now, for it seems that my trouble is just about to start.
all the usual bullies, both from my year and the one above me are there, as usual, smoking and talking, and now, laughing at my ungraceful landing. my bag is on the floor for only a second, before a well-aimed kick lifts it into the air, in the direction of Jim Tiss, who, in the same careless manner, passes it on to Tomas Lacey. i cannot see the rest of it though, because someone pushes me, roughly, against the school gate. “so, here is our SMART FRIEND!” Luke Barnes. i should have guessed. admittedly, i did get him in quite a bit of trouble 34 days ago, by making him pay for my sacked locker, but i DID get beat for that one. “too smart for his own good, eh guys?” i look around me, just with my eyes, for a possible escape rout. pity about my bag, but with a sinking feeling inside me, and a lump in my throat i know that is the least of my trouble. i know i need to run, as fast as i possibly can. but there is no escape. they encircle me in a tight annulet, and all i can see through the few spaces between them are some guys sitting on a low wall across the street. i seem to recognize Jake Mason and several of his friends.
they begin pushing me from side to side, punching me in the ribs and in the stomach. as usual, i'm trying to ignore them. my mind is filled with high pitched noise, and tears start clouding my eyes. never in my life i wished for a friend more than now. i am content to spend my life on my own if i’m left alone, but i wish there was someone that would stand beside me at times like this. i would find courage then, feeling their back pressed to mine as we work to repel the lumbering forms. and even if we lose, and i end up dead, at least i will not die alone, before i know how it feels, to share your mind with someone but myself.
my lip bleeds, and my mouth is fills with taste of iron and sour pain. i just let them do what they will. i cannot hope to win this if i fight, and i concentrate instead on not letting wetness collect in my eyes.
i feel the pain, but it is a distant tsunami ravaging an alien shore. it does not reach my mind. i ignore it well. the only thing that hurts is loneliness, helplessness, and seething rage.
they slap my face and pull my hair. someone laments on lack of scissors. i ignore it all. i cannot cry. i cannot cry. if i ignore it it will stop. if i ignore it they will stop. they’ll leave me alone eventually. it’s just pain. it will go, it will stop. and if they kill me. easier for me. it’s not like i don’t want to do it by myself.
the thing that hurts most, is the fact that i agree with them. that the only person that hates me more than them is me. something deep and silent in my soul whispers that i deserve it. that they’re right in what they do to me. that i’m a weirdo. i’m a loser. i’m no good.
the blows start to become more serious now, but i simply look into the eyes of the ********, letting them know i will not forget. That is, until a well-placed blow makes my eye burn and close, and i can do all i can to stop my hand from flying to my face, i almost make a sound.
i can only wait.
they toss me to each other, laughing, screeching. i imagine a huge flock of carnivorous birds surrounding me, and i can hear their shrill cries. will they stop before i die?
something tears my shirt, leaving a gash on my shoulder, and my lips fill with a taste of blood. i can see drops of it flying in the air, in a slow and graceful arch, as i myself fall down.
they are now just shapes and sounds. and i am a broken line.
suddenly, the sounds change. i open my eyes, and through the glow of unwanted moisture i see them fighting a group of other people, notably Jake Mason.
why is he doing this? yesterday he almost shot me, and today… i try to stand up, and manage to. i know that i should use this new commotion and run, but something pulls me back. i need to know, what happened. why did Jake Mason start this skirmish with “my” ********.
i move 3 steps away, and as i do the group disperses, Jake Mason, sporting something that will probably be a black eye tomorrow as well, and a couple of tears in his shirt kicking a lumbering 18 year old i do not know in the *, apparently for being to heavy to escape at a velocity that Jake might find acceptable, and with loud cheers from his friends, runs after another *******, only the few steps needed to send the latter one into a mad dash for the trees at the end of the road.
___________
November 10
07:21 am.
I sip my coffee, and wait for the inevitable to ensue. i know already this is not something Mother will ignore, and that this is one confrontation I cannot weasel out of. And so i sit and wait, the emptiness inside me ticking on. She enters, and for the first time in about 4 months, pangs of regret ravage my heart. Her left hand flies to her mouth, and i see through her eyes, how pitiful i look. Gash on my shoulder, (luckily she cannot see THAT), broken lips. Black eye. I am indeed a sight today.
My un - cried tears well up in her eyes, and fall down as she does, collapsing on her chair, her fingers still upon her lips.
“Arjen… What… Who did this???”
I am silent. The words well up, and break against the dam somewhere in my throat. After a while, the strangling sensation fades, and i can speak again.
“I… ” my voice surprises me, i do not recognize it. I haven’t said a thing for days, and i sound differently in my head. I try again. “I was mugged. Last night.”
****. Why, why, why is this so hard? I do not understand. Language storms inside me, burning, rushing, swelling in my chest, only to die in silence, muffled down by something in my throat. I want to scream, to tell her. Say how scared i am, how much i want someone to tell me it is going to be fine, that i imagined the whole thing, and that it did not happen.
But nothing comes, no matter what i try.
“Oh Arjen…. Dearest, Do you want me to take you to the…”
“No. Thanks Mom. I’m fine, i am alright.”
“Dear, stay at home today, ok?”
“I’m OK, mom. I’m alright. it’s just a black eye”.
“Why… Where was it? Was something taken from you?”
“Some cash. about 20 bucks. It’s not important, Mom.”
“God, Arjen… You have to be more careful, dear….” she breaks down, and cries.
I feel nothing, once again. Even my mom’s obvious sorrow can’t touch me, and i wonder what exactly i have now become.
The truth is, and it scares me to admit to it, but i just don’t remember. what i THINK i remember makes no sense, and i reject the “memory”, attribute it to a hallucination, or a dream.
I vaguely DO remember seeing Jake Mason, moments before… THAT. and then.
”...he knows you since you were small, he can…”
“Mom, i’m OK. FOR REAL.” i finish up my coffee and get up. i wash the cup, and kiss her on the cheek. “i’ll be alright”. Something within me wonders at how easy it became, to lie.
__________
sorry for the atrocious length of this.
