The Unchanged
Hit
Michael Whalen was a fraud. He was a fake, a phony, and a flat out poser. And he knew it. His identity consisted of two very separate people, one real, and one put on as a façade to hide his imperfect life. He tried not to think about this as he walked beneath the overpass. He had chosen a long time ago to be someone who would impress his classmates. His filthy rich prep school classmates who dressed in polo shirts and flaunted their wealth constantly. Michael was lucky to be going to the Hagerton Prep, but he knew that appearing as impoverished as he truly was would ostracize him for his entire high school career. He understood that scholarships like his were a blessing, but knew that he would be unable to survive as the person he truly was, so he slipped into a new self image. That self image shielded him from ridicule, and shielded his “friends” from the truth. Michael had decided that it didn’t matter whether or not he was lying. He had decided to ignore his lies and enjoy being something he most certainly was not. Michael knew that it saddened his family that he was ashamed of them, but it was less important for him to make his family happy than it was to fit in with the elite class of snobs he attended classes with.
On Michael’s left side, cars rushed by him on the highway, on his right was the cement wall that supported the overpass above him. He wondered for a moment what his friends with think if they saw him walking on this dirty road in this poverty-stricken section of the city. Leaning against the graffiti covered wall, he inhaled the gas fumes that rushed by him. It was times like these that he felt truly out of place. He was almost tempted to rip off his blue polo shirt right then and there, just to be rid of his preppy exterior. Instead he let the car lights and chemicals lull him into an apathetic numbness. The music helped to bring him there, to that soft, unfeeling space. City noises infiltrated his headphones, but he didn’t care then. He had nothing to think about, nothing to dream about, as a filling emptiness overwhelmed his subconscious. It was much easier to avoid the person he had become with eyes closed and mind silenced. The sound flowed from the iPod in Michael’s pocket to his awaiting ears. It played into his serenity, and Michael couldn’t help but want to stay exactly where he was standing. And then it stopped. The traffic, the music, the tranquility, they all just stopped. Pulling off his headphones, Michael began running alongside the unmoving cars. It almost didn’t seem real. Nothing was moving. Finally, Michael saw the source of the cars’ stillness. Directly in front of him, a car had turned straight into the highway barrier. Cars stopped. People pulled over, rushing to help out whoever the victim was. Michael just stood there. Shock set in and the car came into focus. It was a red 2010 ford focus, with a sticker in the window. That sticker looked identical to the ones his classmates placed in their cars to allow them a space in the school’s parking lot. He ran up to see that his suspicions were correct. The car belonged to someone he knew. His minds scanned his memories for the owner of a red focus, but he couldn’t think straight with people rushing around him. It simply wouldn’t come to him, and he wanted to scream. His body tensed as he climbed over the hood of the car to see who was in the driver’s seat. Doctors blocked his view, but he looked in through the windshield, and saw a girl who he didn’t know. He recognized her as Emily Blake, but they’d never spoken, and she was a year younger than him. There wasn’t any blood, but she did not appear to be breathing. He got off of the car, watched for what seemed to be only a moment as people continued to try and revive her. Then the ambulance arrived, and he walked away in the direction he’d started in. Suddenly he felt a wave of relief crash over his body like a tidal wave. It wasn’t one of his friends; it was just another girl he’d passed in the halls of his prep school. It was just another girl who saw him as the person he pretended to be. Tears fell from his eyes as he began to understand what had occurred. She could be dead. She could be dead and she would never know who he really was. He knew that wasn’t rational; she probably would never have known him anyway. They could have been soul mates, he thought to himself, they could have been best friends or roommates or something more than simply acquaintances. She could’ve been important, but he’d never know. He could’ve known if he’d stopped pretending. He could’ve known, but she was gone.
Though, at the hospital, Emily Blake was revived after almost fifteen minutes of unconsciousness, Michael never went to see her. He never told her what he’d seen or realized on that day. When Michael learned that Emily had survived, he cast out the thoughts he’d had that day. He walked down the highway, leaning against the same cement wall, wearing the same blue polo shirt just a week and a half later. The music lulled him into a place of warmth and peacefulness. He inhaled the fumes of the gas that rushed by before walking away, to a home he’d never admit was his.
On Michael’s left side, cars rushed by him on the highway, on his right was the cement wall that supported the overpass above him. He wondered for a moment what his friends with think if they saw him walking on this dirty road in this poverty-stricken section of the city. Leaning against the graffiti covered wall, he inhaled the gas fumes that rushed by him. It was times like these that he felt truly out of place. He was almost tempted to rip off his blue polo shirt right then and there, just to be rid of his preppy exterior. Instead he let the car lights and chemicals lull him into an apathetic numbness. The music helped to bring him there, to that soft, unfeeling space. City noises infiltrated his headphones, but he didn’t care then. He had nothing to think about, nothing to dream about, as a filling emptiness overwhelmed his subconscious. It was much easier to avoid the person he had become with eyes closed and mind silenced. The sound flowed from the iPod in Michael’s pocket to his awaiting ears. It played into his serenity, and Michael couldn’t help but want to stay exactly where he was standing. And then it stopped. The traffic, the music, the tranquility, they all just stopped. Pulling off his headphones, Michael began running alongside the unmoving cars. It almost didn’t seem real. Nothing was moving. Finally, Michael saw the source of the cars’ stillness. Directly in front of him, a car had turned straight into the highway barrier. Cars stopped. People pulled over, rushing to help out whoever the victim was. Michael just stood there. Shock set in and the car came into focus. It was a red 2010 ford focus, with a sticker in the window. That sticker looked identical to the ones his classmates placed in their cars to allow them a space in the school’s parking lot. He ran up to see that his suspicions were correct. The car belonged to someone he knew. His minds scanned his memories for the owner of a red focus, but he couldn’t think straight with people rushing around him. It simply wouldn’t come to him, and he wanted to scream. His body tensed as he climbed over the hood of the car to see who was in the driver’s seat. Doctors blocked his view, but he looked in through the windshield, and saw a girl who he didn’t know. He recognized her as Emily Blake, but they’d never spoken, and she was a year younger than him. There wasn’t any blood, but she did not appear to be breathing. He got off of the car, watched for what seemed to be only a moment as people continued to try and revive her. Then the ambulance arrived, and he walked away in the direction he’d started in. Suddenly he felt a wave of relief crash over his body like a tidal wave. It wasn’t one of his friends; it was just another girl he’d passed in the halls of his prep school. It was just another girl who saw him as the person he pretended to be. Tears fell from his eyes as he began to understand what had occurred. She could be dead. She could be dead and she would never know who he really was. He knew that wasn’t rational; she probably would never have known him anyway. They could have been soul mates, he thought to himself, they could have been best friends or roommates or something more than simply acquaintances. She could’ve been important, but he’d never know. He could’ve known if he’d stopped pretending. He could’ve known, but she was gone.
Though, at the hospital, Emily Blake was revived after almost fifteen minutes of unconsciousness, Michael never went to see her. He never told her what he’d seen or realized on that day. When Michael learned that Emily had survived, he cast out the thoughts he’d had that day. He walked down the highway, leaning against the same cement wall, wearing the same blue polo shirt just a week and a half later. The music lulled him into a place of warmth and peacefulness. He inhaled the fumes of the gas that rushed by before walking away, to a home he’d never admit was his.