Skin and Bones

Already when I woke up this morning, I decided that I wasn’t gonna eat anything today – not in school, anyway. I would save the room for dinner. I really wanna show my mom that I can eat. And I will tonight. I’ve promised myself that.

The other reason for why I’m not eating anything is because I spent a little over three hours cleaning up the kitchen last night. There were a lot of plates and pots and pans to clean off. There was also a lot of food to throw away. I almost threw up just from smelling it, but I kept it in. Even when I was done, I didn’t throw up. I was just too tired. I wanted to, though.
I still do. The smell of food is still in my hair.

I fell asleep in my clothes. I’m still wearing the same boxers, pants and socks. I changed my shirt, so I wouldn’t look too sloppy. I think I smell, but I don’t really care.
I’m too tired to care.

By lunch, I’m really tired. Like really tired. As I follow Mikey down the hall, I can barely keep my eyes open. I’m thinking about taking a nap in the locker rooms again, but it won’t help. And I don’t have gym today.

“Frank?” I stop and look up. Mikey’s gone. I frown.
“Where’re you going?” I turn around. I realize I’ve walked pass the doors to the cafeteria.

“Uh… Oh, I just.” I blink a few times, before I walk towards Mikey.
“I’m just really tired,” I say to him as we walk into the cafeteria. We walk over to the line.
He grabs a tray. I don’t.
He picks up two sandwiches. I don’t.
He takes a box of chocolate milk. I don’t.
He takes an banana. I don’t.
I grab a bottle of water.
The line moves slowly. Oh so slowly. I nod my head a couple of times, before we finally reach the register and pay for our food – or lack of it.
We walk away from the register and towards the tables. I just do what I would usually do – walk to our usual table. I step over the seat and sit down on the bench. I put down the bottle of water, before I lie my arms crossed on the table and cradle my head in them. I close my eyes.

--

Someone nudges me and my arms almost fall off the table.

“Frank, dude! We need to get to class,” Mikey says, before he nudges me again.

“Okay, okay!” I rub my eyes with my fingers and stretch my free arm. I knock over the bottle of water.

“Come on. The cafeteria’s almost empty.” I open my eyes and look around. The last few students shuffle out the double doors and disappear.
I sigh deeply, before I grab my water and get up. The room spins a bit as I follow Mikey.
“So, I was thinking. Do you wanna work on our project after school at your house?” I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, before I frown up at Mikey.

“Project?” My brain is completely dead – 0 mph here. I can barely process a single thought.

“Yeah. For English,” Mikey says – a “duh!”-look on his face.
Right. English. Fuck.

“Oh, uhm.” Suddenly my brain kicks in. It immediately starts going at a million m/s.
If I take him home, then he’d see my mom. He’d see her drunk. That is, if she’s home. But why wouldn’t she be? Maybe she’s gotten fired again. Maybe she’s taken some vacation-time again. Or called in sick. I didn’t see her this morning. She wasn’t awake.
I can’t take him with me home.
“My mom’s sick, actually. She’s got… She gets real pissed if I make too much noise, so I think it would be a bad idea for you to come over.” Mikey’s face seems understanding, but I still feel guilty for rejecting him like that. I’m a horrible liar, aren’t I?
“Sorry?” It sound more like a question than a statement. Which wasn’t what I meant, but Mikey doesn’t seem to mind – or notice.

“It’s cool. We’ll just do it at my house.” Suddenly my brain starts going again. His house? Mikey’s house? The Way’s house? Gerard’s house.

“Can’t we just do it here?” Mikey frowns.
“I mean, in the library.” I sound desperate. Am I?

“The library’s closed.” Oh, fuck! That’s right. Something about new computers or something.
“Okay, well. I gotta get to class. Why don’t we just talk about it after school, huh?” Mikey’s already got his hand on a door handle, so I quickly just nod.

And then I’m alone.

I look down at my hand. I’ve got a water bottle. Oh great! Why don’t I just skip off to class and write my notes on this with this? Fuck me!

I stamp back to the cafeteria – cursing Mikey on the way for being blind even with his glasses on – grabbing my backpack and stamping back through the halls – in the opposite direction of where Mikey went to – to find my next class.

Luckily I have Social Studies. Mr. Evans is a cool guy. He’s young and fresh out of college. He never yells at me or scowls at me for being late – he just continues to teach as I sneak in and sit at the back of the room. Then when he tells us to do an assignment, he slyly walks to the back of the room, stops in front of my desk and places a yellow note on my table – making sure to smooth out the paper in order to rid it of any wrinkles.