I still remember the shaking hands. The freckles turning red under the sun. I remember every nervous etch in her face. She was beautiful. She was my sin. Temptation had never been so kind as her apologetic voice.

She was lost when I found her, clutching her purse nervously as if anyone might snatch it. A runaway. The one I just happened to bump into. And like any good Shepard, I led the lamb into safer ground. I fed her, cared for her, but for reasons unpronounced, I couldn’t let her go.

My favorite song became her laugh. I found myself hanging on her every word, listening to dazzling stories of who she used to be. The sight of her filled my very being, and I couldn’t stop it. I fell in love with a stranger.

But all I know of her now is an empty bed. An open door. Shattered glass.

The silence pressing onto me was deafening, shoving her absence against my body like gravity, dragging me further down into the reality. A coward. I would be better off without her.

A bitter end.

I don’t want to live in dying. I don’t want to be an empty shell of mechanical passion.

I want to love.

I wish that was a simpler thing to ask for.

Adventure Week One: Well, Damn.

I was right. I got horribly lost a hundred times and didn’t figure out my way through the school until this afternoon. The sad thing is-i’ll probably forget everything by Monday. I hate life.

On the bright side-yes there is a bright side-I managed to scoop up a few friends this week from my classes.  The first being the boy that followed me home.

Yes, I know. Most people bring home stray puppies or kitties or lizards, but what do I bring home on my first day of school? A boy.

See, Monday and Tuesday I hadn’t received my parking permit yet, so I walked the two miles to my Dad’s house instead of riding the bus. And behold, Monday afternoon, a boy walks up from behind me and asks what i’m reading and follows me home. Out of the way from his own house. Talking to a stranger. Weird, but kind of flattering. He was hitting on me a lot of the time.

Now that I think about it-letting a strange guy that’s hitting on me follow me home wasn’t the brightest idea i’ve ever had. But he was nice, and now we see each other in the hallway every day. It definitely could have been worse.

My second ally is a freshman and currently the one i’m closest to. Her name is C.J. and she’s much more physically fit than I am. I only know this because we’re in P.E. together, and she owned me on the mile run. Not. Fair. I like her though. She’s hyper, talks to me, and gives me a place to sit at lunch (because I finally got kicked out of my hiding spot and was forced to eat in the cafeteria). I don’t really need much more than that.

The last I made today. I forget her real name, but she goes by Chisuki. She likes anime and knows who Miyavi is and thinks i’m cool. That’s a win relationship right there.

Yep, there is a small bright side, but i’m still not very comfortable there. For instance, my Economics teacher has a short fuse. If anyone says a single word when they aren’t supposed to, she goes on a tangent about sending students to the office for being disobedient. She likes me though. I’m the nice, quiet, shy girl who does all of her work. Sounds like me, right?

Erm, no.

During that particular class today, I realized just how shy I was being and how scared i’ve been all week. Without my friends here, I have no one to encourage me, no one to talk to, no one to depend on. And I thought that maybe I was supposed to learn something from all of this-a lesson.

I need to learn how to survive on my own.

Under the veil of shining lights and above the stale wood that has lasted through memories, we run breathlessly as children. Exhilarating freedom seems to be in the air we intake with every breath, pumping through our souls like nicotine. Every leap and climb and swing is effortless, as if gravity itself has lifted just for us-just for tonight. The world is our playground; nothing can stop us now.

The sphere of bars is our last mountain to climb and the tallest we will ever master. I watch him smile excitedly and take it on with a run while I follow at his heels and grab the bars uncertainly. I feel myself start to shake with every step, my legs becoming unsupportive and my frame giving way. I forgot to tell him-I’m afraid of heights. I look up pleadingly at what I expect to be an arrogant expression, but instead am greeted with a hand and a grin. His palm is warm and surprisingly strong grasping mine. He gives me the strength to finish my efforts, and when I finally sit at the top, we laugh at our success. But I soon realize, however, that he’s climbing back down, and of course he is, we’re finished now, aren’t we? I want to follow, but I frown as I stare at the spindly bars. No, I can’t make it to the ground on my own.

He pauses halfway down and gives me a curious stare. “Are you coming?”

I bite my lip nervously and grip the bars under me until my knuckles are white. I shake my head. “I’m scared.”

He lets out a quick laugh, looking now more amused. “Don’t worry.” I watch curiously as he begins to make his way back up. With every reach I see him grow older, his childish body becoming taller, his eyes deepening with knowledge and experience, his movements more certain and powerful than before, until suddenly he’s leaning over me with a smile on his lips.

I realize then, that I am no longer a child either. My legs have grown longer and wider, and my chest is filled like those girls I used to envy in commercials. Memories creep back, weighing me down from the effortless joy I had previously experienced. I feel myself sag in disappointment and uncertainty, but before I lose myself entirely, I feel an arm wrap around my back. I almost forgot that he was there, looming over me confidently. My breath stills and he leans forward, placing his cheek against mine and his lips against my ear. His words are like a melody in the air. “I’ve got you.”

I don’t know how I made it to the ground, but I smile shamelessly as we walk away, his hand encasing mine securely. Though my legs are still shaking and much too unstable, and though I’m constantly fearing my inevitable stumble and plummet to the ground, I know that this is still worth everything. After all, he said it, didn’t he?

I’ve got you.

I have nothing to be afraid of, anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This short story was thought of while listening to Frou Frou’s songs ‘Hear Me Out’ and, of course, ‘The Dumbing Down of Love.’ Neither of the songs have much of anything to do with the story, though. O.o

And funnily enough, I didn’t mean for this story to be symbolic at all when I started it, but I guess it just turned out that way on its own…Oh well.

Wednesday was a heavy bag of disappointment slamming into my face.

Early in the morning, my Dad and I found ourselves sitting in the waiting room of the guidance office in a school he was hoping to enroll me into. I fidgeted nervously while Dad filled out forms and tried to keep my gaze from flitting around the room so much. Of course that’s difficult when different people keep walking in, all for the same purpose as ours. There was a black woman and her son and daughter who had just moved from New York. There was another black woman and her daughter, but she had a more regal air than the first. There was a little Chinese girl who had to speak for her mother-she was actually withdrawing from school. And then there was this big guy who looked like a football player….only his toe nails were painted an ugly shade of blue. I stared shamelessly at the guy, thinking of my step-brother and his girlfriend painting his toe nails neon green. I didn’t think this guy had a girlfriend to do that for him.

When we were called, we followed a wide…well, I don’t want to call her a blakc woman. Though she was, she technically wasn’t. Her skin was an eerie pale brown color, as if she hadn’t seen the sun in ages. And to add on to my unease, she kept giving a wide, wrinkly smile that made her eyes turn to slits. She said her name was Mrs. James and because my actual guidance counselor hadn’t arrived, she would take care of me. Oh dear.

My Dad seemed to think she was nice and discussed my classes with her, neither noticing my sudden tensing at their words. I really, at that moment, wanted to lash out and cry and tell them how idiotic this all was. I wanted to know why they couldn’t see how much better everything would be if I could just go back. Where everything is familiar and comfortable. Where i’m in control and not floundering for air. But they just continue, talking about me making up a P.E. credit and doubling up in sciences. Physics is required here. My Wildlife credit doesn’t count here. How do they expect me to survive, here?

We’re done sooner than suspected. Mrs. James had brought up two other schools I may be able to go to. The first, a strict school meant solely for learning and no free time. The second, the only block schedule school in the county. And, even though he resisted, I pleaded for Dad to check out the block scheduling. He didn’t understand, but he did it anyway. He didn’t understand how much I just wanted a place that felt like home.

He dropped me off at home before going to the school I wanted. I waited for his call. I wouldn’t be able to go because they ran out of parking permits.

Thursday was filled with confusion.

I was never quite aware of my failure to comprehend directions before yesterday morning. My mission: go to the school and register for a parking permit. Simple. Quick. So very, very complicated.

I made approximately three wrong turns to get to a school not five minutes away from the house. I found it by complete luck. Period.

When I got inside, I felt extremely minute in the large entrance hall. I knew I had to get to the Senior Office but…I had no idea where that may be. In three corners of the entrance hall were three hallways. Hallways 1, 2, and 3. A huge sign said that the Senior Office was located in room 3.020. I had no idea what that meant, so I went down hallway three. By some miracle unknown to me, I wandered around and into another building that just happened to be the right one. I found the office, sure, but then they handed me a pink form to fill out and I realized that my dad was needed for it, but he was at work.

The short version: Going from: the school to the house + the house to the school + the school to Dad’s work + Dad’s work to the school + the school to the house= approximately 20 wrong turns, 4 driveways used to turn around, and 1 very deflated ego.

Today I have too much time to think.

At first this was refreshing. Living in a house with chores to do isn’t something that i’m used to. Wanting to respect the parent i’m living with is something i’m completely foreign to as well. But there is always a catch to everything and in this case it’s the caging of myself.

What does that mean? Well…the first instance was very big and very small at the same time. I wanted to paint my room, but they just wanted me to pick out a few colors and put a standard stripe on the wall. That’s it. After much debate, I convinced them into letting me paint a ribbon instead, but the white (no matter how much it clashed with the color scheme) was not to be painted over. Okay. Next instance. I have a collection of windchimes. I always keep a fan on at night and the faint clinging sounds help me sleep. I wanted to put them all up like I always have. They only let me put up the three matching glass ones-the prettiest ones with the worst sound.

Instance three. The bathroom. You would think, that since it’s evidently my bathroom, that I would at least be able to put my jewelry boxes in there, on the sink, completely out of the way. No. I “share” my bathroom with whomever is a guest in the house. The only guests we have over are family, and i’m sure they wouldn’t be offended by two closed, tiny jewelry boxes in the bathroom, but that doesn’t matter. Today I had to hide any evidence that I use that bathroom. The jewelry boxes had to be moved out, my toothpaste and contact solution had to be hidden, the shower curtain had to be completely closed, but I did show a hint of rebellion. On the mirror is a little purple fuzz ball with bead eyes and paper feet. He’s been on my bathroom mirrors since I got him in eighth grade. That sucker;s not going anywhere. >:D

But to the point-i’m starting to feel confined here. As if I can’t be trusted to make any decision on my own and as if all of my ideas and my comforts are ridiculous. They’re already planning to send me to college here, but…when have they ever asked me what I wanted? Does it really not matter that I don’t want to be here? And I don’t mean this in the terms of the people, but I hate this place. Not that I loved where I was previously living, but at least there I knew what I was doing. I could go from point A to point B without getting lost. I could go out with friends. The air wasn’t murderously thick with humidity. I wanted to graduate at that school more than anything. There isn’t anything for me here, and I don’t want there to be. And so raises a question:

Do I not want to be here because i’m unhappy, or am I unhappy because I don’t want to be here?

Don’t you just hate questions like that?