When I saw him walk away, I knew it would be the last time. The last time he could abandon me, and I would never give him the satisfaction again. Though it wasn't my choice. I didn't want it to end here. I would've lived through worse suffering than this for him. But I can't live. My body won't let me. And here I am on the ground; severed heart, losing blood fast. All I can think is: thank God or Zeus or the stars in the sky that he is not turning around. I start to cry.
*******************************************************************************
There's something about a morning like today’s. It's not as easily praised as the typical morning with a coral orange sunrise, its rays causing dew on the grass to sparkle. Gross. Those are the mornings poets write of, the beauty that cannot be understood. Me? I feel that kind of beauty is too easily understood. It is obvious, boring, and noncontroversial. I like the beauty in a light gray sky, thunder slightly murmuring, drizzling rain, and no lightning, though you can feel the tension building up. It's impossibly bright but you can't see the sun. This is my morning.
I find it extremely exhausting to be a teenager this day in age. It's not the annoyance of the media and the stupidity of the human race that gets me down, rather the constant paranoia my parents feel that I will do something "awful." Excellent grades, good-hearted friends, and sobriety apparently just aren’t enough. It really is okay. I don’t mind that they care only when they feel I’m making mistakes. At least they care.
I force my groggy self out of bed; there is no point in trying to squeeze in the extra 15 minutes of sleep today. My mind is restless this morning. I think about nature, I think about boys, I think about death. Is that last one normal? I turn off the television I had on all night. The voices and slight glow of light keep the nightmares at bay. One glance in the mirror in the corner of my room makes me disappointed. Hopefully a shower can wash away the imperfections I hate.
Why is warm water beating down on your back while you rub through tangled messes of soapy hair so completely wonderful? It’s a battle to leave this damn shower. The instant I do I will be cold and miserable. The clean only lasts so long, and then I have to jump right back in. Why not just stay here? Let the water pour. Eventually the hot water will run out, but once I’m used to the colder temperatured water I’ll be fine. That makes sense right, I’m afraid of cold air but not cold water? Hell, I don’t need to make sense; it’s 6 am.
Sure enough, the moment I step onto the tile floor, I am cold and miserable. I wipe away the fog on the bathroom mirror.
“Morning.”
I stare at my reflection. I wish it was like a cartoon, where it would begin to talk back to me and take a life of its own. Instead, I have to imagine the flow of the conversation.
“Good morning sunshine!” My reflection chimes in. I grimace at the particularly cheery response.
“How are you this perky already?”
“I’m just trying to help you feel more excited about your first day.”
“It’s a new school, not a new me, not a new life. I’ve been through it before. You know how I feel about first days.”
“Oh please, you plan out fifty outfits and end up choosing one you didn’t have pre-made. You mess with your hair for an hour, and you put on extra makeup. You like first days.”
“It’s too much to live up to, the whole fantasy of the first day of school. Everything has to be perfect, my shoes, my hair, my speech, my encounters... Nothing is perfect. Besides, you know what my mom will say if I’m not wearing extra makeup. Lilah Rose, you’ll never make friends if your face scares them away."
“I wish she wasn’t so hard on you. You’re beautiful.”
“I don't appreciate lies and slander. Time to make myself look somewhat decent.”
“Someday you’ll see what I see.”
“Hopefully, since the words you’re saying are a figment of my imagination." I see my reflection make a depressing expression, but it's just me. I can’t hear her anymore. She’s gone. I have nobody.
I pick up the foundation sponge and begin to apply my mask. First days are a bitch, even a beautifully gray morning can't change that.
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