Running From Reality

First period passed uneventfully, like always. School was a boring affair in general, with people whose personalities were exactly like everyone else’s. Don’t get me wrong, there are a few cool people here, but only a handful. As I walked into third period, I saw Freddy, my only close friend besides Alex. “Andrea, my brother is worried about you,” she stated off the back, as we waited for the teacher to come into the room.

“He shouldn’t be, I’m fine. Really, I am,” I protested under her doubt filled gaze. “I swear to you, Winifred, that I am fine.” Once again her gaze was directed at me.

“Firstly, don’t swear, there are children in the room. Secondly, what have I said about using my full first name? And most importantly, ‘fine’ is not an emotion. It’s a mask. You know I don’t like masks, and neither does my brother. So no more saying ‘I’m fine’ instead of the truth.”

Before Freddy could go on and get me to talk about what had happened earlier today at my house, the teacher entered at a lazy pace.

She sent me one last glance before grudgingly turning to face the teacher. For what seemed to be the thousandth time, I was shocked by the difference in appearance of Freddy and her brother. Her eyes were a pale, pale blue that went well with the honey blonde of her hair. So different in looks, yes, but so similar in feelings. When the bell rang, announcing the end of third period, she pulled me aside in the hallway.

“You’ve gotta tell someone, Andi. I don’t think you understand how worried Alex and I are about you. We both love you too much to let anything happen to you.” Concern and worry were evident in her eyes. Feeling slightly guilty at causing not only her but Alexander grief, I hugged her tightly. “I will, I promise. Just…not today.”

***

It was time for my elective period—art. After walking into the classroom, I took my seat at a small, two person table towards the back. Ms. Miele-Beaty told the class to take this period to finish up any projects we had yet to complete. No one sat next to me in this class, and I liked it that way. I found that it was easier to get lost in what ever I was working on if there wasn’t a person looking over my shoulder.

Taking a sketchpad out of my bag, I flipped to an almost finished portrait. Clipping the photo I was drawing from to the corner of the page, I carefully began to put the pencil to paper.

This particular sketch was one my parents would never approve of; it was of Justin. The picture I was doing the sketch of was an old one, from at least six or seven years ago. Before Justin left the family, or more correctly, kicked out, my parents never laid a hand on either of us. We both followed the rules to the T, at least until my big brother came out. It was the day after his seventeenth birthday when this happened.

Not long after that happened, Dad started drinking. Mom, she didn’t even try to get him to stop; it wasn’t a “wife’s duty” to tell her husband what to do. So I got the full blast of the anger and resentment from both.

Once Justin was gone, I started to rebel against the rules. Even to this day, I’m not sure if it was seeing my mother as a spineless woman or my brother being tossed onto the street that caused it, or if it was a combination of the two. I don’t think I’ll every really know. But whatever the reason, I had changed for the better that year, though my home life went in the complete opposite direction.

As for Justin…I haven’t heard from him once. I’ve prayed, though I don’t know if God even exists, for something, anything, but nothing ever came. No emails, letters, postcards, phone calls, or visits. It makes me wonder if he even cares at all about me. In the end, I always stick these thoughts in the back of my head, to try and figure out at a different time. I was staring intently at my sketch searching for anything missing from it when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Whipping my head around, I saw Ms. Miele-Beaty.

“Class over already, Ms. Miele-Beaty?” I asked, surprise in my voice. “Yes, Dear. And if I’m not mistaken, your friends will be in the hallway, waiting for you to come with them to lunch. You can leave the sketch pad here, if you are finished. I will make sure to copy it and give you back the original by tomorrow,” she said, before I could ask. Giving my favorite teacher a small smile, I gathered up my books and left the art room. Ms. Miele-Beaty was right; Alex and Freddy were arguing out in the hallway about whether or not to come into the room to get me.

“No need,” I said, slipping underneath Alex’s arm. “I’m already here.”