Fake it

It was a late winter day. The rain was pouring on me like it did so many times before.

It’s supposed to rain when we feel like our day won’t get worse. Yet, I didn’t mind the water pouring down on me.

I could see the old building rising behind a horizontal line of houses. The building that everyday gets filled with ignorant people and smart people, with real people and fake people and every once in a while you might be able to see someone truly kind. It’s commonly called high school. And where do I fit in? I’m a phony. I like to pretend. I need to pretend.

I’m nothing but a fake.

But let’s not waste more time talking about me, there’s not much to say anyway.

I grasp the sides of my hood and pull them closer to my face as I walk through the school’s gate. I was not trying to protect my face from the falling rain, but trying to protect my mind from the thoughts. Trying to protect my body from the unwanted looks. The ones I wanted I never get so I pretend I don’t want them.

I never look around for him. I’d prefer it if he never crossed my look, so I could forget about him. I don’t wish to torture myself. It’s funny how much I hurt when trying to keep myself from getting hurt. Some times I think that this one is not the pain I prefer.

I enjoy my last minutes alone trying to keep my mind blank and then all of a sudden he appears, right in front of me, and I don’t have to try anymore.

He’s carrying his petit slim body like it is too heavy for his skinny legs. His face holds his fine lips, his pierced nose and his big, brown, scared, wandering eyes; his mind keeps all his misery.

I have the slight notion that I would only make it worse.

I watched him until I couldn’t anymore without having to move. I am not a stalker. It’s bad enough I want him.

But it doesn’t matter how many times I look at him, how many times I search for his eyes, I know he’ll always think I want to hurt him. I might not want to, but I surely will if I ever get the chance, so I’m glad he doesn’t look my way.

I took off my hood, now that my head was covered by the roof. I walked to my locker. I was just in time for class even though I didn’t want to go, but then again, how many times did I do things I didn’t want just for the shake of the role I was playing?

I walk into the classroom, I ignore everyone I can by pretending I didn’t heard them.

All my life goes around lies, around pretending, about something that’s not real. My life is fake.

Not feeling like getting bothered by the ones I can’t ignore I offer them a lie. How much time can one more add to my time in hell?

That’s how my day goes. How my life goes. I don’t mind, I’ve learn to accept it. It’s not that I can’t change the way it goes, but I made a choice, and this is the life I chose. I can change it anytime I want to, but I am not at all bad compared to those kids that don’t seem to have anyone to care. Like him. The pretty boy with the scared, wandering eyes. He’s the one I don’t want to become. At least I have someone to pretend to care.

The bell rang. For someone that didn’t want to go to class I’m a little annoyed they don’t last more. Anything is better than lunch time.

I walk slowly to the table we eat at every day. Everyday’s the same. I sit down in my chair. It’s my chair because only I sit there and I sit there everyday. I force some food down my throat to have an excuse not to talk. They say I’m always hungry, I’m not. Not once.

I know that’s he’s not eating. If I’m always sitting here how can I know, right? Well I do. I often have to use the bathroom during lunch. They say I drink too much water. I don’t. After the first time I just went there to see him. I know he’s always there, sitting on the ground. He doesn’t look up because he thinks no one will ever pay attention to him. I do.

I wash my hands carefully slow just to look at him, and he doesn’t ever look up.

I leave when I don’t have another excuse to stay. I wish I had an excuse to love him.

During my lonely walks home I think that when high school is over I can be whatever I want, that’s what keeps me going, but then, sometimes I also think “But what if I don’t? What if after so many years pretending that’s the only think I still can do?”

Sometimes that’s what I think but not always. Like now, most of the times I think about him.

I open the door to my house and step inside. It’s silent as always. Some times I wish I wasn’t the spoiled kid I am. Sometimes I wish I could have a normal family like the others.

Yeah, that’s right.

Sometimes.

I always fall asleep thinking of him. When I’m day dreaming I make up all the scenes I wish we could play. When I think of him, imagination is all I really need to be happy.

It’s a shame my dreams aren’t as happy when I’m asleep.

I often wake up screaming to a not completely empty house, but empty of people who care, hours before my alarm clock ticks leaving me to lie there sleepless and scared.

When it is time to get up I just want to stay in bed, even if sleepless, so I won’t have to put up with the world. I only live to see him.

This day wasn’t different from any other day when there are fresh news going around.

I didn’t think it would be different.

I walked up to my locker and some friends walked up to me.

“You know fag boy?” The one who talked was barely hiding a smile, or maybe a smirk.

I nodded. I did indeed know ‘fag boy’. I loved him, how could I not?

No one ever had much nice to say
I think they never liked you anyway.

“Looks like the faggot killed himself.”

I looked at him for a moment not knowing what to do. I wished desperately that they were talking about another faggot.

“Wait. Which fag boy?” I pretended my voice wasn’t shaking.

“Hum, I don’t know. The brown haired one.” I pretended my heart wasn’t beating faster.

“I think his name’s Fred or something.” I pretended my eyes weren’t full of tears.

“Not Fred. It’s Frank.” I pretended I could still breathe right.

“Frank… Iero?” I asked. The first to talk let out a chuckle.

“Yeah.” He answered. “That’s the one.” He confirmed. “Stupid boy.” He laughed more, the others joining. I wondered if I was that good at pretending I could find the strength to laugh.

“Come on guys, life ain’t just a joke!” The only one that wasn’t laughing said. I hadn’t noticed him until now.

He had a beautiful face. Maybe a beautiful name.

I could see his beautiful face filling with shock. You could almost hear the hurt in his voice. He also had a beautiful heart.

I felt like telling him that he was right, life was not just a joke, especially when it’s the person you most care about life we’re talking about. I wanted to tell him so much I almost did, but then what would happen? I would be too late. To late to save him. What would it be worth now?

So I kept my mouth shut.

Instead I did what I’m better at. I pretended. I faked a laugh and told him, my voice a little muffled by the people around us:

“If life ain’t just a joke then why are we laughing?”